Chapter Nineteen

The Mad Potter

Transfiguratus

The primary transfiguration required for the execution of the Fidelius is known as the Transfiguratus. This is a core spell that requires the caster to bind a self-transfiguration field to the charmed object or area.

Transfiguration is fundamentally different from conjuration, because it relies on the existence of a similarly sized object to be transfigured between two states. Because a body of matter exists prior to the transfiguration, this type of magic tends to be more permanent. conjuration, on the other hand, requires the caster to convert pure magical energy into material objects. Creating objects that won't reduce themselves to their magical constituents is extremely difficult, because it requires a certain fluency with the use of magic. Transfiguring objects of lesser mass to objects of greater mass requires the inclusion of partial conjurations. For this reason, conjuration is often taught in tandem with transfiguration, and, oftentimes, distinctions between the two are elided altogether for the sake of convenience, though this may lead to suboptimal performance. For the purposes of the Fidelius, however, it is critical that students master the underlying concept of mass-magic conversion inherent to this area of study.

Word had gotten out that there was a crazy bad ass hanging around the Leaky Cauldron and that he was a brutal killing machine with no regard for the Ministry, and, quite possibly, in the service of Lord Voldemort. Possibly even an overseas merc from one of those rougher areas on the continent - Transylvania or Hungary or something. No one knew quite what to make of him, whether it be the Dark Lord, who was not happy to have an unknown agent running around usurping his name, or the Ministry, who generally abhorred people who broke their rules, or the Order of the Phoenix, who was against all things Voldemort.

By mid-September, everything came to a head. Harry was contentedly licking some ice cream at Florean and Forteskew's ice cream parlour in Diagon Alley, chatting with Angelina Johnson, who was on break from her job at the Ministry.

"Never been a chaser myself," Harry said, shrugging. "Like to think I'm a pretty good seeker though."

Angelina sat back smiling. "God, would've been nice to have a good seeker while I was in school." She shook her head mournfully. "Five years I was on that bloody team and not a single Quidditch Cup to show for it. Bloody Slytherins."

"Don't tell me you couldn't find a seeker better than Malfoy?" Harry asked, laughing and finishing off the chocolate ice cream on top and proceeding to start on the next layer of his triple-decker ice cream cone.

"Malfoy?" Angelina asked curiously. "The ferret? Hardly. No, Ginny was their bloody seeker. Cruelest human being I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. She once managed to shove a dungbomb down my shirt in the middle of a match; wasn't even bothering to look for the snitch, because they figured they'd just rack up points with the Quaffle. Longest game I ever played, and I stank like a post-match men's room toilet afterwards. Ugh."

"Ugh indeed," Harry said, laughing. "You're such a Gryffindor, Johnson. You should have been paying more attention, or got some dung bombs of your own."

She shrugged. "Like you said, I'm a Gryffindor. Don't really think like that. We like a clean game."

Harry smiled, reflecting on his own memories. "Yeah, Gryffindor's a great house, isn't it?"

"Sure is," she agreed, sipping on her mint chocolate milkshake.

Harry took a moment to just look at his long-time Quidditch mate. Her once short black hair was now grown out and braided into two long braids cascading down to either side of her, broad shoulders and down to her lean, yet firm waist. She still has the chaser build, he mused, appraising her strong, Quaffle throwing/catching arms, her slightly calloused fingers.

"So, what do you do around here?" she asked. "You said you weren't in school. It's a bit late to be vacationing."

Harry shrugged. "Been working a long time. Methinks me want to take it easy for a bit, check out the sights, have a bit of ice cream." He raised his cone into the air like a man giving a toast. "To life, to living it, because you've only got one."

"Cheers," she said, lifting up her milkshake and tapping it lightly against his waffle cone.

They continued to consume food in silence, Harry sometimes looking out the window, marvelling at how pristine the wizarding world was compared to the muggle one. Funny, he thought. With magic, you never have to starve, never have to freeze or go without shelter. There'll never be overpopulating, or pollution.

Harry's musings were cut short by the distinctive feeling of magic settling over him, except that it felt more like layers being stripped off, exposing his skin to cold, nighttime air. Harry looked around confused for a moment, trying to figure out where the feeling was coming from, trying to feel through his magical senses to pinpoint the location of the spell. Only after a moment did he catch Angelina's eye, and the distinctly flabbergasted expression on her face, an expression that was slowly transforming into wide-eyed terror.

"What is it?" he asked.

