Disclaimer: See Chapter I, but to reiterate I'm not getting anything out of this but playing out the scenario of how things could have turned out in Bk. V had the maturity level been ratcheted up.

First, I would like to apologize to all the readers about the lack of a reliable update. The combination of busy school, improving my rather mediocre grades from last year, and my dog of a computer finally dying caused this latest delay which is a new record for me.

Second, having said that I also had to tone down Chapter 10 (the Alice/Harry section of this work). My reason for that was that I got a review that said I might want to set up this piece on the adult version of the ff site. Considering how some of the more racy fics that I once read are no longer here (the one involving Mad-Eye Moody and Mrs. Weasley, which was funny as hell I might add, as well as one of the better 'R' X-files fics come to mind immediately), I had to consider the possibility and play it safe. Put bluntly, I pretty much had to lobotomize my characterization of Alice, Harry's squib friend and intimate, putting in place a watered down version of what happened between the two of them that caused Harry to grow fond of her. It's a damn shame, but I would rather have a slightly tarnished, imperfect fic then no fic at all.

On a good note, I don't think I lost anything quality wise. Which brings me up to a point I've been thinking of based on a review I had recently. It was a complaint that the quality had degraded somewhat. I've been afraid of that, and my only excuse is that A) these next chapters will be rewrites of cannon based on variables I put in, and B) I can only hope to improve in the sequel, which is empty ground. Anyhow, again I'm sorry and hope you enjoy the culmination of weeks, no months, of writer's block, scribbling in my spare time, and hopefully juggling the fine line between a re-write and outright plagiarism. Only two more chaps to go, and then the sequel.

Writer's resource: (close the spaces to use) time and for calendars and moon cycles. Good stuff.

Chapter XXXVIII: The Ministry of Magic

Flying at an altitude of about a thousand feet, Harry was glad that there was a new moon. Without the moonlight, and sticking to the clouds, nobody on the ground could spot them. Or so he hoped…Harry also hoped that the carriage and the thestrals had the magical equivalent of stealth technology, as the last thing he wanted was RAF Fighter Command to spot their unidentified self on radar, and send a friendly flight of Phantoms or Tornado interceptors to greet him with a couple of Sidewinder missiles.

The only thing he hadn't had to worry about was navigation, as the Thestral team seemed to know where he wanted them to take him. Using a compass he had tied to his belt kit, Harry knew they were on a southern heading, and that judging by the view of the land, they were approaching London. Also judging by the speed they were going, he figured it would take them about an hour to reach the Ministry.

Holding on to the reins, Harry continuously checked his compass, to make sure the carriage didn't suddenly start flying in a circle. Ginny helped him by holding the red-light torch (flashlight with a red filter), and by helping him crosscheck their position with the maps that Doc had thrown in with the rest of the gear. Harry busied himself checking his gear, making sure anything loose was taped down (making mental notes that as soon as he landed he would grab the super-sized roll of green duct tape they had and tape it down), and that the shoelaces tied from the sliding butt of his carbine were tight, but not too tight, around his own arm.

The shoelaces bit was an old Northern Ireland trick Harry and Neville had learned over the summer and the advantages of it versus a sling were numerous. It cut down on noise and was less likely to get caught on vines or other obstacles. Should the guy with the weapon get hit, he could either be dragged in with his weapon at hand, or if they were under fire, then dragged in by the weapon itself. In the muggle world, it made for a fairly good way to ensure that one didn't lose your weapon in the middle of a firefight, running and gunning, not having to worry about looking for it if you accidentally tripped over a corpse or a piece of trash…

Unfortunately, for Harry and those like him, while pistols and wands could be used with simultaneously without being cumbersome, long arms such as carbines and rifles were a whole another story. Since two hands were needed to aim and fire the weapon with some degree of accuracy, Alex and Harry had had to think of a way in which a wizard could use magic and use the killing power of muggle weaponry at the same time, a factor Alex felt was going to play a big role in the new war.

