Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; everything is J K Rowling's. (I'm also still alive)

The next chapter, sorry it took so long, I've been busy with my new job, and I've go training for the next three days, so I might not be able to manage more than one or two chapters. I promise to try and resist the temptation to make them all cliff-hangars ;)

Chapter 62

The carven, gold-leafed chair that Umbridge had always sat so primly and regally upon was conspicuously empty.

It had not gone unnoticed.

For every moment that Professor Umbridge did not appear to stare over them the whispers grew louder, swelling from susurration to soaring roar; it's reverberation filled the Great Hall.

Harry listened to the whispers, the outlandish stories, rumours and vindictive hopes of the Gryffindors along the table from him. Ron, Seamus and Dean were sure that their Professor had succumbed to the curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, disappearing in a convoluted and dramatic tale involving Dumbledore, Sirius, the Order and Dementors. Hermione, ever the voice of logic, eventually prevailed upon them that it was likely the aurors had discovered her indiscrete and unjustifiable use of veritaserum on children. His former friend shot him the occasional glance, and from the flutter of her thoughts he glimpsed both her worry and her curiosity.

Lavender Brown's opinion was his personal favourite. From the imaginations of the blonde, Parvati, and a trapped and rather helpless looking Neville, came the certifiably inexplicable decision that Professor Umbridge had left her office to meet up in the greenhouses with Filch for a midnight tryst, only to be snatched and consumed by the Venomous Tentacula.

Harry was a little surprised that Neville hadn't told either of the girls that their suspect plant was incapable of eating a person, but the blushing boy seemed quite happy to be wedged in between the two girls.

He'd have to make sure to mention the moment loudly near the greenhouses, or anywhere that Hannah Abbott might overhear.

Eventually the noise of speculation grew too loud, and Professor McGonagall rose, clearing her throat in uncharacteristically mocking mimicry of their missing headmistress.

'As you are all aware,' the head of Gryffindor began, allowing the hall to quiet, 'Professor Umbridge is no longer at the school. There is some speculation as to what actually happened, but it will suffice to announce that she is unlikely to be returning and I will be forced to act in her stead until the summer.'

A cheer rose from the four tables, sparks were launched into the air from upraised wands and, courtesy of Katie, at least one goblet of pumpkin juice went flying.

Harry noted Malfoy and his lackeys doing there best to act pleased, while hurriedly removing the little silver badges from their robes. They would no doubt be reaping the reward of their recent abuse of authority in the weeks to come.

For all the joy and rapture the rest of school was displaying Harry felt only anxiety. Dumbledore was gone. Umbridge was gone. The two obstacles that were blocking his path to the Department of Mysteries were gone. He could leave the school and go there the minute this feast ended so long as Sirius was able to get him though the door. The tantalising anticipation blended with his fear of what the prophecy might say, pushing cold, light bubbles up through his stomach.

'So what do you think happened?' Ron asked him hesitantly.

It was the first time that the red-head and voluntarily initiated a conversation with him in a long time, and it caught him off guard.

'Hermione is correct,' he answered once he'd recovered. 'The use of veritaserum on children would have earned her a very long and unpleasant holiday in Azkaban once Magical Law Enforcement heard about it.'

'It's no less than she deserves,' Ron decided darkly. He'd hardly touched his plate of food, picking at it just as uninterestedly as Hermione was next to him. 'If scum like her weren't corrupting the Ministry then,' his hand clenched white around his fork and he fell silent. Harry didn't need him to finish the sentence.

If not for Fudge and his irresponsible denial, Arthur Weasley might well be alive.

In truth he felt a slight twinge of pity for Ron. He'd grown up alone, without his parents, or a family at all, but he'd never had to feel what it was like to have it torn away. Oddly Ron seemed to be handling it the best out of all of the Weasley's. The Twins avoided him, Ginny too, though that might be because she was spending all her time with Michael Corner, only Ron seemed to be beyond blaming him in part for what happened.

