Harry Potter and the Emerald Sigillus

by The-Nameless90

With Dumbledore gone, Grindelwald's remaining followers are finally able to carry out their plans for "the greater good" and install a Nazi-Germany-like regime. But luckily, the Deathstick found a worthy successor who will oppose them. Based solely on the original 7 books, Harry's story is continued. Realistic, increasingly powerful Harry, no AU. BOOK 3/3.

2. Transformation

- Chapter Two -

Transformation

The drowsy morning sunlight was already creeping in through the ground-floor window of the Dumbledore House, casting a greyish-yellowish glow over the round living room. The faded, once colourful floral patterned curtains were drawn across the equally round windows, and a cool breeze swept across the room, making the papers, left-opened spellbooks, and used napkins strewn about the coffee table flutter. There were also four newspapers in different languages on the table, and among them an equal number of goblets and countless empty bottles, all of which smelled of alcohol. There was a bottle of oak-matured mead with not a drop in it left, a fallen over butterbeer bottle that had soaked the floor in a puddle, and a 1977 Ogden's Old Firewhisky - the latter with only a glass full missing of its bottle.

All was silent, even though there were no fewer than eight in the low-ceilinged room. Only three were awake: a cat, a dwarf owl and a pink pygmy puff, anxiously awaiting the awakening of their masters, who were fast asleep on the sofas and armchairs.

Harry and Ginny were sleeping on the large sofa, with their arms around each other, Harry's feet half hanging to the floor, his sock-clad heel inches from the butterbeer puddle. Ginny's head was resting on his chest, her ruby necklace dangling from her blouse, glistening in the rising sun. Above them, on the pretentious chandelier, a crimson-feathered phoenix perched, head tucked under its wing in peaceful stillness.

Hermione was resting in an armchair; Ron was sitting on the floor in front of her, his back against her leg, his mouth agape, snoring loudly. Crookshanks, who was getting tired of the monotonous snoring, pushed Ron's hand restlessly with his paw, but the boy only reacted to this with an even louder snore.

The cat was sitting on top of a pile of newspapers, but when he saw that he was getting nowhere by waking the snoring boy, he growled and angrily crept away, drifting the whole pile with him. On the front page of the Daily Prophet, which slid off the top of the pile, was a bold title: Nurmengard back in its former glory.

The former prison town of Nurmengard, which has undergone a lengthy renovation, reopened its doors yesterday. As we reported earlier, the earthquake that hit the island two months ago caused severe damage to several buildings, estimated at nearly a million galleons, and the ICW's general council has entrusted the restoration of the buildings to an unknown private contractor.
Following a decision taken at the May Summit of the ICW, Nurmengard has been designated as the permanent headquarters of the Federal Council of Magic, the International Court of Magic, the International Quidditch League, the Global Oversight Committee for Wizarding Schools and the United Goblin Banking group.
However, the relocation was not unanimously welcomed. The leaders of the United Goblin Banking group (UGB), president Riled Ragnok and director of economies Ugly Urduk, expressed their dislike for Nurmengard, saying the city had been the sad site of the imprisonment, torture and execution of many goblins under the rule of the anti-beings Gellert Grindelwald.
They also expressed concern about the radical changes made in recent months to the ICW, which includes the relations with magical beings, but so far, spokespersons of the ICW have not responded to the goblins' concerns. "If the ICW does not overhaul its new measures, especially the scandalous Universal Doctrine, the UGB will respond by freezing the vaults of the wizard families!" - Ugly Urduk threatened, and then spat at the feet of journalists to underline his words.
Arthur Weasley, the British Minister for Magic, also opposed the move of the ICW's headquarters to Nurmengard, but he reacted to the situation with humour instead of spitting: "Nurmengard should never have been reopened. It's like turning the Chamber of Secrets into a classroom at Hogwarts for practical reasons," the minister joked to the press.

Beneath it lay an older newspaper, on which, according to the large circular trace, a coffee mug had been sitting for some time. Moving to the left of the article under the coffee stain was a photograph of the tallest tower at Hogwarts, with a smaller picture of the headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, in a ring of journalists next to it.

Students steal ancient school relic

Principal Minerva McGonagall, who was reinstated after a long illness, was immediately confronted with a serious problem following the scandal of the famous school relic, the Sorting Hat, which disappeared in mid-June. The magical hat - once the headgear of one of the founders, Godric Gryffindor - disappeared from the headmaster's office in Hogwarts on the morning of the 16th. The School Board and the Hogwarts faculty launched an extensive investigation of the school's staff and students.
"What happened is outrageous and scandalous, and we will do everything we can to bring those responsible to justice so that they are punished appropriately," said John Eakle, Gryffindor's head teacher, in an interview with our newspaper.
"It was a commonplace student prank, which happens daily within these walls," said another head teacher, Horace Slughorn, somewhat more leniently.
The investigation is still ongoing, but a spokesperson for the Inspectorate said that the theft is currently suspected to have been committed by two second-year students from the Gryffindor House.