The cold hard truth of the matter was that the magical world's methods of killing were accidental by products (the case of stunners, various pyrotechnical and destruction spells, coming to mind), while the three unforgivables one either had to really enjoy dealing them out, or had to have a lot of practice disguising one's emotions to mimic those feelings of cruel delight. Muggle weaponry, though, were wholly mechanical, no feelings whatsoever to affect the outcome of its use. Sadly, there had only been two options regarding joint usage of magic with firearms bigger then a pistol: 1) hold the rifle or whatever in the hand not being used while using a wand to cast the spells, or 2) wand less magic, and that generally left you feeling as though you had tabbed a double marathon. Unless, of course, you were a shaman from Tibet who had spent thirty years since the age of five studying and practicing wand less magic…

So, the tactics developed were a variation of the classic skirmishing tactics, or the use of fire and maneuver used by just about every competent army in the world. Usually, one man armed with a long-arm was paired with someone who had only a wand and pistol (everyone had a pistol, if only a small, hold-out .38 revolver), and the two would complement the other. In the event the guy with the gun decided to use magic, he would hold the gun by the muzzle with his off hand, and use his wand with the one he wrote with. Since wands were fortunately a one-handed magical device, it was doable, if not perfect.

Harry's musings were jolted as Ginny nudged him and pointed to the ground below. They had been riding with a decent wind to their backs, and the thestrals had made good time. Below them, as the winged horses circled and began to land, was the seedy district near Whitehall, and the alley with its solitary phone booth. Harry took a good long look at the alley and knew that they were going to fit. It also appeared that they were in luck as the trash and garbage that normally littered the alley had been cleaned out. With any luck they could make a smooth landing, and from there proceed with the real work.

Suddenly Harry wished he had real control over his transportation, as he really didn't have any idea what awaited him down there. For all he knew, there could be a full-scale ambush waiting for him. Harry had a pretty good idea that maybe they were trying to get him to show his face, or maybe they had made a hostile take-over bid so sudden and brutal that the organs of government power were helpless to stop. Of course…

Knock it off, asshole; you got a job to do, Harry thought to himself violently. Leaning over, his eyes looking at the woodwork of carriage so he didn't develop a sudden case of vertigo looking at the ground rushing below him, he stuck his head close enough to the open window, and yelled, "Get ready to land." Holding the reigns in his, his carbine pointed down and nestled between his legs, and leaning with his back against the framework of the carriage, Harry prepared himself mentally for the descent. While he didn't think it would be a full, ninety-degree drop, it would be steep as the thestrals took them down hard and fast into the landing zone. It was only slightly worrisome that they didn't really have any safety harnesses or seat belts on, just the handrails to either side of them.

Warmth enveloped and squeezed his hand. He looked down and saw that Ginny had leaned back, her left hand entwined with his while her right was gripping the handrail. Harry followed the hand, and looked into her eyes, eyes that looked back at him with a quality that he had come to cherish from what seemed like ages ago. Always, while he had appreciated the physical highpoints of her, her eyes, and the passion and sheer life that shone from them, was what attracted him to her. Harry smiled, and hoped she could read his feelings. I love you, he thought as he squeezed back gently. Ginny turned her head to the front, and Harry did likewise.

That goddamn CD player of Doc's was blaring 'TNT' by ACDC out at a billion decibels, as the thestrals, ever so slightly, leaned forward and dove. Harry kept his eyes focused, as he really had no choice but to trust in God, and in the training of the thestrals upon him. In his balls, the pit of his stomach, and from his feet working up through his legs, Harry felt the familiar sensation of the g's as they dove towards to the earth. Harry wasn't unnerved by it, as he had played through worse in Quidditch (including falling off his broom on one rather spectacular occasion), indeed he found it almost comforting. Instead of thinking of the landing, he forced himself to think of all that he remembered of the Ministry, the password in, the layout and architecture of the place…Rather, tried to as the thought that had he had kept buried kept resurfacing.

In another universe, one where Alex didn't exist, he would still have gone after Sirius the way he was doing now. Only, he wouldn't start to have second thoughts about the whole thing the way he currently was. Harry wondered if the old, hoary lines of a woman slowing a man down were true. Before Ginny, before he had someone to go back to, Harry knew that deep down in his subconscious, in a place he would never admit to anyone, he had been a lot like his uncle: he was a gambler with not a goddamn thing left to lose. After all, was going home to the Dursley's, to live in a fucking broom closet under the stairs with little food and thread bare cast-offs really a life worth living for? Every time him and Ron and Hermione had put there lives on the line, it had been as much a sense he was gambling big with nothing to lose as it was a sense of doing the right thing that drove him to do what he had done.

