Autor's Note:

Thanks for the last reviews. (Those were written to earlier chapters, but you may have decided to read on anyway.)

Forced Conversation

"I will be careful. There's really nothing to worry about. We have this whole thing stringently planned for a couple of weeks now and about three plans for deviating situations," Herry explained to his stubborn interlocutor. After he spoke he was immediately hit by a flood of images. Animals caught in traps, human faces smeared with blood and tears. In the end, even freshly dug graves.

"Now you're just being overdramatic Fawkes," Harry retorted irritably. "I don't remember Riddle's assignment in Slytherin's Burden troubling you that much."

Interpreting Fawkes' imagery was sometimes a little difficult for Harry. Fawkes probably had similar problems with the spoken word, but was likely hundreds of years ahead of him.

The disgruntled bird had attacked him angrily fairly soon after the bird had become aware of the life-threatening situation Harry had put himself in. He had tried many times to make it clear that Harry was not a phoenix and could therefore die. And the thought seemed terrifying to Fawkes. Since then, the bird had disappeared less often for longer periods of time to do what phoenixes liked to do when no human was around.

This time Harry saw in his mind's eye an annoyed looking phoenix looking down at another but confused looking firebird. Harry had learned enough picture interpretation to read this image as: "How was I supposed to know?", or more precisely: "I'm annoyed today not to have known about it earlier".

Patiently, Harry said, "The risk of anything happening is minimal. I know I'm acting a little desperate, but what else can I do?"

A phoenix appeared in his mind, burning and re-emerging in fast motion. It had taken Harry a while to understand that Fawkes was expressing the passing of time, or in this case, seemed to be saying that he should simply be patient.

But Harry was not a patient man. Having to wait for action wore on his nerves. It was probably one of the traits that would have militated against his suitability as an Auror, had there not been a desperate need for such at the time of his recruitment. And of course if he had not been a celebrated hero who brought in good public relations.

"I'm wasting away here, Fawkes. I like teaching, but I don't want to be anyone's puppet. And certainly not Tom Riddle's. The Dumbledore of my world was bad enough in that regard, no matter how well he meant it or how necessary it was. I want my life in my own hands."

An image of a paradisiacal forest flashed in his mind, and then a phoenix gliding through the air, flying past it, landing instead in a barren wasteland. Harry piqued his lips and said: "You can't know if it's a wrong decision. I don't see what the big deal is anyway. The only negative result to be expected would be if the action proves useless and I can't gain any new knowledge. You know I have to at least try. And no, you can't come with me. That would be too conspicuous."

Here Fawkes gave a worried trill and disappeared in a brief flaming flash. Harry shook his head. The bird only meant well, of course. But such a timeless creature as Fawkes probably found impatience difficult to truly comprehend. For a phoenix, after all, time was an irrelevant factor.

No matter what Fawkes might think, Harry needed reassurance that he was following the right path. That he had not overlooked or misunderstood anything. It seemed unlikely from his current position that Dumbledore was in any way the good side in this conflict. But that did not mean that this was not also true of Riddle - no matter how philanthropic he might appear. He lacked a more complete picture.

After a dull knock on his door, Asterope entered, immediately asking with a suppressed smile, "You've been talking to the phoenix again, haven't you? I didn't want to interrupt what must be a very important conversation."

Like many in the refuge, Asterope had grave doubts that phoenixes were really capable of complex communication. There was still a rumour in the magical community of this world that phoenixes were simply primitive magical birds rather than sentient creatures on a par with wizards or centaurs.

Fawkes seemed to be amused by Harry's displeasure at the public perception of him as a mild weirdo. Consequently, the phoenix spoke to none other than him. The more sympathetic inhabitants of the refuge suspected more a kind of phoenix magic that served as a mirror of his own emotions, but not so much genuine conversation.

It ultimately showed how much stronger the tendency of this magical world was to belittle other creatures. Asterope's friendly but sceptical acceptance of his declared nuttiness somehow stung. He had already got used to finding in her something like a kindred spirit, but she was still a child of her world.

Without responding to her, he coolly wanted to know, "Is everything prepared from your end?"

"Yes, everything is packed," she replied calmly. "Now we just have to implement the last of our many layers of concealment."

As she said this, she handed him a vial of a murky orange liquid that might as well have been spoiled pumpkin juice. It was Polyjuice Potion, with the unwittingly absconded hair of an older male Muggle who lived a meagre, secluded life as a shepherd. Since the Potters and this man from Cornwall would probably never meet, to Harry the ethical reprehensibility of wearing his face unasked for was acceptable.

"Cheers!" the smiling Asterope declared, quickly downing her own moss-green potion and shuddering. He did the same to her and soon they were both facing each other as entirely different people. Fortunately, potions were an area in which this world was far superior to his old one and a dose was effective for up to five hours.