Crookshanks settled back on top of the newspapers and tried again to wake Ron, hissing angrily at the snoring boy.

Suddenly a shadow blocked the light from the window, and the next moment the front door creaked open. Pigwidgeon hooted and twittered excitedly in his cage, and Crookshanks, frightened, ducked under the wardrobe, but then, sensing that the newcomers had come with no ill intent, he immediately ventured forth to rub himself in a friendly manner against the feet of Arthur Weasley, who just entered.

The wizard shook his head and looked at the group, then gave way to his wife. Mrs Weasley gaped at the undeniable signs of a racket, then exchanged a meaningful look with her husband.

'They were just having a good time, Molly...' said Mr Weasley indulgently.

But the woman stumbled into the living room, took a deep breath as if preparing for a swim, and began to clap her hands loudly.

'One, two, three! Get up!' she shouted, as the sleeping foursome began to stir and moan as they woke up. 'Wake up! What's all this laziness, tell me?'

Harry woke up from a dreamless sleep, and for a few minutes he had no idea what was going on around him. His head was pounding, his temples throbbed with pain, and he felt terribly weak. This was nothing new to him these days, but this morning the weakness was even more depressing than usual - at the moment even just moving his head took a tremendous effort.

'Mummy...' yawned Ginny, slowly getting up. 'It's still early...'

Harry rubbed his eyes, and Hermione stretched her legs; immediately, Crookshanks settled down on her lap, delighted that his master was finally awake. Ron slowly slumped down, face down on the pile of newspaper as Hermione's legs supporting his back had disappeared from behind him, but he was still snoring, his breath making the corner of an issue of the Daily Prophet to waft.

'Still early? Hah!' laughed Mrs Weasley, but even her laughter was as stern as a drill sergeant's. 'Do you even know what time it is? It's nearly noon and you're all just wallowing around.'

Neither Harry nor the two girls had anything to say, but Ron continued to snore insistently.

'Ronald! Wake up...' moaned Hermione.

Ron just snorted, then Harry threw a pillow at him.

'Wha... huh... whassp?' he muttered, barely intelligible.

'Mum and Dad are here,' Ginny said, but she was already on her feet to hug her parents.

The four of them greeted the Weasley parents, even Pigwidgeon started to coo happily, while Kinkaku woke up and looked at the guests with dignified curiosity, then set to work managing her feathers like a comfortable lady.

'What were you doing here last night, may I ask?' Mrs Weasley looked at them with her hands on her hips, after they were done with the welcoming embraces.

'Oh, Molly, leave them, it's only...'

'Leave them, huh?' Mrs Weasley shrieked, but Harry sensed that there was more momentary reproach in her voice than genuine anger. 'The whole world's upside down out there, and you're out here getting drunk!'

The four good friends looked at each other, then Ginny voiced all of their opinions:

'I thought you strictly forbade us to get involved in any world-changing action.'

'That's right, yes,' her mother said. 'But this is still excessive...!'

She waved her two arms at the mess in the living room, the scattered newspapers and the empty, overturned bottles.

'By Merlin's beard, how much did you drink?!' the woman moaned.

Harry and Ron just scratched their heads in embarrassment, and Hermione's face turned a little red, but Ginny replied with an unflinching expression:

'We don't remember. But we must have drunk a hell of a lot if the entire night is missing. Didn't we?' she looked back bravely at the three others, but they quietly kept to the background, trying to keep a sufficiently sincere, contrite face.

Really, how much did they drink last night? - Harry thought. He remembered practically nothing of the night, just big laughs, toasts and the music from the Wizarding Wireless Network's radio station playing non-stop. The mead and the butterbeer were consumed, and then Ron opened the bottle of whisky, of which he was the only one to have a glass.

They wanted to have a good time yesterday, to forget a bit, but considering the consequences - especially the headache, and he only had to look shortly at Ron to see that he wasn't feeling too lively either - maybe it wasn't such a good idea to drink that much. Mrs Weasley's anger quickly evaporated, and the four good friends soon found them hugging her for the second time.

'How are you feeling, Harry darling?' she asked him when it was his turn.

She held his face in the palm of her hand with a sad smile, as if examining it, as she used to do when, after a long summer holiday, she would lament how much weight he had lost at the Dursleys'.

'I'm fine, Mrs Weasley,' Harry said with a faint smile on his face, but he knew very well that as the full moon approached, there was nothing he could do to hide his increasingly pale and sickly appearance - not to mention the constant weakness, the shaking of his hands, or the sight of the circles below his eyes.

'Why not try talking to a healer? Maybe they could help you at St. Mungo's...'

'I'm in good hands with Hermione, Mrs Weasley!' he said with feigned nonchalant ease. 'She's equal to a hundred healers, and at least as strict as a pack of nurses.'