In short, he was an adrenaline junkie.

His 'dabbling in the dark arts' (a line Doc had borrowed from his father to describe combat) during the summer had probably only worsened it. The motivation behind goading Malfoy the Elder in a fight in that Soho whorehouse had been as much for the excitement as it had been for defending his friend Alice. All of the training had been an aphrodisiac to him, getting him psyched for that great big orgy of adrenaline called combat…That is until he discovered how great it was finding comfort in the arms of a woman he knew loved him…And how great it was returning that love, how it had felt really good that he had found something else to latch on to in addition to the friendships he had formed, and the way he was treated by people he considered a real family, his family: the Weasleys.

Now, as he faced the prospect of saving the sorry collective asses of a government that couldn't give a flying fuck about him, Harry had to remind himself, lie to himself that saving said asses was merely collateral. What he was really doing was going there to save what little blood relations and family he had left in this world. Besdies, Alex had saved his ass, and it was his turn to bring him out of the cold the way Alex had done for him…

Gently, he disentangled his hand from Ginny's and reached into one of the ammo pouches on his belt kit. Removing a magazine, he put it in the magazine well and slammed it home. Moving his right hand to the charging handle, he pulled it back, and let it slide forward. Finally, he checked the safety, and could hear the sound of Doc and Neville doing likewise. Harry could start to feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising, that feeling he had in the pit of his stomach as the adrenaline and the excitement started to brew. There had been times he had felt nothing, other times when he had dreaded what was coming, other times things had happened so fast he really didn't have any idea what was happening, relying on instinct and training to see him through. Now it seemed to be everything and anything, his heart racing at a million hours an hour, the blood flowing like a flood within his veins.

Harry had a job to do…only this time things had never been so personal…

The thestrals dove, and with a gentle bump the carriage was rolling along the cobblestone streets. Harry watched the thestrals, and could see why the school maintained a herd of them. They had been a swift, relatively comfortable ride. He had no complaints as he gripped his carbine tighter in his hands, and started scanning the surrounding area. Other then trash, one dimly lit street light, the same red phone booth, and a couple of over-flowing dumpsters, Harry couldn't see anything suspicious.

Jumping from the top of the carriage as it slowed to a stop, the doors centered on the phone booth, Harry knelt and examined his surrounding. His rifle at the shoulder, Harry knew that if there were any hostiles nearby they would have lit them up like a Christmas tree as soon as the carriage slowed down, but he wasn't taking any chances. Neither were Neville and Doc, for Harry could hear them hit the ground around him.

"Clear!" That was Doc, followed quickly by Neville as they found that they were the only people in the alley were they themselves. It was confirmed shortly afterwards by Ron, who was using one of the Foe Glasses that Doc had squirreled away in the arms locker with the other kit. Harry got up and went over to Neville, was passing out additional magazines in addition to the three that was in the belt kit, less one each of them was using in their carbines at the moment. He also handed out, divided amongst Katrina, Ron, and Doc, three additional bandoliers of ammunition. Each was basically a belt of olive-drab cotton, divided into compartments that held 120 rounds in cardboard boxes of 20 a piece. Coupled with the nine magazines that they held in their belts, plus the ones they already had in their weapons, the gunmen had about ten magazines and a bandolier apiece, which any infantryman will tell you is a pretty hefty load.

Besides the ammo, Neville was carrying the medical bag. While he privately thought Harry was better at first aid and the medical side of things, truth was Neville had always been able to grasp what was wrong, and how to fix that wrong, in regards to the human body then Harry was. Neville had known what was bothering Creevey earlier: it was just he wanted a second opinion from his best friend, whom he played his personal life fast and life, and quite frankly was a minor miracle wasn't suffering from the same maladies. Plus, Harry had always seemed to have an easier side with the chemistry angle of things.