She tried to speak, horrified by the realization that she was sitting next to a dangerous criminal. "You're Harry Potter," she whispered, backing her chair up and scrambling to grab her wand.

It was then that Harry realized he had been found out. Somebody had stripped off his illusionment charm. Crap, crap, crap, he thought irritably. Of all the-

He dived out of the way, feeling the threads of magic closing in on him from all sides. Damn, damn! Harry flipped over the table and wandlessly banished it in the direction of his disillusioned opponent. He then cast a rain charm, bringing water down from the ceiling everywhere in the ice cream parlour, causing Angelina to shriek in surprise as she whipped out her wand and erected an umbrella to keep herself dry. There were three disillusioned figures in the parlour who were skulking about. One of them cancelled the rain charm, and another undisillusioned himself, revealing none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry inwardly groaned.

"Put your wand down," he commanded, keeping his own wand trained on Harry, who vaguely noticed that another water soaked invisible person was leaning over the table and checking the pulse of a person. There was a fourth, he mused. Must have hit him with the table.

"I said, put your wand down. You're under arrest.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at Shacklebolt. "And who exactly are you working for at the moment, Kingsley? Would that be the Minister or the Headmaster?"

The auror looked surprised for a moment at Harry's words.

"I tell you what," Harry said. "I let you all live, and we forget this ever happened. Capisce?"

"Stupefy,.

"Protago."

Harry managed to deflect the stunner in the direction of the table, hitting the still sopping wet, disillusioned opponent who was attending to his partner. Kingsley seemed to notice what Harry had done and switched to charming objects around him, intermingling flying transfigurations with binding hexes that Harry normally couldn't repel with shields.

Soon, the parlour turned into a whirlwind of flying objects, ice cream buckets exploding and spraying people with chilly, melting sweet cream. Harry avoided using anything that could be considered remotely lethal, and, as he continued to throw himself around chairs, banishing and levitating them about himself, and tossing off disarming charms and stunners, he finally grew tired of the whole thing and waved his wand in a large circular pattern, willing all the objects to transform into animals of corresponding mass, ranging from insects, to birds to fish and plants and quadrupeds. Suddenly, the ice cream parlour was a complete zoo, and Kingsley spent more of his time trying to fend off butterflies, which, not containing any conjured elements, had stabilized into permanent creatures that he could not simply vanish. In fact, the only way to get rid of them was by killing them outright, which he started to do, determined not to let his quarry escape.

Albus Dumbledore watched from outside, surprised at the level of skill the child had shown in evading the four aurors. He was fast and nimble and made use of his predisposed talents. He was particularly surprised when the child managed to transfigure over twenty distinct objects with one stroke, and did so without any conjuration elements at all, a feat that required a good deal of control over the degree and type of magic released in the transfiguration. He could only think of thirty or so people in the century who graduated from Hogwarts that expressed that level of control without specialized training. Moreover, the strange, green-eyed boy that looked so much like James and Lily did not bear the Dark Mark, as far as he could tell, nor did he reek of dark magic, though there was certainly a bit on him. He seemed hardly like a threat at all and was only a mediocre occlumans who, apparently, liked to chat about Quidditch with a half-blooded witch.

Harry made a break for the street, wandlessly enlarging his broom and throwing one foot over it to take off.

Albus, however, was not prepared to let him go quite so quickly; especially after he had made that comment about Kingsley working for 'the headmaster'. How could a strange child even know about that, after all?

Harry found that his chance at freedom was ripped from him by a heavy feeling of gravity that stole over his limbs. he looked around, and discovered that Albus Dumbledore, greatest wizard alive, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamet and the only man You-Know-Who ever feared, was materializing in front of him. Oh crap, he bemoaned. The jig is up. Harry crashed to the ground, the Orbital sputtering and dying under the Oppression Charm that the Headmaster was using.

Kingsley, Mad Eye, Tonks and Hestia were all staggering out of the parlour, hairs and fur and feathers and even a fish scale clinging to their bodies with liberally applied streaks of warm sticky cream. "Albus, you have him?" asked Mad Eye, his electric blue eye rolling about and fixing on the boy who was starting to fall unconscious from the Oppression Charm. Now that he was silent and collapsed on the ground, they all saw how small and thin he was, his hair in a state of permanent mussiness, he looking incredibly young and vulnerable.

"This is the dreaded Colonel?" Hestia asked dubiously. "The Potter boy?"

All four turned a questioning gaze to Albus, who kept his eyes focused on the child. "We do not know who he is," the old man said finally. "There are still many questions that need answering. I believe that he is the best place to start. Perhaps we should get him to a place that is more private, and then I can lift the Diversion Charm and the Oppression Charm and reconvene later. Allister, do you have the portkey."