They both laughed, but both Harry and she knew that they were only trying to cover up their growing problems, to trivialize them, yet Harry felt that he could only cope with what had happened if he mentally "underestimated" its significance and ignored it whenever possible.

Mrs Weasley took the hint and stopped questioning his state of health, instead she immediately set about to tidy up with a few sweeps of her wand and unpacked the soup and casserole she had brought with her.

'Mum, you shouldn't keep cooking for us,' Ginny tried to calm her mother down. 'We can take care of ourselves.'

'That may be, Ginny dear, but home cooked is home cooked,' Mrs Weasley grumbled cheerfully, forgetting her annoyance at the evening's drinking, and she had already tied her apron and the two pots and pans were flying to the stove to warm up.

Harry could smell the roasting stew from far away, and he frowned slightly. He had always thought Mrs Weasley's cooking the most delicious and enjoyable in the world, but now he felt he would prefer a rare steak, or even better, a bloody sirloin.

'I have some free time before I have to go back to the office,' Mr Weasley explained, wiping his glasses on the sleeve of his robe and settling into the armchair where Hermione had been sleeping. 'So Molly and I thought we'd pay you a little visit...'

'And we have a nice lunch together, just like the good old days!' his wife added, hustling in front of the stove. 'It'll be great, won't it?'

'Great...' muttered Ron, not too enthusiastically, but Ginny and Hermione's smiles countered the dry comment.

'We're very happy, Mrs Weasley,' Hermione said heartily, 'and thank you very much for a delicious lunch.'

'Oh, it's nothing, dear!'

'She's been like this since we got back from Nurmen,' Ron explained in a muffled voice to Harry, so that only he could hear. The two of them moved a little further away, standing at the other end of the living room, especially as the smell of burning food began to prick Harry's nose.

'What are you talking about?' he asked Ron, wrinkling his nose.

'About this doomsday mood!' Ron whispered. 'Let's spend as much time together as possible, have lunch together, laugh together, enjoy life while we can... Seriously, it's like every moment she expects one of us to be killed!'

Harry looked at his friend, blinking, and had to hold his nose, because he felt the stew heating on the stove was burning - although he knew in his mind that he was suffering from the same over-sensitive sense of smell and raw meat worship that Bill had told him about a few times when they had stayed at their house.

'You shouldn't be surprised,' he shrugged at Ron's words, 'After all, she watched our funeral...'

A strange grimace crossed Ron's face, which might have even seemed understanding, but Harry knew him well. After his imprisonment in Nurmengard, his friend had developed a kind of sick love of freedom that would not tolerate things like an unexpected visit from a parent.

'You two can tidy up while you're not doing anything!' Mrs Weasley called to them from the kitchen, and Ron dropped his arms in resignation.

Harry understood this love of freedom perfectly. There were two reasons why they had moved from the Shell Cottage to the Dumbledore Tower - as Hermione had named the place. One was that the Shell Cottage, built for a small family, was cramped for so many people, and Aberforth was happy to give them his house while he worked on reopening the Strangled Cat as the new co-owner. The other reason was the portrait of the late Professor Dumbledore, from whom Harry had hoped for no little help, but had not yet had the opportunity for a lengthy conversation. The broken Pensieve, rescued from the ruined Burrow, rested, after a second repair, at the bottom of his cupboard, with the bag of memory-phials beside it.

Lunch was spent indeed in a homely atmosphere, reminding Harry of the days when, in the summer before his sixth year, it was just the four of them, along with the Weasley parents (and occasionally Bill and Fleur), at the dining room table.

'How's the new Burrow coming along, Dad?' Ginny asked after she had passed the others some soup.

'It's finished actually, your mother and I are moving in tomorrow, but... I don't know. It's more of a palace than a burrow. It doesn't suit us at all,' said Mr Weasley, with a look of not very great enthusiasm on his face.

'Stop talking nonsense!' his wife said, as she slurped the soup. 'As a Minister for Magic...'

'As Minister for Magic, I could live where I feel comfortable. But the only such place has been destroyed...' Mr Weasley sighed sadly, and his wife stroked his arm sympathetically.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny glanced warily at each other over their plates. None of them wished to interfere in this conversation.

'Everything is changing... I'd like to sell it all to some wealthy wizard and buy this house instead,' Mr Weasley looked around the living room, munching a piece of bread. 'We could make it quite homely with a little alteration, don't you think, children?'

The four good friends hummed a few hums in agreement.

In some details, Dumbledore's house, if not in its scrappy appearance, did resemble the old Burrow. The Tower had the same eight floors, the topmost, the attic with a glazed dome housing a large observatory telescope. The ceiling of the living room had thick support beams and a creaking spiral staircase led up to the upper floors. In other respects, however, it was less reminiscent of the Weasley House; the walls of the Tower were covered on the inside with mahogany lacquered panelling and matching ornate furniture, and on the wall opposite the dining table was the Dumbledore family crest, the slender shape of a tower surrounded by stars.