On the other hand, when it came to the gory business of patching up a human body that reeked of shit and piss and copper (from the blood), Neville had to admit to himself that he was fairly competent at it. Doc Abberline had high standards, and wouldn't have taught things like how to maintain an IV drip and other complicated life saving measures to a half-wit. After the firefight in Wales, it had been Nev and Abberline who had patched the dumb Provo's chest wound and kept him long enough for whatever tortures and interrogation measures the intelligence services had had in store for him. So, Nev carried an additional haversack weighing about ten pounds with additional medical kit, the kit one needed to ensure that a man who had just taken three rounds to his chest, or had both legs blown to stumps of bone, blood, and tissue had a chance at making it back.

There was also a bumper pack of one-shot morphine shots, and the only reason those were there was because Neville knew that the healing powers of the magical world weren't as magical as they appeared to muggles. Neville and Harry had a silent pact that if either of them were so badly fucked up that ending up a magical vegetable was the only road, and then the other would start injecting the other with morphine until an overdose happened. From some of the shit they had seen (including a god-awful picture from 1916 showing a man who had lived with his lower jaw, the whole mandible blown off), not to mention the way Moody looked despite the best efforts of magical medicine, there was no way they were going to live life like that.

In a green haversack slung over Harry's neck was a Claymore anti-personnel mine, the only one in the whole school. Alex had always kept a live one on hand to teach the students how to arm and maintain them with confidence. When Umbridge had shut down the Dueling and Muggle Self-Defense club, Doc had moved quickly to secure the club's gear, and the nine smoke, three fragmentation, three white phosphorous grenades coupled with the Claymore mine was the extant of the demolitions gear he had secured on short notice. There had been more, but the rest he had been forced to leave out in the open to be confiscated as he had judged hiding the small arms and ammo would be a greater benefit then any of the explosives.

So, loaded down with about thirty pounds of gear on their belts and pouches, three smokes, a frag, and a Willy Peter apiece, they were set kit wise. Harry wished they had a bit more ammo, but the problem had been the number of magazines they could get there hands on with the amount of time available. Back at Hogwarts, before the bitch Umbridge (whom he sincerely hoped was being sodomized by the whole centaur nation at the moment) had fucked things up, they had had the weapons and ammo to ensure that just about everybody who wanted to could be issued a long-arm, a pistol, and a lot more ammunition then they had right now. Not counting personal weapons like the pistols, each of the three riflemen had 460 rounds of 5.56mm rounds in thirty round magazines (29 to a magazine to ensure the spring would work properly if it wasn't so tightly pressed) plus another 120 loose rounds in the bandoliers.

Harry held his CAR-15 in his hands, and went over to the phone booth. Opening it, he saw that it could fit three people in at a time. He paused, and looked back at his friends. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to go, that his family was at risk, but he looked around and saw what he knew was really his family: his friends. Katrina, hair braided back who had sat around and joked with the best of them about what her father was doing. Neville, who had stood with him on that god-forsaken bit of mud and ran to help while he was under fire. Ron and Hermione, his first and best friends, a couple who had shared many a danger with him ever since he had first learned of the magical world. Luna, whom in the short time he had known her was a friend who stood up with the best of them. Ginny, who stood with her wand drawn at her side, her face set in a look of determination, a woman who had shown him real love and passion. Finally, there was Doc, a stranger from a strange land, who didn't know fear, and who stood puffing on a lit Winston cigarette without a care in the world, his US Marine Corps cap pushed back rakishly.

Running a hand along his collarbone, Harry felt the 'dog tags' as Doc called them, and the silver charm Ginny had gotten for him. He also felt the gold Saint George's medal Alex had thrust in his hand moments before the shit had splattered in Latvia. You're mad, Harry, do you think Alex brought you out of that hellhole just so you could risk the lives of your…

"Harry?" It was Ginny.

"Yeah, Gin?"