Her taking the potion was only an additional, probably completely unnecessary safety measure anyway, as she would remain invisible anyway. The Elixir of the False Friend could only work well if the victims could be as focused as possible on the target subject. But she insisted on administering the potion herself.

Harry nodded to her and covered them both with the Disillusionment Charm. Asterope then opened a portal to the far perimeter of the Potter property. Once there, the disembodied voice of Durl greeted them both, "I've been waiting for you two for ten minutes already. You'd think punctuality wouldn't be too much to ask when calling in a favour from another person."

"I had to calm a certain rebellious bird," Harry said apologetically in the grumpy voice of the shepherd. "You know Fawkes can be a bit difficult at times."

"Noble and broad of heart, but arrogant and bold in jest, just as my mother taught in the Song of the Mighty. Well it's forgiven. This time."

"You may begin Durl," Harry gently prompted the Mountain Elf, whereupon he made his way into the house with a plopping sound. Durl had confessed to him in their preparation that house-elves - and he, too, through this heritage - were capable of a form of Disapperation.

They kept it from wizards as much as possible, however, as they did not want to make them feel inferior to their servants. According to Durl, this was well known among the educated mages, but the range and ward-breaking capacity was widely underestimated.

Harry did not even know if this was so different in his world. Certainly he knew better from experience, but most witches and wizards never had such close contact with house elves in their lives. Possibly it was also assumed there that house elves had only a very limited range and were therefore inferior to their masters. It would not have surprised Harry.

Equally unsurprising in this respect was that no attempt was made to imitate this feat. In the mind of the local magical world, house elves were considered even inferior to those in Harry's home dimension. To imitate them had to strike most as a disgusting, almost masochistic act of self-deprecation. And those who might dare, Muggle-borns that is, would never get to see a house-elf, and if they did, probably never their vanishing skills.

They waited about five minutes until Durl's return was announced by another pop. He said, "The house elves have been cleared out of the way by me. They'll wake up tomorrow with quite a headache."

"Thank you Durl. Good work. That concludes your part of this operation," Harry acknowledged. There was another sound typical of Disapperation and Harry assumed the elf was now gone. Durl had convinced him in his preparations that Warding was not significantly different in this world and Harry's standard methods in circumnavigating those would probably do the trick.

Now Harry's work began, which in some ways was the hardest part of the action. With wide circular motions, Harry wove a Ward around the property that served the primary purpose of stopping all reports of existing protective magic to the outside world. It was advantageous here how deeply he had studied this school of magic. Bill's tips were also quite helpful in this respect.

After the communication barrier was in place, he had to make sure that the remaining Wards, which temporarily alerted the residents, could not fulfil their function. According to Bill, this was little more than bungling in his profession, since the curse was ultimately not broken but only temporarily bridged, but for Harry it was ideal.

In the end, he was doing something comparable to the automatic blocking of communication to the outside, but directed inwards. This was not unproblematic. He had to weaken the existing barriers in one place so that his spell could penetrate them undetected. To make it unnoticeable, he let his depletion work slowly, so that it seemed like a natural fluctuation in the ambient magic.

He did not fail in his task. In his time with the Aurors, this was not a routine method, but until his disappearance from his world, this approach had never been criticised. The next step was for them to merely pass through the Wards' tunneling he had created and they were free to carry out his plan.

After they had both scurried invisibly into the house, it was a matter of first incapacitating the occupants. It was one of those situations where even he thought a simple, easily reversible stupify made the most sense. He had his fears, of course, that they might be discovered.

But as is so often the case, the places people knew intimately were also the ones they watched least closely. Those who felt safe in their homes did not fear being knocked unconscious by an invisible man.

When they entered the house, it was rather quiet at first, as if no one was home. After he and Asterope had been creeping through the house for a while, they began to hear banging noises from the cellar that sounded suspiciously like the upheaval of a battle. He opened the door slowly and as silently as possible. Then he followed a staircase down to find himself in a training room.

There, Charlus Potter was firing Killing Curses at the dummies as if driven by madness. They all resembled Harry's own appearance as Grief immensely. Since the Potters' offspring was so completely focused on what he was doing, it was very easy for Harry to knock him out of consciousness at close range with a Stupify. For good measure, Harry tied him down with thick ropes and took his wand.

As expected, they then found the straw-blond mother in her study on the ground floor, where she could also be stunned without further problems. What exactly Marguerite Potter was actually working on there was not obvious to Harry. On this day she seemed merely to have read for her own amusement one of those salacious historical novels that were so popular with middle-aged women. This trend did not seem to have spared even such a strange magical world.

From his reconnaissance, however, he knew that, not unlike James Potter's wife in his own world, she also had an elevated interest in charms and had even acquired a mastery in the subject. He therefore searched her at length for enchantments and protective magic, but found absolutely nothing. An ultimately expected result within one's own four walls, but one could not be too sure. Nevertheless, he took her wand from her.