"Aye, Albus."

"Good," he said. "Let us proceed then."

The foursome took hold of Harry and deployed the portkey to their secret headquarters in muggle London, leaving Albus to clean up the mess of Florean's ice cream parlour and right everything in Diagon Alley for all the innocent, unsuspecting shoppers.

Harry had been placed in a specialized observation room in Grimmauld Place. In another space and time, it was once regarded as Buckbeak's den, but, in this one, it had been outfitted with a myriad of special charms, including a braided ward, which consisted of three separate spells interwoven together. In this case, it was a null field, an Oppression Charm and a Confundus charm. Braiding was a special process developed by Albus Dumbledore himself and had many advantages, which, in time, Harry would learn about.

"Who is he, Albus?" Minerva asked, staring at the petite form of Harry Potter lying peacefully on the double-bed. Others murmured similar interest in the answer to that question.

"From all accounts," Albus said, sighing, "he is Harry James Potter, son of Lily Evans and James Potter."

"It's not possible," Sirius piped in, never taking his eyes off the boy. "He's dead. I saw him myself, that day. I was there not five minutes after the Fidelius fell."

"I know, I know," Albus agreed. "I have even gone to the trouble of investigating the remains that were buried at the Potter graves. It looks untouched, which means that, in all likelihood, the Dark Lord has taken necromancy to levels never before conceived."

Gasps could be heard through the crowds, chilling each of the seven inner circle Order members who stood behind Albus, all of them glancing nervously between their comrades and the seemingly harmless boy in the Observation room. "Albus, are you saying that You-Know-Who managed to resurrect him? Completely? Flawlessly?"

Albus sighed. "I can construct no other workable theory, Hestia. Believe me, it is a terrifying prospect to behold. It would mean that Voldemort has broken the bounds of magic and there may be no telling what he can now do. However, I do wonder if there is perhaps a stranger and more unworldly explanation that could account for this. My reasoning is simply that, if Voldemort had created such beings, we would probably not have discovered it through these means."

"Is it possible that he is the one who set off the alarms at the school?" Severus asked. "It seemed clear that the Dark Lord was not with him, and yet the wards told us quite the opposite."

"I have looked into that, and the answer is simply no. The boy does not set off the detection wards. While I can sense some darkness in him, it is mild, less than yours, and certainly he does not bear the Dark Mark. I suspect that he may have killed those aurors simply because they were a threat to him. From what Nymphadora has told us in her report, it seems likely that he simply panicked and knew only that he was being attacked."

"But he used the imperius. Repeatedly," Mr. Weasley said. "It's enough to land him a life sentence."

Albus nodded. "Indeed. I cannot say I approve of his methods, but, given that he may have had little alternative. He may have come to the school seeking assistance, and, realizing the predicament he was in, simply fled and used all the skills at his disposal to survive."

"You are making excuses for him," Snape said, but Dumbledore did not reply.

It was Sirius who spoke next. "We need to tell Lily. And James too, I reckon."

"I think that may be unwise," Dumbledore responded. "She may be too close to this. And there are so many unanswered questions. Let us wait until we can interrogate the boy before we risk exposing your family to him. You know she will most likely attempt to force her way here. She attempted to find him on her own with that muggle girl."

Sirius nodded. "I still don't understand why the muggle poses such a threat."

Dumbledore sighed. "I know you don't. There are certain things that are better kept secret. Suffice it to say, I am confident the girl is safe, but some of her associations are questionable."

"You probed her mind?"

"I did."

The group lapsed into silence, content to watch the rise and fall of Harry's chest as he lay motionless before them. Moody's magical eye remained unusually focused, minutely shifting position every few seconds to comb over every detail of the boy's body, searching for any clue; any sign of danger. Finally, he spoke up, "The boy is concealing something."

All eyes fell on the paranoid ex-auror, interested to hear what he had discovered. He continued, "the curve of the fabric on his clothes, around his right bicep his bulged out. I'm not certain, but there seems to be something there; something I bet can make itself invisible. It may be an armband - no, wait - it's shifting. It's alive, whatever it is. It seems to be moving about, and is sliding down his arm, if the rustling of his shirt is any indication, and now it is making tracks up his torso, like a thin line. Possibly a snake. A small one, if my guess is correct, and it seems to have curled up near his head. Don't know."