'Aberforth would sell it, I'm sure, if he had a buyer,' said Mrs. Weasley, with a shrug of the shoulders. 'He's hardly here, and spends all his time in that boozer. Silly old man,' the witch snarled. 'He could have spent all the galleons he got from the insurance for the Hog's Head on more reasonable things...'

'What's wrong with him buying a new pub, Mum?' Ginny shook her head.

'It's not a pub, my girl, it's a den of iniquity. And I'd hate to see you go there again! You'll end up running into that Mario, or whatever his name is...'

Ron cleared his throat quietly and quickly changed the subject.

'Tell me instead, Dad, have you started spreading the word about the Nurmengard role swap?'

Mrs Weasley tried to silence him with a stern look, but it was too late. Harry smiled to himself; there was nothing she hated more than to talk of such distressing things while eating.

'You know we have to plan that very carefully Ron,' Mr Weasley pointed his spoon warningly, 'You can't just start leaking the news from all sorts of official sources, because it would create such an international scandal that our word would lose all credibility. There outnumber us, remember that!'

'Yes, but there are other ways than the official ones...' Hermione noted cautiously, then quickly began to spoon her soup.

'Can't we talk about something else while we eat?' Mrs Weasley asked angrily.

Harry had long since put down his spoon, and was keeping a watchful eye on the wizard at the end of the table, who this time was pretending to be deaf, much to his wife's annoyance.

'Well, I have an idea...' said Mr Weasley cautiously, 'but it would require the help of Hagrid and Aberforth. They've been looking abroad for supporters for the Order of the Phoenix, they have contacts and they're reliable, but...'

Mr Weasley went silent.

'But what, Dad?' Ron urged.

The man squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, as if embarrassed.

'How do I tell them to leave their lives and go away for months, maybe even for years?! As Minister for Magic, I can give orders to Aurors and officials, but I can't give order to my friends...'

'Dumbledore did.'

Suddenly, everyone looked at Harry, who quickly regretted his slip of the tongue. He could feel he had said this with a cold tone and almost reproachfully at Mr Weasley.

'I mean... I meant that he asked Hagrid to go to... you know, to the giants,' he explained with a reddened face after a throat clearing.

Yes, Dumbledore was not deterred from taking on the role of leader by his own doubts. He was confident and determined, a born leader - Harry vividly remembered how, after the old headmaster's death, the Order of the Phoenix had been in disarray and within less than two months the whole society had been scattered and in hiding from Voldemort's minions. No one dared to take the role of Dumbledore.

Mr Weasley, much to the surprise of the four, was even more embarrassed by what Harry had said, and just muttered quietly to his plate:

'I am not Dumbledore. I can't ask people to do that.'

Ron was about to speak, but Mrs Weasley had had enough.

'Leave it to your father, don't worry about such things!' she said in an uncompromising tone, and then she made the bowl of stew levitate on the place of the soup bowl with the help of her wand.

Neither Harry nor Ron asked any more questions, and Mrs Weasley was perhaps beginning to feel reassured that the second course might make the conversation at the table more pleasant, when Hermione spoke:

'Have you found the Sorting Hat yet, Mr Weasley?' she asked as she helped herself to a good portion of the steaming meal.

Harry tried to breathe only through his mouth, but even so he was hurting by the burnt smell that everyone but him found delicious.

'Not yet, and they've searched the whole castle, Hagrid's even turned the Forbidden Forest upside down, but nothing,' Mr Weasley shook his head. 'Professor McGonagall is beside herself with rage - I don't think she's given you four as much punishment in seven years as she'll be giving those two Gryffindors.'

'It's just unbelievable... Nothing is sacred to these little snot-nosed kids anymore?' Ron grumbled, jabbing his fork into the food as hard as if he was imagining lots of little mischievous students in its place.

'Well, yes...' sighed Ginny theatrically, 'back in our days, we were only releasing thousand-year-old curses and escaping convicted criminals. What's that compared to this?'

At this they all laughed, even Mrs Weasley couldn't hold back her giggles. Harry couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so hard. At the sound of a great guffaw, Pigwidgeon started his own show, and joined in the laughter with loud chittering, which was met with a reproachful glint of Crookshank's eyes.

'There was something else strange yesterday,' said Mr Weasley, who was beginning to settle into the conversation. 'Imagine, they broke into the Diggory's house and robbed them while they were sleeping.'

The foursome looked up at this, and Mrs Weasley sighed resignedly, giving up for good on a peaceful lunch.

'Oh my, are they okay?' Hermione asked worriedly.

'Of course, they're fine,' Mr Weasley said, 'Mimosa woke up, but all she could see were the fleeing burglars and the messed-up living room. She immediately called the Aurors - you can imagine she was frightened after what happened to Ciaran.'

Ron groaned disdainfully at the name of the boy who had caused him so much trouble.