Harry found his trans-dimensional father at the end. He was sitting on a chair behind the country house under a veranda, gazing melancholically into the distance. He looked unhappy, drained and exhausted. With a quick stunning spell, the man quickly dropped into the back of his chair.

"Shall we start with him?" asked the invisible Asterope beside him.

"Yes, first him, then his wife and finally the boy," Harry explained the rest of the procedure.

From Harry's perspective, what followed looked somewhat obscure due to her lack of visibility. First, a margenta-coloured drop, which seemed to come out of nowhere, fell on each eye. Then one in each ear, two on the forehead and finally one in their victim's mouth, which Asterope had opened up.

The potion itself had a rather peculiar effect. There were three individual hairs of Harry in the potion. Through these, he was the target of the internal influence of the person consuming the potion. As a result, the victim would interpret him as another person whom he could at least potentially trust unconditionally.

Nevertheless, that was only part of the effect and no matter who the subconscious chose for this, he would trust him, even if the reality did not necessarily correspond to it. As Asterope had explained it, the potion was designed to make it easier for her target's mind to surrender to the effect.

Nodding, Harry lifted his invisibility and pointed his wand at his not-father. He whispered, "Enervate."

James Potter woke with a jolt and took a moment to sort out his thoughts. Harry asked him, "Well James, too much training?"

"Peter," he began and then eyed him somewhat indecisively. "Somehow you look strange today. Hmm. What are you doing here anyway?"

In fact, Harry could think of no person who resembled the tall and gaunt shepherd less than Peter Pettigrew, whom Harry assumed James meant. It was important to allay the doubts of a person under the influence of the Elixir of the False Friend, at least formally. If this was not done, a target could possibly begin to fight the potion.

They would believe what their false friend told them, but at least they needed some input. So Harry blithely explained, "I screwed up a spell, you know how it is sometimes. Tomorrow I should look normal again. And why I'm here: It's been a while since we've seen each other and we had arranged to meet today for a quick chat. Don't tell me you forgot?"

It was also important to leave it up to the victim to fill in the blanks themselves, if possible. With vague answers that appealed to the prior knowledge of the person being influenced. The latter would then find a plausible reason himself that was coherent with what he knew.

"Ah, apparently it completely slipped my mind," James Potter said sadly, briefly closing his eyes in embarrassment. "It's not really a good day for it. But now that you're here, we might as well talk a bit."

"Is it because of that thing with your son? Terrible story," Harry replied sympathetically. Stupidly, he had no idea what ductus the real Peter Pettigrew employed. It wasn't essential, but the greater the resemblance of his own behaviour to the hallucinated person, the more effective the potion worked.

"My son," James almost whispered, shaking his head. "My son is an idiot. We were never close. He was always trailing my wife. I probably should have known when he tried to make me understand how stupid and primitive he thinks Quidditch is. No sane and kind-hearted person can hate Quidditch."

For a moment the man was silent and Harry was about to retort something when James continued, "I don't even want to know how many people Charlus has already killed in his so-called work for Dumbledore. I was a bit cruel as a child myself. You know that better than anyone since Sirius died. But my son-" here he faltered and buried his head in his hands for a moment. "I should never have married the stupid bint.

"But what was it my father used to say? She's the biggest catch, my boy. Your mother and I were a little estranged at the beginning too, my boy. What a rot! Marguerite hardly let me interfere with Charlu's upbringing. I would only have spoiled him with my love of pranks and useless sports.

"If only I'd been a little more contrary. Maybe then my own child, my blood, wouldn't be a criminal and a cultist. But she probably would have found ways to subvert my will, as always."

At that moment, Harry was already sure that James was not a follower of the Order. Trying hard to be empathetic, Harry stated on a whim, "So your relationship with Dumbledore hasn't improved. Did something happen?"

"He was here not quite a month ago, I think. He's been quizzing me about this guy who's supposed to look like one of my family. No one seems to remember my Uncle Harold and he had blond hair and blue eyes. But as soon as someone walks around with fuzzy black hair, of course that person has to be a Potter."

Here he shook his head again uncomprehendingly, "Unfortunately, Dumbledore is right. The guy really is a Potter. Not that I told Dumbledore that."

"How on earth did you trick Dumbledore? Usually the man finds out exactly what he wants to know. It must have been a great prank," Harry commented, hoping he wasn't laying it on too thick.

Here James Potter laughed. But it was not a particularly happy sound. And yet a slight mischievous twinkle entered his eyes as he explained, "You know I've always been good at Transfiguration. Better than most. I still am. I remember how disappointed Dumbledore was when I refused to join his silly little club and learn directly from him.

"Regular occlumency is not my thing, but I have always had a creative mind, have always had waking dreams. It's easy for me to create false convincing images in my head. So when Dumbledore swooped in so uninvited and poked around in my head like it was his prerogative, all I showed him was boring everyday images and confusion."

"But why? There's nothing wrong with the guy being a Potter."