Harry didn't share any of his sympathy. It simply wouldn't help. Patting him on the back in some unhelpful pretence of recognising the pathos of his predicament would achieve nothing for either of them.

Across from him Colin Creevey's knife scraped loudly across his plate, setting Harry's teeth on edge. Frowning at the diminutive student Harry abandoned the rest of his breakfast to think. He'd come so far, it wasn't worth taking any more risks than he needed to now he was so close. Harry had to be as strong as he could be when he went after the Prophecy.

The second ritual, he decided, ignoring the apprehensive lurch of his stomach.

This time he had to be careful, he had recover quickly, much more quickly than last time. Madam Pomfrey would not be impressed if he appeared in her infirmary again, and with Umbridge gone there was nothing stopping her contacting McGonagall or any of the other professors about his injuries.

I'll have to steal what I need, he realised.

Blood-replenishing potions, at least a litre of them, and it was well past time he asked Salazar about healing magic. Even a a few spells to fix himself up after injury could prove invaluable.

Harry slipped away from the throng of students flooding excitedly from the Great Hall in the direction of the Hospital Wing . Madam Pomfrey had been at the staff table and still eating when he left, so Harry figured he had at least a minute or two to help himself to the selection of potions he needed.

Having visited the Hospital Wing as frequently as he had he knew where the nurse kept the key to the potions cupboard and he knew it was well-stocked. His small raid would pass unnoticed for weeks so long as he was not seen.

He passed Peeves on his way. The poltergeist was cackling and juggling bottles of ink as he zoomed towards the crowd of students leaving the Great Hall. Some poor person was about to be feeling blue.

The beds were all thankfully empty, with the sheets neatly folded and the curtains drawn back.

Good, Harry decided.

Madam Pomfrey was less likely to hurry back if her demesne was without any subjects.

He wasted no time, hurrying past the empty beds and into Madam Pomfrey's office to retrieve the key to the store cupboard from inside the small, decorative urn on her desk.

There were more potions inside than he had expected, someone had spent a great deal of time weaving some very sophisticated spacial-expansion charms on the room. It had almost ten metres of shelving stretching up to eye level.

Fortunately the nurse was an orderly, logical witch, and the stock was organised alphabetically with the blood-Replenishing Potions immediately on his left.

Harry helped himself to several large flasks, taking them from the back so their absence was less conspicuous. He helped himself to a vial of the invigoration draught as well. It was easy to brew, and Harry had considered making it himself, but Madam Pomfrey had enough to drown a small dragon. A single vial would never be noticed.

Moving quickly he locked the door and replaced the key back inside the urn. He disillusioned the bottles he was holding, using a sticking charm to attache them to his chest where they are unlikely to be touched.

He walked towards the chamber very slowly, paranoid that his magic might fail and the precious , essential flasks might fall and shatter.

They didn't, but Harry knew he must have looked very strange to constantly touching his chest every few moments. It was a good thing everyone still gave him a wide berth.

'Open,' he commanded the chamber, descending down the stairs as soon as he could see them. His apprehension grew with each step. The first time he had carried out this ritual he hadn't really realised the cost, but this time he was fully aware of the pain and fatigue ahead. It was not enough to make him change his mind, he need the power, but it was sufficient to unsettle him.

The silence of the Chamber of Secrets reassured him. The staring, empty eyes of the serpent effigies entwined around every column gave him confidence. He was the Heir of Slytherin, a prodigy in his own right; he could manage another ritual, especially if he knew how to heal himself.

'Salazar, I'm back,' he announced, stepping into the study, and depositing his potions on the desk.

'So you are,' the portrait smiled. 'How is the illustrious headmistress?'

'She's a little tied up,' Harry grinned, recalling the last glimpse of her face. Tear-streaked, pale and horrified, peaking out through a swaddling cocoon of webbing.

'Not dead?' Slytherin remarked sharply.

'Acromantula keep their prey alive while they eat,' Harry answered evenly. 'She won't become a liability. Aragog and his family will leave little more than bones and that lurid pink cardigan.'