'What happened to that little rat was all his fault.'

'Ron!' his mother and Hermione snapped at the same time. They both looked at him with flashing eyes, but he stood his ground.

'What? He took it upon himself, and without saying a word to anyone, he became a dark sorcerer. He didn't ask for our help... If you ask me, we'd have done better to leave him with his gang of the Nameless.'

Harry didn't much like the difficult natured boy who looked so remarkably like Cedric Diggory either, but after Kingsley was caught and locked up, Ciaran finally calmed down and thanked Harry for all he had done for him. He hasn't seen him since, spending all his time with his aunt and uncle, trying to make up for the lost year, but at the beginning of the summer the boy sent Harry an owl, proudly announcing that he would finally be a student at Hogwarts in September and that he had every desire to be a Gryffindor.

Mr Weasley sighed heavily.

'The poor boy was devastated to discover that his mother's necklace had been taken. It was his only memory of her...'

Ron mumbled something about "breaks my heart", but no one listened to him anymore.

'Are there any suspects?' asked Hermione. Mr Weasley made a grimace.

'Well... Mimosa swears that one of them was a man with bandy legs who smelled of tobacco...'

'MUNDUNGUS!' said Harry, Ron and Ginny at the same time.

'... but there's no evidence of that yet,' Mr Weasley finished in a slightly more upbeat tone, then added thoughtfully, 'Besides, Dedalus Diggle has been spreading the word far and wide that Dung got back on the right track after the war ended. They say he's become a travelling salesman, peddling cauldrons.'

Ginny hissed like an angry cat.

'Come on, Dad! You can't be serious! Peddling cauldrons - maybe more like stolen cauldrons! Mundungus has even stolen from his comrades, robbed Harry, left you in a mess to save his own skin. Give me one reason why he would suddenly have improved?'

'A leopard can't change its spots,' said Ron wisely with his mouth full.

Mr Weasley himself made a face as if he didn't necessarily believe his own words, but shrugged his shoulders and took a swig of pumpkin juice.

'Whether Mundungus is on the right track,' he said, after putting down his glass, 'or not, an experienced man from Auror Command is already dealing with this, so don't worry, they'll soon have the matter wrapped up...'

Harry noticed the little twitch that crossed the wizard's face when he mentioned the experienced man.

'Who got the case, Mr Weasley?' he asked him suddenly.

The wizard rolled his eyes and sighed wearily. It crossed Harry's mind that no one could hide or lie worse than Mr Weasley, perhaps not even he.

'John Dawlish,' the man finally blurted out reluctantly.

Ron stifled a burst of laughter but Hermione elbowed him between the ribs in warning.

'Then they can forget about it...'

'I don't understand your obsessive dislike of Dawlish!' Mr Weasley shook his head. 'He may not be the most skillful duelist, but he is an excellent detective.'

His words fell on deaf ears and grimacing faces, Hermione was the only one who tried to smile and nod her head in agreement, but Mr Weasley was not fooled.

'One would think you and John would have developed some camaraderie after what you went through together in Nurmengard.' The wizard shuddered visibly thinking about it. 'That business with Umbridge was a long time ago, you really shouldn't hold a grudge against Dawlish...'

Ron swallowed the last bite loudly, then cut in:

'I want to go back to the ministry,' he said. 'I want to help.'

Mr and Mrs Weasley lifted their heads and stared at their son.

'And me too,' said Hermione, 'I've got house-elves waiting for me. I don't know who's taken my place in the office, but he's doing a terrible job: just yesterday I read that not a single elf with a dress has been hired anywhere in the last year!'

Ginny stared at the chattering Hermione until she noticed and looked back at her.

'The fact is, no one has been hired to replace you,' Ginny informed her of the truth.

Hermione covered her mouth at first, then as she looked at Mr Weasley's remorseful face, she put her hands in her arms in anger and fell into stubborn silence.

Ron cleared his throat.

'Let me go back,' he continued resolutely, 'I'll take any case, even Diggory's... Just take me back to headquarters!'

Mr Weasley was not happy about this, and his wife even less so.

'Kids, we've been through this, you know you have to hide because...'

'The Nameless is not looking for me!' Ron cut her off bravely. 'He wants Harry, he's got the wand! And besides... You're in much more danger, because right now he wants the Ministry even more than he wants that thing - don't you agree, Harry?' he glared at his friend with one eye.

Harry by now has fought down the burnt-smelly meat with rice and nodded his head in response.

'Yes. Indeed he is right, Mr Weasley.'

But the man shook his head, much to Ron's annoyance.

'You still don't have to come back, we're not short of people...'

'Interestingly, before we got to Nurmengard, there were hardly any Aurors!' Ron interrupted his father again. 'Did so many people complete the three-year course in one year? You must have lots of natural talent then - I don't know why you haven't got the Nameless yet!'

'Hold your tongue, young man,' his mother told him sternly.