"That's not the problem. Somehow, some way, he really is my son. Just as the masses speculate. The family tree doesn't show the mother. Which points to a mudblood. But never had sex with one and certainly not at such a young age as the family tree indicates.

"I was sixteen the first time I had sex with Milly Gustlin and she is clearly half-blooded so the parchment would indicate her. And I certainly didn't father a son at nine. It just doesn't make any sense.

"And I'm sure you can guess why I don't tell him that. I'm certainly not going to give Dumbledore the opportunity to dangle the status of blood traitor over my head so that he can force me to give up the only thing that still really means something to me: Quidditch. That would be a lifetime ban, after all."

James Potter then blinked a little in confusion and looked at Harry urgently as he continued, "I really don't know why I'm telling you this. We haven't seen each other in a few years and I'm just telling you my big secrets like this. But somehow it feels good to talk about it. Maybe I need that."

At this point, Harry began to feel like a voyeur. It was clear that this man probably had no more information for him. And yet it was good to see that even in this twisted world, his father was not a real monster.

"You're doing the right thing, James. The less you have to deal with Dumbledore, the less he can take your life away from you."

"It's nice of you to say that. But it probably doesn't take a Dumbledore to rob me of my last pleasures," James said bitterly. "I can't do it much longer. I'm too old now. The team is too polite to kick out a prestige-bringing pure-blood like me. I've barely scored ten goals this season.

"And the potions I take to at least keep up to some extent make me so sleepy and worn down the rest of the time. And what will I have left when it's all over? A criminal, megalomaniac son and a wife who also willingly participates in his deeds.

"I wish I could divorce her. But the Fawleys have drawn up the marriage settlement so terribly that I would lose almost everything in land and property. There should be a law forbidding such a thing."

He sighed in sorrow and said dejectedly: "Now that I think about it, I should have just run away with Milly back then. It was never an option, of course, after all I was always the obedient son, but it would probably have been a better life. Maybe Charlus is at least as stupid as I am in this matter. He's loyal to the wrong ideals and now he has to pay the price."

"But he was only sentenced to two years house arrest. The others got off less lightly," Harry replied unsure what the man meant. Only Cairns, along with Charlus Potter, had escaped the sentence of having to spend some time in Azkaban. The latter, however, had to give up her post as Co-Chairman Division for Transfiguration Research in the Department of Mysteries and was additionally barred from all Ministry activities for five years. During this time she was also under house arrest.

The other two were sent to Azkaban for one year each, followed by four years of house arrest. In addition, there was a fine of ten thousand galleons per person. However, it seemed that only Wood had problems with that one, all the others were old rich families.

Although Harry could only approve of the sentences, he was surprised that there had even been convictions. Of course, in addition to the minor offences, there were also murder charges. In his world, that could get you life in Azkaban if the circumstances were more serious. A year in Azkaban, a fine and some house arrest was downright lenient for that.

"He's branded now. If he had never been caught, he might have been able to turn his back on it at some point. But now? He has no choice but to live up to that reputation. He will only be able to acquire a magical mastery from his allies.

"I don't even know why I'm worried about that. The boy was lost to me years ago and has been replaced by an emotionally cold, fanatical something that I no longer want to love. But presumably, as a father, you can never turn your back completely, even if you should."

"But don't you share his views at least a little? You used to be very hostile to mudbloods too. Do you remember Evans, for instance? We always gave her a pretty hard time," Harry replied, remembering his conversation with Lily. After all, she had detested James Potter very much.

For a moment James seemed to think about who he meant, but then his eyes widened in realisation, only to close them shamefully a moment later. He seemed to be haunted by unpleasant memories. Quietly he said, "You're not still blaming yourself for that, are you Peter?"

Not knowing what James was referring to, he replied vaguely, "James, not all of us forget things like that so quickly."

"Sirius and I we just couldn't accept that a mere mudblood had performed such superior feats over our own. Her and her slimy boyfriend. It was wrong and stupid. We should never have involved you in our misdeeds. You were always scared as hell of getting caught.

"In the end, they were no longer pranks, but brutal attacks. I think Snivellus has a scar on his face from that shard blast to this day. Why that seemed funny to us at the time-" Here James simply shook his head. "Well, I guess Sirius never stopped doing it after his school days.

"I never knew for sure that he was a member of Dumbledore's Order, even though he kept dropping some strong barely veiled hints. I think he wanted it to go back to the way it used to be, harassing and attacking weaker people together. I can't do that anymore. I've thought about it too much. It disgusts me. It hurts me to say this, but for the rest of the world, it's probably better that he's gone."

"But it was Riddle's people who were responsible, isn't that problematic that they can already go so far - without punishment and retribution? They are, after all, dangerous terrorists. Maybe Sirius was a bad person, but that doesn't justify their actions," Harry interjected, feeling like he was cutting his own flesh with a serrated was a little too much possibly justified self-criticism in it, which he didn't really want to believe in.