'Good,' the founder smirked viciously. 'She deserves it. We founded this school to protect our children, not to let such despicable people torture them.' He took a deep, calming breath and gently steered the head of his serpent away from under his chin where it had been tickling him with its tongue. 'There is no obstacle between you and the Department of Mysteries now.'

'I intend to complete the final ritual,' Harry informed him. 'I shall speak to Sirius too.'

He levitated the ingredients for the ritual off the desk, then, in a flash of genius, took the time-turner with him as well.

'I can start to recover from the ritual before I do it,' he explained, at Salazar's raised eyebrow. His ancestor smiled approvingly at his idea, but said nothing as Harry lifted him off the wall and carried him out over the bridge into the main chamber, followed by the floating jar of salamander's blood, the griffin's claw and the shimmering unicorn tail hair.

'Three triangles,' the portrait instructed, before Harry even asked. 'Draw them so each triangle has two points shared with the other triangles. That way your three triangles form another triangle between them at the centre.'

Harry wasted no time in inscribing the design on the floor in purple flames. It was more simplistic than the last, something that surprised him. He voiced as much to the founder.

'It's actually a less complex ritual,' Salazar told him cheerfully. 'You're improving the existing template of your body by increasing what's already there. It's like having a number, then tripling it. The other ritual required you to rewrite the template of your body to fix your eyes. You had to erase the number and make a new one.'

It sort of made sense. Increasing his reflexes and existing functions was, in essence, simpler than redesigning his eyes.

'Before I do this, can you teach me how to heal myself?' Harry asked mildly. 'I don't want to have to stagger down to see Madam Pomfrey again.'

'Of course,' Slytherin frowned. 'I should have made sure you could do this a long time ago.'

'Where do I begin?'

'The first thing you need to know is the better your grasp of human biology the better your healing spell will be. You can intend to heal someone, but the more you know about what you actually want your magic to do the better your focus will be and the more efficient the spell.'

Harry nodded, flicking his wand out into his palm.

Salazar shook his head. 'No point practicing now,' he pointed out, 'you're about to injure yourself anyway. The incantation you want to heal cuts or lacerations is vulnera sanentur, for bones, use ossio sanentur.'

'What are they capable of healing?' Harry inquired.

'For you,' Slytherin mused, 'probably all but the worst cuts or breaks. You have enough magic to throw at the problem that you can likely heal just about anything, though you'll never be particularly efficient or perfect at it. They won't do much for burns, though, nor injuries that are resistant to magic.'

'Best to avoid them in the first place,' Harry laughed lightly.

'Exactly,' Salazar agreed. 'I'd suggest improving your knowledge of human biology if you want to be able to competently heal anyone other than yourself. Your mind and magic have a subconscious, inherent image of how you should be, so strong intent and lots of magic is often enough when healing one's self. It's a lot less effective on others without that subliminal source of focus and to direct the magic.'

'I see,' Harry scratched his chin. 'For now I'm happy just being able to fix myself up after this ritual.'

'It's something I pursued on my own for the same reason,' Slytherin agreed. 'Blood magic is always expensive and I did more than dabble.'

Harry went back to inscribing the runes for the ritual, drawing them out with the tip of his wand in three concentric circles around the triangle.

'There are a lot of threes for this ritual, but no sevens,' Harry commented, intrigued. He understood the arithmantic implications of the use of the number three, but he was curious as to why they had not used seven again. Seven was the most powerful magical number, after all.

'Three threes is a very powerful magical combination,' Salazar pointed out, indicating each triangle with his wand. 'It's one of the most powerful feasible combinations, exceeded only by seven threes, three sevens, and seven sevens.'

'Feasible?' Harry stepped back to admire his handiwork, pausing to correct a few less than perfectly drawn glyphs.

'Every time you increase the number combinations the effects are also improved. Having three threes of three, would be more powerful than three threes, but the increase quickly becomes negligible and meaningless for rituals. The human body only has so much blood after all,' Salazar smirked.