She looked at him, and nodded. Harry grinned, feeling the adrenaline and fear and excitement course through his veins. The poet Owen of the First World War had it wrong; young men didn't go and risk death for the old lie of patriotism and glory. Maybe that was what seduced them to go out there in the first place, but when Death came up close and personal, and sanity arrived in a big way, it was the friends and comrades of those young men. Nothing else really mattered…

"Right then, Doc and Hermione, with me, three minute intervals. Ron, and Neville, you're up afterwards. You three pull rear-guard." He pointed to Katrina, Luna, and Ginny. Harry was going for a balanced force of guns and magic. Neville was going in with the second group, both because of the fact Harry wanted firepower with that group, and also because as the medic of their little expedition he would be in a prime position to help patch up whoever had gotten fucked up in the first group.

Hermione got in first, and Harry gestured for Doc to go in, wanting to lead from the front, but Doc held up a hand. "Let me take point on this 'un Harry." Harry shrugged, and nodded. Stepping in, he waited until Doc had latched the door closed before dialing in the numbers that matched the letters of the word MAGIC. The same voice he had heard the last time he was at the Ministry asked for their purpose; Harry somehow kept a straight face as he replied, "Rescue Mission". He also asked that eight badges be created, and sure enough, eight visitor's passes with 'rescue mission' stamped on them in all caps came out of the phone. Passing them out, Harry heard Doc pull the charging handle back and chamber a round. Harry then heard two clicks, which meant he had switched his carbine from safe to full automatic. The British used the older versions of the M-16 and its derivatives; Vietnam-era weaponry that didn't fire three-round bursts like the newer stuff being used. Instead, the CAR-15s they had could throw a magazine's worth of five fifty-six rounds in the air fast then a fart and fuck people up big time.

A chime sounded, and Harry threw himself back into a corner as Doc dove to the right out of the lift. Hermione did as Harry did, taking cover behind the other corner facing away from the door. A second passed and nothing, followed by the sounds of running, someone going on the ground, and a yell, "It's clear!" Doc.

Harry got up and bomb-burst out of there to the right, followed by Hermione who went left. Running in a zigzag, Harry counted to three, and threw himself on the ground, a shock going through his knees as it came into contact with the cobblestone floor. Grunting he brought his weapon to his shoulder, and began looking around him. Outside of the fountain and the gate further in the distance, they were alone. Harry heard the chimes from the elevator sound in the distance as it went to get the rest of his group.

Kneeling, he continued, to look and yelled over at Doc, "Anything?"

"Jack shit"

Nodding, he asked Hermione if she could sense something, anything. She shook her head, and replied, "We need Ron and the Foe glass." Harry silently cursed himself for letting that valuable piece of hardware be in the follow-up group. Hermione was standing, and walking forward until Harry yelled at her, "Get down!" She did so, and asked, "What do you see, Harry?"

"Nothing, just stay down, you'll be a smaller target that way."

"Coming through!"

That was Doc, who ran forward for five seconds, dropped, and scanned. Harry leaped up and did likewise, dropping after four instead as he too looked. So far everything was quiet as Hermione followed them. The elevator chimed again, and Harry heard Neville yell, "Coming through!"

Harry got up on a knee then, and decided it was time to gamble. So far, nothing, no possible ambushes had been sprung at them. Getting up then, Harry held his carbine one-handed in the air, and commanded, "Follow me." Inside he was giggling, despite the gravity of their situation, knowing he was acting like a Rupert (officer) off of some B-grade war movie. Jogging, they went past the guard post, Doc looking in to see no one inside, and waved him or her forward. Harry turned, as saw the rest of their group running forward. Stepping up to the lift, he pushed the down button, and waited.

It chimed, and once again they went in three by three by two. Getting off on the ninth floor, they took up the usual formations, weapons and wands pointed at the black door. Harry breathed deep as he set a hand on Doc's shoulder, and nodded at the door. Doc nodded back, and stepped aside. Harry moved forward, and opened the door. Inside he could see black as he tightened his hold on the pistol grip of his carbine. Holding it one handed, Harry let his thumb flick the selector switch to automatic, and stepped in. Behind him, Harry knew his friends were close behind.

Once in, Harry had to squint, for the torchlight from the hallway had gone extremely dim, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the murky surroundings. While the outer hallway had had a little light from a series of enchanted torches mounted on the walls, the room he was in looked positively black in comparison. There were two similar torches mounted on the walls of the room, which was circular and along its walls were eleven other doors besides the one Harry entered. Harry found himself squinting trying to figure which one to go through, as in the dreams he had had of the place, it had been like a ride at an amusement park. There had been no control on his part; he just went where he was lead.