There was a little too much possibly justified self-criticism in it, which he didn't really want to believe in.

"What else is Riddle going to do?" said James now, rather disinterestedly. "The man is fighting a hopeless petty war against an apparently invincible foe. It's strangely admirable, but it also scares me a little. After all, they could hit any bystander.

"These people are desperate. They've been kicked a few too many times by all of us. Sure what they're doing is wrong, but I don't find it in me to condemn it. I know by now how it feels to be stuck in the role of a human doormat. I don't wish that on anyone."

Harry decided here that he had heard enough and silently cast the Nidra Nirmala on James, who after a brief confused look on his face quickly fell into a deep sleep. He obviously didn't have much to say about Riddle. At heart, Harry didn't want to take the memory of that conversation away from him at all. It had probably done the man good to talk about these things. But he couldn't risk it.

"As depressing as that was, at least now we know that the potion works very well," Asterope said as Harry scowled and cast the Memory Charm on James.

"But you knew that. You said you'd already tried it on men," Harry replied, his eyes fixed on where he thought she was.

"But there were only two and both considerably younger. It will only get really interesting when we try the potion on the woman. But don't worry, there really shouldn't be any problems."

Harry eyes narrowed a little here. As much as Asterope despised her grandfather, she carried parts of his sometimes somewhat unempathetic nature within her as well. Harry knew it was even more unethical to try the untested potion on Marguerite Potter for this, and he only did it because of a lack of alternatives. But he was reluctant, displeased. Asterope on the other hand, seemed almost burning with anticipation. There was a barely concealed hint of excitement in her voice.

As they moved towards the woman's study, however, Harry had to admit to himself that his doubts only existed, because Asterope had told him about the lack of testing in the first place. Without the information, he would have simply thought the potions were safe. And since he was participating in these forced tests, he could hardly complain about it. He could only hope that Asterope was not participating just to get a chance to try out her potions on other demographics.

Asterope repeated the administration of the Elixir of the False Friend to her when they reached those. Harry woke her up. Marguerite blinked a little sleepily at first, until she jerked up and apparently reached for her wand. Then her eyes fell on Harry and she seemed to calm down.

"Dad, you can't scare me like that. For a moment there I thought... I don't know what I was thinking. You just surprised me."

In his preparation for these disguised interrogations, Harry had, of course, read up on possible candidates that the mind of the person being influenced in each case could use to impersonate a familiar person. In Marguerite Potter's case, her father had quickly come into focus, so Harry had at least been able to prepare himself somewhat.

"My dear I just wanted to see how you were doing after that disgrace of a trial verdict. The poor boy must be inconsolable," he spoke in a particularly theatrical manner of expression that could be regularly observed in the man.

"It doesn't matter," she said, waving it off. "Here he can practise endlessly to avoid repeating that disappointment. I had told him that he was too young and inexperienced to take part in the raids. But he wouldn't listen.

"I wish I could say I would have been more successful in his place, but his enemy was a force of nature. I looked at the memory, of course. Where Riddle, that scarecrow of yesterday, got such recruits from I do not understand. Who would willingly climb aboard his sinking ship."

"What makes you think it's sinking?" asked Harry neutrally.

"Who's going to take that little terrorist seriously? If he wasn't useful to the Grand Master, he would have wiped him and his stupid entourage out completely long ago. He doesn't have enough followers, enough resources or convincing alternatives to the true order of things. And when the end of the night finally comes upon us, he will be no more than a pathetic footnote in history."

"The end of the night? Care to explain what you mean by that?" asked Harry with narrowed eyes. "I can't say I'm familiar with that term."

"Dad, how many times do I have to tell you that these are Order secrets," she explained with a smile. "I'd love to tell them to you, but the secrecy is pretty tight."

"An Unbreakable Vow?" demanded Harry. "You know how dangerous something like that is, daughter. You shouldn't have got involved in something like that."

"Nothing so drastic. The Grand Master takes great care of his followers, after all. It's a kind of blood ward that silences us as soon as we speak out on the subject," she explained patiently, but with visible inner turmoil and confusion. "But I've actually already told you that. Don't you remember?"

"In old cases, perhaps, but I thought this was something new."

Her tension fortunately disappeared again with this answer, so Harry followed up, "But couldn't you tell me what this term doesn't mean? You know you can trust me. Our world view is congruent. Perhaps this information would convince me to join Dumbledore on my old days at last."

Negation-based reconstruction was one of the most effective ways to reveal a secret without doing it directly. It was a way to avoid triggering a protection measure. The ways to safeguard against these too were usually excessive and often had drastic side effects. The best way, of course, was a complete vow of silence. Some intention-dependent curses could also stop people from speaking if they were merely thinking about the topic in question while speaking to unauthorised people. But this, of course, could make conversations impossible at impractical points, even if the person never intended to reveal anything.

She seemed strangely moved by this statement and declared, "You would do that? Bury your old grudge and follow him even beyond the Wizengamot? How can I refuse such an offer? Let me think. I don't know if it can work that way."