Ron was a little embarrassed, and mumbled an "apology" under his breath, but then looked deeply into Mr Weasley's eyes across the table:

'You need everyone, Dad. Especially us...'

'Yes,' Hermione added, 'Especially after the last incident.'

It was only a month ago that it was finally proven that the Nameless had not given up on the London ministry, despite the unexpected death of Kingsley Shacklebolt. On the Monday night that Mr Weasley, as the newly appointed Minister for Magic, paid his respects to the Muggle Prime Minister, he was nearly assassinated. The Muggle statesman attempted to stab him with a sharpened letter-cutting knife as they greeted each other with a polite handshake. Fortunately, Mr Weasley was alerted to the man's weapon by a painting on the Prime Minister's wall and managed to dodge the stabbing and cast a quick stunning spell on his nominal superior.

Unfortunately, the Muggle bodyguards waiting outside the door burst into the room at the sound of the scuffle, and Mr Weasley had a hard time neutralising the fierce men in uniforms, armed with firearms, but the Aurors who came at the alert of the portrait only had to clear away the ruins and evidence. The Muggle Prime Minister was currently a resident of St. Mungo's, and the Daily Prophet was constantly reporting on his condition - healers said it could be weeks before the Imperius-affected politician regained his sanity and stopped trying to kill everyone around him.

Ginny and the others were very frightened when Mr Weasley told them what had happened, and they decided that they could no longer sit around doing nothing. Last night they discussed a plan to go back to work at the Ministry, despite Mrs Weasley's instructions. The shortage of Aurors since the Battle of Hogwarts was still causing serious problems for the Ministry, but that was not the real aim of the four good friends: they knew that the Faceless would soon try to infiltrate the Ministry, and it was only a matter of time.

'Ron and I could keep an eye on them,' Hermione said the night before. 'We could spot if the Faceless were trying anything and protect Mr Weasley.'

'Dad has bodyguards,' Ginny opened her arms, 'trained Aurors, a whole select group. What can you two do that they can't?'

Hermione, however, shook her head firmly.

'The Faceless may infiltrate the bodyguards as well, just like they did with the other ministries of magic. But we know what to look out for, and we've got Crookshanks!'

The cat meowed at the sound of his name, and Hermione smiled and patted the animal. Harry remembered how cleverly the animal had spotted the disguised Selwyn siblings, and thanks to its fantastic abilities, had found both Ron and Hermione in Nurmengard.

'I didn't know you could bring a pet into the ministry,' Ron wondered. Hermione gave him a downcast look.

'In case you didn't know, I work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!'

'Oh, yeah...'

So, after Mr and Mrs Weasley left (Mrs Weasley was still at the door persuading her son and Hermione not to go back to the Ministry, and giving them twenty or so pieces of hastily given advice) Ron and Hermione spent the afternoon preparing to go back to work after more than a year of being away. Harry wondered whether any wizard or witch had ever taken such a long holiday since the office had been in existence.

As he watched his two friends getting out their work clothes, packing their bags, making themselves sandwiches, he suddenly felt a certain longing to join them. In the next moment it was he himself who was most surprised about this, for he had breathed a sigh of relief when he had been kicked out of Auror Command after having had a row with Mr Weasley's predecessor, Kingsley Shacklebolt, over and over again. But there was nothing to be done; auror work was not for him. He could obey only one man in his life, and even him he was always defying. He had defied and protested against Dumbledore's orders time and again, but he had learned to listen. But there is no one else in the world like Albus Dumbledore...

'Ronald Weasley, you're not really going to work wear that, are you?!' Hermione snapped when she noticed the Muggle jeans Ron had prepared for himself.

'What's wrong with it?' Ron said defiantly as he buttered sandwiches in the kitchen. 'Last time I wore it you liked it. You said you loved the way it stretched...'

'Yeah, yeah, don't go on!' Hermione smiled resignedly. Then she muttered, 'They'll be delighted when it bursts from your bottom...'

Ginny looked at Harry and giggled.

Maybe there are people he'd listen to any day, Harry thought. It was enough to look at his friends these days, after he'd breathed a sigh of relief that they were all together again, safe and sound, and he knew everything would be all right. Ginny's smile and kisses could make any bad mood go away, Hermione's words were a support and a solution to the greatest need, and Ron's eternal childish grin always brought a smile to his face. They stuck by him even as the werewolf disease grew stronger and stronger...

'What are you thinking about?'

Ginny's voice pulled him back to reality, as it did so many times when he was lost in thought.

'Only what awaits me tonight...' replied Harry, and Ginny sighed sadly and pulled him into a tight hug.

'I feel like going mad just thinking about you alone in that damp cellar,' she whispered in his ear. 'I wish I could be there with you now...'

Harry hummed and pressed a kiss to her neck.