"He has a snake?" Sirius asked, dismay creeping into his voice. "What kind of a snake? Albus, can you cancel the disillusionment charm?"

"It's not a disillusionment charm," Moody replied instantly. "It's something else. I'm almost willing to bet it's the Chameleon transfiguration."

More muttered whispering broke out amongst the group.

"That is some rather advanced transfiguration," Minerva said.

"Harry has already proven that he is quite adept at your area of expertise," Albus explained. "He executed a wide scale, transfiguration field, transfiguring multiple inanimate objects into living creatures all at once. Moreover he did so without adding any additional magical constituents to the transfigured objects, thus making them instantly stable and harder to dispatch. It was all very controlled."

"Where could he possibly learn something like that?"

"I only know of a handful of people who can do it," Albus said. "And to add the Chameleon charm to the list makes him that much more of a mystery, not to mention strong wandless capabilities and Defense Against the Dark Arts skills. Clearly he's been in combat before."

"He can't be more than seventeen!"

"If he is in fact Harry James Potter, then that should exactly be his age," Sirius added. "Confound it all, Lily's going to have my head."

"Breathe not a word."

"I know, I know, it's just..."

"Yes, yes, you'll be sleeping in a cold bed when it comes out," Snape stated. "Because clearly, that's more pressing than handling sensitive information with due care."

Sirius mumbled something that sounded rather close to an explicative followed by the word 'Snivelis'.

"So what do we do then?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"We wait," Albus replied, all the while his gaze remaining on the sleeping form of Harry James Potter.

Harry awoke sometime later to the quiet words of Bono, his basilisk familiar. "Harry James Potter," it said, nudging Harry with its head. "Awaken. It is time for you to rise. Return to me."

"Mmm," he mumbled, turning over and continuing to enjoy his dream of Minnie and chocolate syrup. Bono slithered over to his ear again and began speaking, only louder this time. "Harry James Potter! Wake your sorry ass up, right this bloody instant."

"Wha-?" he managed, his eyes fluttering open and his head jerking off the pillow to stare at his familiar. "Huh?" he asked, looking around in a daze. Immediately, memories of his last few moments of consciousness gripped him, flooding his mind and putting him in a state of maximum alertness that had him keening his surroundings for signs of life, danger, weapons with which to escape, clues to his whereabouts, and all other types of information that would be useful to someone in his predicament.

"I'm hungry," Bono went on, flicking its tail back and forth at the prospect of hunting for some food. Bono was now a foot long and growing steadily as each week passed. Harry wondered how long he would be able to conceal him for he knew that the Chameleon transfiguration became exponentially more difficult the larger the object. Moreover, it was easy to move about when Bono was on his body, but eventually that would not do and people would begin noticing if he had to hold the door open for longer periods of time. He shook those thoughts from his head and returned to focusing on the problem at hand. The Order had finally caught up with him and was most likely holding him prisoner on some level. Judging from the room, he decided he was probably at Grimmauld Place, which meant that he wasn't being sent to Azkaban just yet. That was a plus, he decided. They might just be willing to hear his story. And what story is that, exactly? he asked himself. Prophesied saviour from another dimension? Somehow, he doubted that would go over very well.

Harry sat up and immediately felt his head run into Albus's braided ward. What the? he thought, lowering his head and letting the confusion clear. "It's a ward, he thought, looking up at the clear space above his head. He tried to feel where the ward should be in the hopes of circumnavigating it, but, to his dismay, he discovered that he couldn't figure it out. Maybe they've drugged you with some sort of inhibitor, he thought. Makes sense. Or maybe there's a null field somewhere that's blocking your magical sense. Don't be daft, he reprimanded yourself. Null fields are rare and complex and you just read about them not two months ago, and now you're seeing them everywhere. Besides, the null field would probably cancel out the other ward or wards.

Harry decided to speculate on it later and instead began gently crawling about, trying to feel where the ward edges were. If he couldn't do it magically, he could always do it manually. Eventually he discovered that the wards formed a cocoon around the bed, effectively imprisoning him from making it to the door, which was locked - not that that was a problem, since he could wandlessly unlock it, or possibly even use a small reductor to smash the bolt mechanism. Try some wandless magic, he thought to himself. Immediately, Harry conjured a blue bell flame and began idly tossing it back and forth between his hands. If there really is a null field, the flame will be extinguished by it, he thought, raising his hand upward until he reached about two feet off the bed. To his dismay, the flame was extinguished. Harry lit his fingers up with the lumos spell and did the same thing, with the same effect. Carefully, he maneuvered the light around and discovered that the edges of the ward were the same as the null field, which, as far as he understood it, was downright impossible. Unless there's a thin layer of one stacked on top of one another, he mused. That would be really tough to do. He looked over at Bono, who was sniffing about the edges in search of a crack he could use to go hunt food. If it's thin layers, he thought, then all I would have to do is jump through and make it to the other side. One forceful leap and inertia would carry me through to the door, at which point I could escape. Deciding that that was his best course of action, Harry planted his feet down on the bed like a sprinter in the startup position, taking care to keep his head low so that he didn't hit the Confundus ward or whatever it was that was making him dizzy.