A thoughtful expression coupled with a slight smile settled on her features. It appeared that she took the task Harry had set for her as an interesting logic game or puzzle. Here she reminded him somewhat of the Hermione of his own world, who had also always had great fun with such things.

However, Harry was aware that without the influence of the potion, the woman would probably not deal with the situation in such an open and playful manner. It was a stark contrast to what Harry had observed in his scouting beforehand. She was outwardly a cold, calculating soul who seemed to plan every part of her life meticulously.

She was also always very keen to conform to the prevailing trends, be it in clothes or the choice of her favourite restaurants. No appreciation whatsoever of divergent concepts and implementations. Basically, zero creativity and innovation. And that, after all, corresponded almost perfectly to the conformist-static perspective of the regime as he knew it.

Looking at her now, he began to doubt this assessment and wondered how much of themselves some people were willing to sacrifice for their convictions. How could such an apparently lively mind be capable of denying and putting itself aside? He probably read too much into her attitude. Perhaps she simply had no sense of aesthetics but loved thoughtful things.

"All right, let me try it out," she explained slowly, each following word seemingly focused and carefully strung together. "So let's imagine a world like we don't plan to create. In this fake world, Muggles continually stand above witches and wizards as the more numerous race. Their rare and strange magical offspring continues to spread their cursed seed, slowly subjugating the true magical world with their confused ideas.

"In this corrupted existence, no one will preserve the traditions, no one will stem the tide of unmagic that threatens to overtake us, and no one will restore the purest of the pure to their place at the top, which they had lost at some point."

Harry wasn't really sure how to interpret this statement. But it sounded to him as if Dumbledore's Order wanted to ensure that the number of magical people increased drastically in relation to the non-magical, including the magical Muggle-born, population. There were two ways to do this and Harry knew which one to fear. A mass extinction was the only thing that could really reverse the ratio in the foreseeable future.

Inwardly horrified, Harry asked cautiously, "And in this world, which I hope will never exist, how exactly have the Muggles not been prevented from spreading further there?"

With unabated delight in the game, Marguerite replied, "They were able to continue to multiply. No one was there to stop their rat-like multiplication. They remained fertile there, polluting the world with their offspring."

Again, several possibilities opened before Harry's mind. Only this time he could not determine which one was meant. Would they stop the successful procreation of children by ensuring widespread infertility?Or would they follow a fit of rage by wiping out all non-magical children, in an feat that not even Voldemort would have dared? The latter was at least an option for the Muggle-born wizards.

But this variant did not fit Dumbledore, not even the local one. The first variant, on the other hand, seemed to suit him. It was relatively non-violent and elegant, if one in utter blindness overlooked the psychological cruelty and arbitrary interference with personal freedom and integrity.

When Harry wanted to inquire further, however, the woman in front of him groaned painfully, so he preferred to ask about it with a worried expression: "What's wrong?"

"Pulsating headache and some kind of burning twitch in my stomach. It was suddenly there," she stammered as she held the affected areas of her body. After a brief flash of red, Asterope had sent her into unconsciousness. Her voice hissed angrily, "Damn, that shouldn't have happened."

"Was it the potion?"

"Presumably there is a connection between the potion and a slight breach of her imposed silence. Going about it that way was clever, I'm sure, but it was only a matter of time before that curse was somehow triggered by a little side thought or something. The potion was too much of a stimulus for her to confide in you."

Harry nodded unhappily. He had been so close to finding out more. But that effect would not go away any time soon. All that was left for them now was Charlus Potter. Harry sincerely hoped that he knew something about this so-called "end of the night".

He waited until Asterope had administered some pain-relieving tonics and curse-counteracting potions until he had made Marguerite's relevant present-day memories disappear forever. Her symptoms had corresponded to what Asterope had described as the negative after-effects of the potion. Either the effect was indeed different for women - or the protective measure, whatever that was, had simply negated the effect as soon as it could. That was still quite worrying, since probably his trans-dimensional half-brother could also be protected in this way.

Although he had now received some disturbing information, he had the feeling that he was losing sight of his real goal. Whether he should trust Riddle more or less remained unanswered. While both Marguerite and James had, in their own ways, each confirmed his presuppositions about the state of the world - and that was reassuring - they had ultimately created more questions than they had dispelled.

After clearing her wand of all traces of his hands, he placed it away from her on a small table. He hoped it wouldn't be too noticeable. Then he said to the faint shimmering outline of Asterope, "Let's get on with it."

She didn't answer him, but he could tell with an effort that she was following him down to the cellar. There she dripped the potion on the youngest Potter's eyes, ears, forehead and mouth.

Harry removed the ropes that bound him and roused him from his enforced slumber. He greeted him teasingly, "Charlus, you need to be a little careful in battle so no one can hit you in the back. You should have learned that from your recent experience."