'So if I were to draw another three triangles around this then it would be more powerful.'

'That would be six threes,' Slytherin disagreed. 'You'd have to create a three-sided pyramid by drawing those runes in the air around you and levitating your blood,' Salazar grinned enthusiastically. 'I tried it once. Took me a month to recover, but,' he smiled triumphantly, 'I was never hungover again. The look on Godric's face the next morning after I woke up as usual was patronus worthy.'

Harry stared at the painting in disbelief. A month, and all that blood to avoid feeling sick the morning after drinking.

'Is it worth me doing it for this ritual?' He asked, still slightly incredulous that Salazar had used a ritual for something so easily cured with a potion.

'No.' The painting shook its head, mimicked by the serpent around his shoulders. 'The increase in amplification isn't necessary for the ritual you're doing and it will take much longer for you to recover if you do. Maybe next time,' Salazar consoled him.

Strangely he was a little disappointed, despite knowing how much more it might cost him.

'Next time?' Harry quirked an eyebrow, wondering what ritual Salazar thought would help him next.

'Well as I'm sure you've noticed there are some parallels that can be drawn between the ingredients for the ritual and those for potions that have a similar, temporary effect,' the founder began, launching enthusiastically into his explanation. 'I was always very curious to see what would happen if you tried to make the effects of Polyjuice permanent through ritual.'

'That does sound like a brilliant idea,' Harry agreed, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

'Well it would be interesting to see what would happen,' Salazar defended. 'It might be a permanent version of the transformation, you could be whoever you wanted to be!'

'That sounds like a terrible thing to experiment with,' Harry disagreed. 'Imagine if you accidentally, permanently ended up looking like Godric.'

Harry had never seen the painting look quite so distraught as he did in that moment.

'Maybe you're right,' Slytherin agreed, 'that would be terrible, his beard.' The founder visibly shuddered.

'I'd best get on with this ritual then,' Harry smiled.

'Yes,' Salazar focused back on the inscribed purple flames. 'It looks fine,' he decided. 'Unicorn's hair needs to be placed on the face of every one of your triangles, the salamander's blood should go everywhere,' Harry interpreted that as over all of the pattern, 'and the griffins claw should be dissected and a piece placed at every point.'

Harry used the Severing Charm to dissect the claw. He knew by now that using magic on the ingredients was harmless since they were all about to be saturated in it regardless.

Before long he was standing at the centre of three triangles carefully covered in salamander's blood, unicorn hair and slices of griffin's claw, and within the circles of flaming, indigo runes.

Extending one hand he wandlessly and silently summoned the potions he had stolen from Madam Pomfrey, deftly catching them one after the other.

'I'd suggest not carrying the time-turner during the ritual,' Salazar commented amusedly.

Harry slipped the small, golden hourglass out of his pocket and placed it on the floor well out of the way. He was more than a little relieved the founder had pointed that out before he began, but slightly irritated he'd waited so long to do it.

He raised his wand to make the necessary cut across his wrist.

'And you should speak to your godfather before doing this, just in case you collapse afterwards.'

'Any other suggestions,' Harry remarked dryly, 'or would you like to wait and list them one at time to annoy me as much as possible.'

'Ungrateful child,' Salazar groused. 'If you weren't family I'd have half a mind to let you carry out the ritual with a time-turner on you to see what happened.'

'I'd probably end up in my eleven year old body,' Harry quipped, 'forewarned and vastly more powerful than I was before. Voldemort wouldn't stand a chance.'

The founder snorted. 'Get on with it, you don't have all day.'

Harry summoned the mirror just as he had the potions, prompting an indulgent sigh from Salazar who knew how long he'd spent working to master the spell, and how much pleasure Harry derived from being able to hold out his hand and nonchalantly summon things.

'Sirius,' Harry murmured, angling the mirror so that his godfather would not be able to see more than the dark ceiling.

'Harry,' the man sighed with relief. 'You're ok. We were all worried.'