Then, with a burst of power, he jetted forward as if being released by a powerful spring, his mind whirling with the confused thoughts and feelings brought on by the Confundus ward. Eventually, he made it to the other side, panting heavily and deciding there must have been something else there as well that was operating to keep himself at bay. It was like a gravity field, like what hit me outside the ice cream shop. Albus's work, no doubt. The three-pronged block was clever, he decided, but hardly foolproof. Clearly he was not a prisoner; they were just trying to keep him from running amuck. No doubt there was probably an alarm somewhere in there as well. They couldn't really expect those things to hold him down. Shrugging it off, he went to the door and wandlessly unlocked it, calling Bono to come to him so they could go in search of food. Frankly, he was rather hungry himself and only hoped that Mrs. Weasley would be about. He rather missed her cooking.

The halls were quiet, and, when he got to a window, he saw that it was early morning, the sun just rising on the eastern horizon. Feeling decidedly refreshed and cleaning himself up in the bathroom for good measure, he went downstairs, Bono curled around his arm for warmth and went into the kitchen, prepared to consume a lot of food.

When he walked in, he saw that he was not alone. Mrs. Weasley was sitting down having a cup of tea with Mr. Weasley, who was preparing to go to work. Both of them looked up sharply at the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing, their eyes locking on Harry as he stood stock still in the doorway. Er, maybe this wasn't the best idea, he thought, pursing his lips and wondering how best to approach this situation.

"Er, hi?" he asked tentatively, trying to be as non-threatening as possible.

Neither of them said a word, nor did they move a muscle. They simply continued staring at him as though he were the Mona Lisa.

"Hello?" he asked again, hoping for some sort of response. Briefly, his mind entertained the idea that Bono had decided to petrify them, but immediately discounted that theory. They were still pinkish-white after all. "Nice weather we're having?"

Harry took another step into the kitchen.

"Hello," Mr. Weasley said, putting down his cup and glancing at his wife. "Harry."

"Well, they got my name right, he thought, not quite sure whether that was a good thing or not. Shrugging, he decided to just go to the cupboard and get himself something to eat and pretend they didn't exist, at least for the moment. Mostly, he just needed to get his wand and take off and that meant waiting for Dumbledore. Harry started up a pot of water on the stove and rummaged around for teabag and the honey, all the while trying to ignore the feel of their eyes on his back.

He fired up another pot and began boiling two eggs he found in the magical fridge, pouring himself a cup of orange juice to boot and slicing an apple.

""Excuse me," Arthur said finally, clearing his throat and getting Harry's attention. "We don't mean to sound rude, but how exactly did you get out of your room?"

Harry stopped what he was doing and turned to face them, leaning against the counter, a glass of OJ in one hand. He considered the question carefully, realizing that they had thought their wards were foolproof, which, clearly they weren't. Deciding to feign innocence, he simply replied, "I walked out. Used a bit of wandless magic on the door to open it. Why?"

They exchanged a look before Mr. Weasley said, "Nothing. Nothing at all. I think maybe I'd best be off at work now." He stood abruptly and made a quick exit through the fireplace, all the while his wife glaring at his retreating backside, accusing him of leaving her alone with the demon Potter-child. Harry simply rolled his eyes and then summoned Molly's wand, causing her to shriek in terror as she watched it leap to his fingers.

"What are you going to do with that?" she asked, her voice quivering with terror.

Harry conjured a gaggle of mice and sent them scurrying along. He then turned to Bono and said, "Go, your breakfast is waiting."

"Thank you, Harry James Potter," he hissed, hopping off his arm and lunging with surprising agility at the first mouse, who barely managed to dodge out of its way. You won't escape me for long," it continued, prowling the kitchen and nabbing two mice with its deadly fangs before they had a chance to file through one of the many crevices.