The boy hoisted himself up somewhat hastily and awkwardly and looked at Harry with wide eyes. He stammered with barely suppressed tears, "Sirius. How... how is this possible?"

This was really one of the worst possible options. Impersonating the dead was dangerous, especially if those affected had accepted the death, it led to great inner resistance in the targets. At least that's what it had said in the old potion recipe on which Asterope's substitution was based.

With a self-assurance he didn't feel, Harry replied, "Did you really think the Grand Master was just going to let such a dashing fellow as me die? He had made sure I couldn't cross the threshold of death and then repaired the damage. Albus Dumbledore is truly a great man."

The slightly distraught look gave way to ecstatic rapture. Even though Charlus Potter was already at this point a dangerous dark wizard who basically deserved no sympathy, Harry felt dirty at this. And yet he was glad that this excuse actually worked. It probably proved that the boy still hadn't come to terms with his godfather's death.

"There are a few things I need to ask you, Charlus," Harry continued. "We can have a big celebration of my survival later."

"Of course Sirius," Charlus replied eagerly. "I'll tell you everything you want to know."

"It's going to sound a bit strange, perhaps, but there's a point to everything," Harry began, trying to think of a suitable context here quite quickly. "The Grand Master is concerned about our youth. Your very efforts have made him doubt the suitability of such young people. That's why we needed your honest opinions on certain subjects, so that we can prepare you better. Do you understand?"

"Yes, of course Sirius, but since when are you so glum?", confusion marked the young Potter's face at this.

"You come back from the dead and we'll see how funny you think this is. I think it will be weeks before I can crack my first joke. But that will come. Small price to pay for life, don't you think?" asked Harry but didn't allow an answer. "So to the questions. What your exact thoughts on the Riddle group? What do you think their goals are?"

If Harry was honest, he wished he could have tried this kind of approach with Marguerite and James. Unfortunately, both people who had been projected onto him were obviously not really part of Dumbledore's followers. Sirius, on the other hand, was deeply involved. In that respect, this form was probably fortunate, even if the risk of cognitive dissonance was greater than with the others.

"Uhh," Charlus made at first, probably very unsure how to answer that. "They are filthy blood traitors and mudbloods who seek to improve their deserved low status by force. They infiltrate our society to impose their muddled muggle ideas on us."

"And how exactly do you think they do that, Charlus? What do you think these crude ideas look like?" inquired Harry. He felt that perhaps here he was getting a clearer picture of how the elite of this world saw the disadvantaged classes.

"They want to persuade us that not only are all wizards and witches equal, but also that Muggles are on a par with us, no matter how objectively inferior they are to us. After all, one has magic and the other doesn't. It doesn't take much brains to see that. Besides, they bring along their strange servant religion where you are supposed to submit to a Muggle priesthood," Charlus stated emphatically.

He seemed to be gaining momentum in his tirade, "Why should we and be led by the wretched? If they were really our equals, they would be smart enough to realise that we have developed our way of life over a long period of time. To the perfection of today. All that drives them is envy, greed and ignorance.

"The mudbloods I can still understand. They are lowly mages and cannot help but follow their corrupted nature. It is the blood traitors who really make me angry. They just want to throw us, our tradition, our achievements aside. They could at least have had the decency of Dad to stay out of things they know nothing about.

"But no! They interfere, fight our just order and run around murdering. They kill real valued members of our society whose families had earned their position over generations. And then the mudbloods arrive and want to get the same benefits without the hassle!"

Harry could only just keep his forehead from wrinkling. With a fake smile, he replied, "And what would you say to one of our so-called progressives if they contradicted you by saying that the opportunity to build up this position doesn't even exist for mudbloods?"

The question seemed to throw him a little and he asked, "What's with that stupid question? The progressives are nothing but blood traitors who do not openly stand by their positions. Dumbledore said we were only allowing these fools in so that they would not not support Riddle's campaign. Once that problem is taken care of, we can deal with our legal enemies."

"You didn't answer the question," Harry stated with a raised left eyebrow.

"What are you supposed to tell one of these morons? If the mudbloods would integrate and behave decently and humbly for several generations, then perhaps, after extensive scrutiny, they might be granted a few privileges. Just as one pats a good dog on the head. Of course, this is only true if they stop mating with the creatures from which they are descended."

"Very well, but what we are doing is not directly directed against Riddle's henchmen, but against the filthy village. In all honesty, how would you interpret our actions?"

"They're all in cahoots after all," Charlus murmured. "Otherwise they wouldn't accept their help, would they? It's never a village guard or anything like that who gets in our way, it's always Riddle's underlings.

"But it doesn't matter at all. The mudbloods are getting bolder and bolder. They want to desegregate! But segregation only exists for them! If it were gone, they wouldn't last a week without being pushed into the mud where they belong by the noble citizens. Their inner inferiority would ensure that they abuse their rights and then we would have conditions like in the renegade colonies. The magical world would sink into strife and crime.