Behind him his seven friends made their way in, and Hermione asked him which door they should enter. Harry replied he hadn't a clue, and noticed then that all the doors were exactly alike. A sudden thought struck him, but before he could give voice to it, the door by which they had entered slammed shut. Within a moment the room started to rumble and the doors began spinning. The twin torches mounted opposite the other became a neon blur for what seemed a long time before they stopped spinning. Rapidly blinking his eyes, Harry swore: the doors were indeed identical and now they didn't know the exit. About the only good thing now was that they hadn't been ambushed, though on the debit side of things Harry was leading a small force into a situation they really had no clue about, and so far had seen neither hide nor hair of Sirius or Alex.

Doc had a bundle of chemical lights in his kit, which he broke out and passed around. Harry ripped open the plastic wrapper and cracked the tube. It was blue, the same blue as the torches. Taking a bit of para-cord from one of his ammo pouches, Harry tied it down to one of the suspenders of his belt kit. It probably wasn't the smartest idea putting a luminous stick of plastic on one's person, but at the moment they needed the illumination then they did the concealment. Neville had pulled out a small torch from his pocket and was flashing it off the stone walls of the room. Harry started to wish he had some night-vision gear, some fancy kit one watched in a James Bond movie, but then shook his head. Wishing for something didn't mean that he was going to get it, and all he was doing now was waste time.

"Lets get to it," he told his friends, and opened a door at random. Stepping in, he found himself in a rectangular room, better lit then the other, this one filled with a few desks and a giant fish-tank. Inside, in murky green water (reminiscent of an episode from a sci-fi show about aliens and global conspiracies Harry had watched over the summer) were a horde of human brains. One of the brains bobbed and bounced against the side of the tank, and Harry could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Despite the fact there were other doors along the walls of the room, Harry made a snap judgment that it would be a better idea to back-track and start from there. Urging everyone to follow him, Harry and company went back into the entry room, where Hermione raised her wand and yelled, "Flagrate!" This put a fiery red 'X' on the door which they had left, and proved to be a good thing, for the room spun again to mix and match the rooms up once more.

Harry picked a second room, and this one turned out to lead to an auditorium like area that reminds him of the Wizengamot. Unlike it, though, was a stone arch with a faded, black curtain over it. Harry once again felt the creeping sensation wash over him as he watched the arch. There was a door on the other side of the room, and as soon as Hermione marked the one they had entered, they started to make their way across. Harry's eyes darted around, looking for snipers (after all, what else was some asshole Death Eater hiding in the dark with a wand point at you, ready to kill you so quick you would be dead before you hit the ground?) but his eyes kept being drawn to the archway. The curtain seemed to drift and blow, as though there was a wind, but Harry couldn't feel it. A sound seemed to be coming from it, too. Harry thought at first it was the wind, but then the voices started getting louder, and he stood for a while and stared at it. Something had him picked, he just wasn't sure exactly…

Vaguely, he could hear Hermione calling. On the peripheries of his vision he could see Luna and Ginny and Ron and Katrina likewise entranced. Doc seemed to be the only one doing anything worthwhile, his cover (cap) perched back, head and eyes constantly looking out for danger. Danger…a vision of Sirius laying on a stone floor like this one, bloody and screaming. Another of his uncle, laughing and cackling as he swirled to face Malfoy and his goons, brought him out of his state. Hermione pouted, and replied, "That's what I've been telling you!"

Together, both of them wound up having to shake awake practically everyone in the room. Doc seemed to be the only one not affected besides them, as he knelt and continued keeping watch near the stone steps in front of the arch. Near him was the Foe-glass, in case anyone wearing an invisibility cloak or some other from of magical concealment came close. Him and Harry were the last to exit the room, going back into the entry area. Again, there had been other exits in the room, but Harry hadn't gotten any good vibes out of that room either, and decided doubling back would be a safer option. Harry realized that while it might sound ludicrous (after all, what sane or fearful person would consider going up against the most evil wizard in England with small arms, wands, and little ammo), he had learned over the past several years to bet on his instincts, and those instincts were telling him to bomb-burst out of that room quick like.