'You were?'

'Of course,' Sirius looked taken aback, 'with Dumbledore gone there's been nobody to keep Dolores Umbridge in check.'

'She's gone,' Harry told him. 'McGonagall didn't say why, but she openly used veritaserum on children, and even Fudge can't condone or ignore that.'

'What Fudge does or doesn't condone scarcely matters now, the Wizengamot is fighting over who will take his place according to our sources.' His godfather looked at him penetratingly. 'You're not really interested in that are you?'

'No,' Harry grinned. 'I wanted to know if you'd got anywhere planning our little holiday to the Department of Mysteries.'

'I have,' Sirius burst into a bright smile. 'You'll come via Grimmauld Place, if Umbridge is really gone then you can just floo here. I can apparate us to the entrance of the Ministry and then we can go in with me under James' cloak. The door isn't easy to get past, but fortunately we figured that out a few months back, so I know how to get through that.'

'What about the guard from the Order?' Harry inquired.

'Old Mundungus has had his eye on several treasures from among my mother's collections. I was going to throw them out, but I'll give them to him in return for him letting us through when he's guarding.'

'He sounds reliable,' Harry commented.

'He's not one of the members we'd use to guard something important if we had a choice, but with Arthur gone and Podmore in Azkaban we have little choice.'

'So when is this Mundundgus guarding?'

'Everyone has their shift, except me, Snivellus and Dumbledore whose off doing something so important he can't talk to the rest of us.' Harry stifled a smile. Hi godfather seemed quite put out with the headmaster. 'We normally give 'Dung the evening shift, stops him getting into trouble in bars or down Knockturn alley after dark.'

'So any evening,' Harry mused.

'As long as it's after six,' Sirius corrected, 'it's Emmeline Vance before then, and I can't bribe her. Fifteen years ago I could have just smiled at her and then walked past while she was daydreaming,' he sighed nostalgically, 'how times change.'

'Tragic,' Harry agreed wryly. 'How the world will miss your philandering.' His godfather nodded sadly, completely serious, a distant, despondent gleam in his eyes.

'So if I came tomorrow, you would be ready?'

'I would leave now if I could, Harry,' Sirius burst out. 'I hate this place, I grew up here, spent the only moments of my life comparable to my time in Azkaban here. The only thing Grimmauld Place needs to equal that place is dementors, and my mother's portrait is most of the way to being one.'

'You want to get out.'

'I need to get out,' Sirius corrected. 'I can't stay here and let everyone else fight.'

'I understand,' Harry nodded earnestly. He would not be able to bare being cooped up in a house he hated waiting for others to win a war he should be part of either. He'd already learnt that.

'I know you do,' his godfather said gravely, 'you were right about Dumbledore. I feel more and more that he tells us only what he thinks we need to know when he thinks we need to know it. I make my own decisions and mistakes, I have since the day I was burnt off my family tree, and I won't stop now.'

He frowned, and Harry caught a glimpse of the scarcely sane man he had been when he'd first met him. There was a shadow lingering in the depths of his eyes that seemed to be growing darker, despite his smart, healthy appearance, the longer he spent imprisoned within Grimmauld Place.

'I'll floo over when I'm ready,' Harry leant his head to one side in thought, 'it will be soon, likely tomorrow or the day after.' It depended entirely on how fast Harry could recover, with the potions, his newly learnt healing spells, and using the time-turner to rest he hoped he would be close to fully recovered in just over a day. Two uses of the time-turner could be squeezed into that period, doubling the rest period, and Salazar had implied that this ritual was less demanding than the last.

'The sooner the better,' Sirius grinned, the shadow vanishing.

'Should I use the mirror to warn you?' Harry asked.

'I like surprises,' his godfather shrugged, 'nobody will be here except Kreacher and my mother's portrait. Nobody who visits listens to my mother, they didn't listen when she was alive either, and I'll order Kreacher not to speak about your visit.'