One month has passed since his first transformation, two since he was infected by Ludo Bagman's bite in Nurmengard. Then he had sealed the werewolf curse in his arm with a quick sealing spell he had read in Snape's Potions book, but on the night of the first transformation he found that the weak little spell was too little to repel the beast. The seal crumbled from him as if it had never been there, he could almost see the curse erupt from the wound and take possession of his body through his veins, and then... nothing. After that, he remembered nothing, the night was a perfect blind spot for him. Anything could have happened, anyone could have been attacked, but there was no way he could break out of the cellar of the Dumbledore House – although he tried, he was sure of it. The bruises on his arms and chest suggested that he had been frantically trying to break through the door, but Ron, Hermione and Ginny's protective charms had sealed it tight.

When they opened the door for him the next morning, he was lying naked on a sack of potatoes. That first night had taught him, among other things, not to wait for the full moon in clothes he'd want to wear any other night, so as the evening approached and the four of them had dinner, Harry changed into a torn T-shirt and a pair of jeans with patched knees, also in a sorry state.

'Very good... very cool,' Ginny told him as she looked at his battered appearance.

'You look like a rock singer,' Ron countered, 'All you need is long hair and a bunch of crazy girl fans...'

'He doesn't need any of that!' Ginny snapped playfully, and they all laughed.

Harry smiled as he looked over his friends. They did their best to make his situation easier and help him. He also remembered very well that all three of them had studied to become an animagus persistently, had not given up, and Ron had even managed a partial transformation the last time, proudly proclaiming to everyone that his animagus form was a cunning fox, though for now it was only visible on his hands that had turned into red-furred paws. Oddly enough, Hermione had the hardest time with it - Ginny had already managed to conjure a few bird feathers in her hair, which only encouraged her to practice even more obsessively.

They wanted to be there for him, to take care of him, to facilitate the hours of transformation, and Hermione helped him with other things as well. Neither of them had given up on finding a cure for the curse, and in a twist of fate, Hermione was now studying the very book she had despised and hated only a few years before: the Potions book of Snape was the foundation of their experiments, a significantly modified version of the Wolfsbane Potion, and a supplement to the sealing charm the Prince had invented, with other spells.

They spent hours leaning over the cauldron with Hermione, trying to find the most effective method, but whether they succeeded was something they would only know when the full moon came.

And the evening was fast approaching, and Harry glanced at his watch he got from Mrs Weasley almost every minute, waiting ever more anxiously for half past ten. Hermione had found an accurate astronomical calendar in the Dumbledore's observatory, and from it they learned exactly when the moon rose on each day of the year, as well as when it became a full moon.

Nine-thirty came, and Harry interrupted the game of wizard's chess he and Ginny were playing to try to distract them, but their attempts failed miserably: they had been playing for an hour or so, and only two pawns lay sadly knocked down on the coffee table beside the board.

'Harry...' said Hermione softly, stepping up behind him and placing a hand gently on his shoulder. 'It's time to go downstairs.'

He nodded silently; he could feel the time of the transformation coming - his forehead beaded with sweat, his hands were shaking, and the bite on his arm itched like hell, as if something was about to rip out of him.

Now we'll see how the new potion works, Harry thought. He thought a lot about his situation, and he really believed that a cure for the werewolf disease could be found. Just because no one had ever found one yet, didn't mean it wasn't possible. Of course, it would have been conceited of him to think that he would find the solution, but he trusted Hermione's wits implicitly, and hoped that her knowledge, combined with Snape's infamous potions book and the power of his invincible wand, would eventually bear fruit.

'Hang in there, mate,' Ron patted him on the back and tried an encouraging smile.

Harry smiled back at him. Why does he feel like he's going to the scaffold? He'd endured a hundred times more painful, a thousand times more unpleasant curses, yet now he was overwhelmed with feelings that only made him feel worse.

Of course, deep down, he knew the reason: werewolves are traditionally despised in the wizarding world, are abhorred and ostracised. He remembered that his former teacher and godson's father, Remus Lupin, was only admitted to Hogwarts because Dumbledore hid his illness from everyone, and that he could only be employed likewise as a teacher later. As soon as people found out about Lupin's illness, he resigned, knowing full well that the headmaster's desk would be full of letters from outraged parents the next day. It would be naïve to say that the situation had changed one bit after Voldemort's downfall, but Harry had no idea how people would react to him if they were to discover that he was one of the werewolves they despised. Would his popularity be enough to stop him being greeted with disgust everywhere?

Hermione pressed a vial into his hand, which had been left over from last night when they had brewed the new potion.

'Drink this,' she said quietly.

Harry smiled gratefully at her, then pulled the cork out of the smoking vial and drank it all in one go. The potion burned his throat as if it were another poison, but after a few throat clears, it was all he remembered. 'Lupin was right,' thought Harry. 'It really tastes disgusting...'