Once they were back in the entry room, Hermione again marked the door, this time with a white X to mark which room was which. Harry went over to another door, and remarked, "Third times the charm." Behind him he could hear Neville snort, and mutter something about bollocks under his breath. Harry pushed, and it didn't budge. Frowning, he pushed harder, and still it didn't budge. Katrina cast Alohomora, and again no dice.

"Try another, Harry…"

"And if this is the one we're supposed to use Hermione?" Ron asked.

"He opened all the others in his dreams without any trouble." She replied, referring to the dreams Harry had had in December and recently.

Wondering if maybe it required mechanical as opposed to magical means of opening, Harry ignored his squabbling friend and opened the knife Sirius had given him the year before. Running the blade down the crack between door and wall, he could feel nothing, no locks or bolts or anything. Shaking his head in frustration he pulled the blade out and looked at it for a second. Where there had once been a blade only a small scattering of melted metal around the hilt existed.

Putting the ruined knife in his pocket, Harry went over to another door as Hermione marked the one they had left with a gold X. Harry waited for the room to do its usual mixing, and when it stopped he picked another door at random. Throwing open the door, Harry was gladdened to see something that he could understand at first glance. Before them was a standard office, with at least a dozen offices divided into cubicles. Scrolls, trashcans, what looked like a cold pot of tea on a cheap pine table. It was a rectangular room, with two other doors at the opposite end of it.

Harry paused, looked about at the layout of it, and spoke to his friends, "Right, rally point. Anybody gets separated make your way back here. Choke point, cover, and you can make a barricade out of this shit." Kicking a desk for emphasis, Harry led them to the opposite side of the room. Before the two doors, Harry picked the one on the left, and opened it gently. Getting on to his stomach, he quickly peeked out of it to see a long hallway with more doors. Harry ducked back into the office and went to the other door. Opening it Doc went in on point, and this time they found themselves in room full of oddities.

This one seemed to be another office; only this one was special in that magical sort of unexpectedness Harry had grown fond of since he had put his shiny new black shoes in the Great Hall as a wide-eyed boy of eleven years. All around were clocks, old-fashioned ones that looked and sounded mechanical, the ticking and turning a constant sound in his ears. It reminded him of a heartbeat, and Harry could feel his pulse quicken. Unlike the others, this one was very well lit from a white light in the ceiling, and Harry felt the same old feeling in the pit of his stomach. Liquid, as though something was wiggling and grasping within, the same feeling he had had before his first Quidditch game, before the tests in the Triwizard Tournament, before every occasion he had put life and limb and (with the Dementors) his very soul on the line. Harry knew it well, and tried not to dwell on it, for he saw another door at the end of the room. A hunch, indeed, the very layout of the room, was starting to become familiar.

They were running through the room now, field-craft to the winds as they yanked off the chem.-lights they had on. "Harry!" Ginny called out to him, and Harry turned his head to look over at her. She in turn was looking at a large glass urn, in which was a phoenix constantly dieing and becoming reborn. She was looking at it with a bit of awe and wonder. Harry, having seen Fawkes do similar before in Dumbledore's office, wasn't too awed, and nudged her.

"Come on."

Ginny glared at him for a moment before replying as they moved towards the door, "You spent a good bit of time eyeballing that old arch." Behind him, Ron swore and said the Foe Glass had gone foggy. Harry shook his head, and ran over to the door, and with his weight pushing the door open ran in. Inside, Harry grimaced and continued to move fast. The room he was in was huge and cavernous. Before them was aisle upon aisle of shelves, bookcases really, each holding so many yellow orbs that it felt like the place was bathed in it, and Harry could feel his flesh have goose-bumps as the familiarity of the room occurred to him. This was the same room in which he had watched a man die, bitten to death by a giant snake…And somewhere here is my family, and that reptilian bastard.