"It is better we show strength. Relentless, absolute power over them. The mudbloods must always learn anew who is master in the house. There are always new ones coming, clinging to their illusions from the Muggle world. And become rebellious if they are not taught through pain. This task must continue perpetually as long as this filth still exists."

Harry felt a little daring when he asked: "And you think our Order would no longer have any meaning when the end of the night has come?"

Unfortunately, he earned a blank look in response to this, indicating that he was unfamiliar with the term. He probably thought the expression was very flowery and cryptic. Harry himself probably looked much the same when he failed to understand something.

Charlus said uncertainly, "I don't know what you mean. But I don't think our task will ever come to an end. We live in eternal twilight, so to speak. If we want to stick with your metaphor."

Harry hid his disappointment and replied, "What is your opinion of Grandmaster Dumbledore?"

"Another strange question," his counterpart commented, shaking his head. "He is the greatest wizard of all time. The art of potion brewing alone has been whipped forward decades, if not centuries, since he had his say. He unified our society and officially enforced total segregation after 1939.

"And let's not forget his tireless fight against the continental aberrations that have been boiling up since Grindelwald's demise. He has achieved so much. He is the true hero of magical Britain. That's after all why Titus and you were so angry when those rats cowardly attacked him from behind once again! We knew something had to be done to repay that insult."

This confirmed for Harry that his skirmish in Slytherin's Burden had not been intended by Dumbledore. The accused had claimed at the trial that there was no Order of Walpurgis and that they had simply acted spontaneously out of anger. Of course, that meant nothing, given that Dumbledore had probably ordered similar things in the past.

"Only, alas, he is not very pleased with our enthusiasm albeit quite touched. Has he spoken to you since? I'm way out of the loop," Harry replied in an attempt to find out more.

"He's had all of us show up at Broken Circle," Charlus replied reluctantly. "Expressed his disappointment. In fact, he was really pissed. I've never seen him like that. But he conceded that the exact consequences of our actions were unforeseeable. After all, the armour was actually foolproof. If only that asshole hadn't been there..."

Harry's thoughts, however, had been circling only around the words Broken Circle since the first sentence. It had to be Dumbledore's fortress. Or at least some kind of nickname for it, because he couldn't imagine that the old man wouldn't prevent his subjects from revealing where he kept his lair.

Charlus continued: "I hope we get him. This would-be Potter. Professor Dumbledore has let it slip that this Grief can only be him. Apparently it was he who made Professor Dumbledore look so bad. You've seen him too, of course. He looks really bad, doesn't he? So frail and haggard, as if all the strength had been sucked out of him.

"Grief must be an agent of the renegades. The professor guesses India, they have their own magic tradition which can easily throw us off guard if we don't know it. Probably not even Riddle is aware of what kind of rotten egg there is in his stinking nest. This dark wizard is Dumbledore's biggest worry at the moment. He's too disruptive, whatever he means by that."

"One last question, which must seem even stranger than the previous ones," Harry spoke, hoping he wasn't going too far out on a limb with the direction of the question. "What did Broken Circle look like to you the last time you were there? The Grandmaster has a cloaking project going on and he wants to find out if it's working."

Charlus scratched his head and explained thoughtfully, "It was the same old castle ring with Professor Dumbledore's Wizarding Tower in the middle. It was as monochrome there as ever, as if no colours existed in it, but really it always had been like the surrounding forest seemed a little more withered than usual? I don't remember any change."

"That means it worked," Harry agreed, making a prearranged gesture to Asterope that was now intended to render him unconscious. "You don't remember many important things now."

Struck in the back by a flash of red, the boy stumbled forward. With circling thoughts, Harry bent down and removed the relevant memories from Charlus Potter.

He levitated him and seated him in a chair that was in the basement room. Turning to Asterope, he said, "Help me cover our tracks."

As previously agreed, they wandered through the house, summoning any potential remains their bodies could have lost. As a former Auror, he knew how easy it was to identify evildoers from such traces. Harry was not going to take that risk.

All in all, they had learned two elementary things. These, moreover, went far beyond what he had hoped for. He had actually only wanted to gain a feeling for the world. For his enemies and their true motivations.

As it seemed, they were very straightforward and - Harry thought - deeply malicious. Of course, they did not see themselves that way. But for himself, Harry could say that fighting them was necessary. For what had sounded to him like the extinction of Muggles through forced global childlessness was such an abyss of inhumanity that it almost physically shook him, so gruesome was it.

However, he now had a clue as to where Dumbledore might be found. A visual description was not overly helpful, of course, as an area could easily be hidden. But it was a start.

After they left the Potter estate the same way they had entered it, Asterope, who had in the meantime dissolved her invisibility, conjured a portal for them both. However, when they entered his office, two people were already waiting for them there. One, unsurprisingly, was Durl, who was looking gloatingly at the other visitor. It was Tom Riddle. And he looked extremely angry.