Hermione hugged him and Ginny walked with him, holding his hand, down the stairs to the cellar, where they were greeted by cool, damp stones, and at the bottom of the short spiral staircase was a small round room with two doors opening. One led to the wine cellar, Harry knew from experience, for with Aberforth's permission he and Ron had already explored the bottles stored there. Ginny opened the other door, which was a new one with iron hinges, reinforced with magic, and chains hanging from it. The sight of it gave Harry an anxious feeling, but the impatient tingling in his arm reminded him that he could wait no longer.

But before he could enter the almost empty basement, Ginny squeezed his hand, pulled him towards her and kissed him fiercely. Everything was in that kiss; her love, her fear, her sorrow...

When they parted, they looked at each other for a few long moments. Harry tried to take in the sight of Ginny's face, her brown eyes, the curve of her cherry-red lips, her flame-red hair, which was now so long again that it was almost down to her waist...

'I wish I could be there with you,' she whispered again, but Harry shushed her gently.

'You will be there... All the time in my thoughts.'

Harry released her hand and went into the chamber. He didn't want to drag out the goodbyes any longer, to make it even harder. Ginny stopped looking at him; she shut the door and locked it. Harry could hear the usual locking charms as Ginny whispered them, buzzing around the only exit to the room.

There was not even a window in the cellar, and Harry was greeted by pitch blackness. Since he couldn't take his wand with him - he might have broken it during his unconsciousness - he brought down Ron's Deluminator. Now he pulled the small metal object from his back pocket and clicked it, and the cellar was flooded with light. Floating, glittering orbs circled near the ceiling, and Harry was involuntarily reminded of the dungeon of the Malfoy Manor. It was chilly, he hugged himself, rubbing his arms to warm himself up a little, but it didn't help much. The first time he remembered the transformation well, it had all started with a real chill. It was a side effect of the Wolfsbane potion as it fought the curse spreading through his system.

He sat down on the cold stone floor, threw his back against a decayed crate and waited. He knew it was going to start suddenly, in an instant, and there was nothing he could do about it. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he struggled to keep his consciousness, sooner or later he would lose out.

'It's going to be a long night...' Harry muttered to himself, but the next moment he yelped loudly and grabbed his arm.

The pain struck him like a lightning bolt, like a sharp whip, and almost knocked him out instantly. He turned on his side, sprawled on the stone. At first he shivered from the cold, then suddenly it was all reversed, and he was tormented by a searing heat. His forehead was clammy, his whole body trembled, and again he felt the poison leaking from the scar on his right forearm.

It was much worse than last time. The curse seemed to freeze and boil over in his veins by the second, and he gripped and squeezed his own arm, screaming in pain, but it was no use, it was only getting more agonizing.

'What the hell is this...?' gasped Harry, his vision blurred with pain, but he couldn't hear his own words; a thunderous sound filled his ears, as if he were standing under a waterfall.

Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by some inexplicable energy, and he tried to get up, although he did not know why. He pushed himself up, and then his arms suddenly ran out of strength, and he fell back to the ground, rolled over on his back, and the pain came again.

His glasses had fallen off, so that he could see only dimly; his hands were covered with the thick black hair that had been his last memory before the complete transformation. His fingernails had turned to black claws, his fingers elongated, and he was beginning to look more like a monster than a human being.

But he was conscious. He still knew his name, he knew why he was there, and he knew he couldn't leave this room. Still, the hunger was so tormenting that even the starvation he had experienced during his captivity in Nurmengard was nothing compared to it.

'Help... help...' he wanted to say, but instead of words, an animalistic growl erupted from his mouth.

The transformation was complete.

Then suddenly everything else around him changed. Suddenly the world lost its colours, turning greyish black and white, yet the objects in the room, the shape of the door, or the crack in the paving, were as sharply defined as if seen through a microscope. He could see the smallest detail, the ants marching on the floor, every tiny movement of a spider weaving a web, or the bumps and grooves in the iron door, smaller than a millimetre.

His nose was filled with smells and scents he had never known before, the smell of the grass on the surrounding hills, the rich smell of the earth, the pungent stench of the potatoes rotting in the corner and the onions piled in a crate, the damp, moist evaporation of stone, and something else...

A familiar-unknown scent straight from the door. Like spring flowers in the swaying wind, a single whiff of it brought a shower of memories from the depths of Harry's mind, now so eager to be crushed by an evil, bloodthirsty force.

He crept to the door and pressed himself against it, running his clawed hand over its creaking surface, and as he did so he heard the crying from the other side. He knew who was there, who was sitting alone at the door, and his desire to comfort her, to ease her grief, was stronger than the hunger.

'Ginny... I'm here, Ginny... It's gonna be okay...'

Again, the sound was a mixture of growl and bark, not even remotely resembling human speech, but Harry wouldn't give up - he couldn't, because he felt that it was the only thing that made him feel human, that the monster hadn't yet managed to overcome him.

'Ginny!' he tried to continue, but he heard no answer, only the bitter crying that almost broke his heart...