Harry closed his eyes, and tried to remember some fact that would lead them to the target, and not waste time fruitlessly searching the whole bloody place. Examining the shelves, he saw that each row of bookcases had a number sign. Harry remembered noticing a nine and a seven brunt into one of the bookcases in his dream. That fact must have been related to Hermione and the rest when he had briefed them back at Hogwarts for Hermione turned to him and asked, "Row 97 right?"

Harry nodded, and they made their way down the aisles. If the rules of field-craft and fire and movement had been dangerously ignored before (dangerous because in real life, unlike action movies, running and gunning about without some methodology ensured that comrades didn't kill the enemy but each other), it was out of the window and into the wind now. Harry counted the rows, and clutched his weapon tighter. They were rapidly coming up upon their destination, but he couldn't see anything amiss.

Ninety-seven, and Harry skidded to a stop. Breathing rapidly through his nose, he clutched his carbine and looked around him: nothing. Around him he could hear people stopping, and taking cover behind bookcases. Harry knew that even though they were acting like they knew what they were doing, they were confused. God knew he was.

Keeping his finger on the trigger guard, Harry slowly turned and looked around. No blood trails, there was a lot more light then there had been, the air smelt absolutely sterile…Harry felt his insides grow cold, and avoided looking at his peers. There was no blood, no people, there should have been something damn it!

"Harry" It was Ron, but Harry ignored him as he looked down one row of cases, and then the other. Nothing, and Harry started running down the main aisle, hoping that he may have missed some clue, that maybe Voldemort and his captives were just around the corner. Maybe they were ignoring him and him and his group as they bomb burst in, maybe they had left behind some clue if they left, perhaps they….

"Harry!" Ron again, and this time his voice was more insistent.

"What!" Harry stopped at the opposite end of the hall and started shaking his head, trying to keep himself from either flapping, or from meeting the expressions on his friends' faces…

"You might want to take a look at this." Shaking his head one more time, he looked over at Ron, who was pointing at one of the shelves. Walking over to him, Harry barked out, "Doc, you see anything?"

"Nope, not a damn thing!" Doc had taken cover behind one of the bookcases and was facing the way they had entered. Neville called out right after, "Don't see jack shit, Harry!" He in had done likewise only across from Doc and in the other direction. Katrina and Ginny had the remaining directions, and they yelled back similar. Nothing, all quiet.

So far nothing, but Harry could feel a sickening liquid sensation in his stomach and bowels even as his mind was racing. There was something amiss, he just couldn't make sense of what was before him. Too many conflicting principles were in play. What he had seen and felt had been too life-like to have possibly been a dream, and he didn't think he shared the same dreams as the Dark Lord. In turn this meant that they would have been in a trap. The only problem with that was Snape was still in the land of the living, and they were still unmolested. Even if they were waiting for tactical purposes, there hadn't been any sign of them, indeed of life period, in the entire ministry.

Harry's thoughts were put on hold as he got up to Ron, and Ron pointed to one of the orbs. Glancing at it, Harry noticed that it was yellow, and appeared to be made of glass. Just beneath it was what had attracted Ron's attention, for written on a piece of parchment (likewise dusty and yellowed with age) was the caption: SPT to APWBD-Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter.

"What is it?" Ron asked him. Harry shrugged, "Not a clue."

Making sure his weapon was on safe, Harry removed the magazine and put it in his trousers pocket. He then pulled back the charging handle, letting the round eject into his hand and pocketing it before he raised his right arm, letting his carbine hang. Taking a deep breath, he put his hands around the orb, and gripped it. It didn't feel cold, indeed Harry could feel a slight warmth within the orb. Pulling it away from the shelves, Harry tensed waiting for anything, something to happen. Nothing.

Using the sleeve of his shirt, Harry brushed off some of the dust from glass and spotted out of his peripheral vision most of his friends moving closer to get a better look. Only Doc seemed to be busy, eyes emotionless, scanning the area. Harry saw Doc slowly turn and turn, trying to get as much of the area into his line of sight as possible while staying behind the cover of a bookcase.

It was then Harry heard, coming from directly behind him towards the other end of the room, a bored, drawling voice: "Very, very good Potter. Now turn around nice and slowly and give it to me."

Harry suddenly felt the urge to go take a piss.