'Ok,' Harry smiled. 'I have to get back to everything, I'll be seeing you soon,' he grinned, ending the magic.

I'm so close.

Part of him wished to rush off now, longing to finally know something he should have been told about years ago, but it would be foolish to dash in when he could wait a day and be more likely to succeed.

Flicking his wand into his palm he put the mirror down outside the the runes and pressed its ebony tip against his wrist.

'Anything I've forgotten?' He asked Salazar dryly.

'No,' the painting smirked. 'Have fun.'

Harry gave him a flat stare, unsure if he was actually being sincere, then lightly drew the tip of his wand across his wrist.

Blood flooded in thin rivulets from the cut, trickling across and down his forearm to the floor. Remembering how long it had taken him to drip blood across the pattern for the last ritual Harry very tentatively used his wand to redraw the design of triangles in the air from his wrist, deliberately pulling the crimson liquid from his body before letting it slowly descend onto the pattern below with a soft, wet spatter.

This is the bit that hurts, he reminded himself, ignoring the dull, ache in his wrist that throbbed to the beat of his heart.

The runes flared bright, searing at his eyes, and there was an explosion of white sparks from the triangles at his feet, then the blood-inscribed pattern glowed a deep, vivid emerald green.

It started as tiny pinpricks of heat in his toes and fingertips, points of pain so small he wasn't sure they actually hurt. The heat sank deep, as if the full length of the glowing needles that had previously been placed against him had been driven into his fingers and toes.

He refused to scream, but he bit down so hard on his lip his mouth filled with blood, and then the sensation crept along his fingers, spreading slowly but surely over his body.

Harry felt every single individual needle, each burning point was as clear to him as the sun in an empty sky, and they soon covered every part of his body. He could feel them in his chest, his thighs, his face and even his tongue, prickling, fiery specks of pain he could not ignore, and then, in an instant, his body was flooded by a pleasant warmth.

It was a fluid, liquid heat that filled him, swelling like the tide before draining away to leave him standing stiffly in the centre of his triangles.

'You didn't collapse,' Salazar observed. 'How do you feel?'

'Strange,' Harry answered, watching the portraits lips move.

It was the weirdest sensation, because he knew that the painting and the world were moving just as fast as they normally did, and the fact that he knew he could somehow go faster was profoundly unnatural.

'Reducto,' he hissed, flicking his wand into his palm and casting the curse as fast he could.

The motion was a seamless blur, he had barely finished thinking he wanted to move to cast the curse before the effigy opposite him disintegrated.

'Oh my,' Slytherin remarked amusedly, 'that was fast.'

Harry turned to raise an eyebrow at the founder, but was rendered speechless by the obvious gleam of pride he saw in his ancestor's eyes.

'You should heal your arm,' Slytherin reminded him.

Harry twisted his forearm to inspect the cut, pausing in disbelief and staring for a long minute to make sure what he was true.

'It's healing itself,' he noted in a tone strangled by surprise.

'Really?' Salazar sounded more fascinated than concerned, scanning the runes and patterns of the ritual.

'I think I might know why,' he decided after a long pause. 'You used a rune that is synonymous with strength, but foremost means resilience. In most aspects this would have meant nothing, it is a mistake I might have made as well, but the ritual may have made you fast and resilient, rather than fast and strong.'

'Is that not a good thing?' Harry felt that being resilient may well be better than being strong. Brittle things were strong up until a point, then they shattered under the stress.

'Perhaps,' Slytherin shrugged, peering curiously at the fading cut on his wrist as Harry downed his potions and retrieved the time-turner. 'Only time will tell.'

'I will see you five hours ago,' Harry smiled. He did not feel as exhausted as he had expected, perhaps the effects of his newly-developed resilience, and the icy bubbles of anticipation were welling upwards at the prospect of seeing the prophecy sooner than he had dared to hope.

The time-turner spun within its golden frame, over and over, then events blurred backwards past him and he closed his eyes with a small, tired smile.

AN: Please read and keep on reviewing! Thanks to everyone who does.