Molly's eyes were transfixed by the horrible sight of something invisible decapitating the mice with its mouth, the mouse victims staggering about drunkenly as blood bubbled out from their necks, the sound of Harry hissing just moments ago still playing in her mind. She was barely aware that Harry was using her wand to clear off the excess mouse guts and also to stir his teabag in his cup of water to get it to steep more swiftly. Once satisfied, he tossed it back to her, the wood striking the table top and the wand rolling around until it came to rest with a click against her own cup. "Thanks," he said, taking his food and sitting across from her. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. My name is Harry James Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you." He held out his hand as a friendly gesture.

Molly spent several seconds looking at it as though it were a new life form that she was trying to catalogue. Eventually she took it, realizing that it was simply rude not to. "It's... a pleasure to meet you too," she said weakly.

Before another moment could pass, the flames in the fireplace came to life and out stepped Albus Dumbledore, as well as Tonks and Remus Lupin.

Harry curtailed his instinct to jump out of his chair and go and hug his Professor, to greet them all with the warmth and friendliness he had come to associate with each of them. Instead, he adopted a serious expression, aware that he needed to be firm when dealing with them and not show fear; not be intimidated or maneuvered. He had been through enough in his life that he had no intention of being a sucker or getting pushed around; it did, however, sting to know that these people who were so much like the people in his old life, were strangers to him in this time and place.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," Albus said, measuring Harry up with his ever-watchful gaze.

"Albus," Harry said, nodding by way of a greeting.

If the old man were surprised that Harry was bold enough to use his first name, he did not show it. The others however, seemed to be thrown off guard.

"My colleagues and I would like to have a word with you after you have completed breakfast."

"Fair enough," Harry conceded. "There are a few things that I would like as well. For starters, please return to me my wand. Immediately."

Albus merely shook his head. "I'm afraid I cannot do that, Mr. Potter."

"Call me Harry," he interjected.

"All right, Harry," Albus said, correcting himself and making a show of indulging the impudent whelp in front of him. "As I said, I cannot do that for several reasons."

"Funny, I thought it would just be the one about me being really dangerous," Harry cut in, not wanting to let him get the last word. All his life, Albus had dictated the terms, and Harry had listened. Even that night back in his office when he had told Harry about the prophecy, even when, in that same office not a year later, Harry had confronted him about Snape's role in his parents' murder. Looking back, Harry felt a sort of pity for Albus Dumbledore. Whether he had taken on all the burdens himself or whether they were foist upon him by desperate people, himself and his parents included, it did not matter. All that mattered was that he was one man - an exceptionally wise and powerful man - but just one man nevertheless, and it was a lesson Harry would never forget. It was wrong both morally and in principle to ask so much of him and to let him take on so much no matter how hard he tried.

"Well, yes," Albus agreed, seeming for the first time a little shaken. "Yes, because of the many things that have been reported regarding your actions."

Harry nodded, satisfied. "I trust you don't approve."

"I am not really in a position to judge at the moment," Albus said carefully, realizing that Harry may in fact be playing a game of verbal sparring. "but on what I do know, it does cause me great concern."

"So much so that I am here and not in a Ministry holding cell. You're trying to pump me for information before the Ministry buggers up my arrest and Lord Voldemort, who, clearly I am in league with, rescues me," Harry explained, amused, unbeknownst to him, his own eyes twinkling at the humour of the situation. He went on despite their surprised faces, "Frankly, a school Headmaster running around leading a vigilante spy group seems a great deal more distressing. Especially when you have a werewolf and a metamorphagus in your group. A metemorphagus who is an auror, no less."

"And how exactly do you know that Ms. Tonks here is a metamorphagus, Harry?" Albus asked, his voice turning more and more concerned with each word Harry spoke.

"Given that I am in league with Lord Voldemort," Harry said, lacing his words with as much venom as he could muster, "You know, really should check to see who you're firing at before you start throwing around lethal curses at schoolchildren. It's a miracle any of my friends survived that day at Hogwarts. Hell, I still don't know where two of them are, whether they're dead or not or being tortured. Did you know that all of my companions were either muggles or squibs? Hmm? You opened fire on muggles, for God's sake." Harry's eyes blazed with unbridled anger at the needless danger they had all been thrown in, not that he really blamed any of them, since it was a Ministry run affair, and, more importantly, they had damn good reason to think Lord Voldemort was in the crowd. "Tell me, do you know where my friends are?"

"Now listen here," Tonks began, fury in her own eyes. "You arrogant little twerp. You bloody well murdered my friends out there-"

"You play with fire, you get burned," Harry said. "You threw the first unforgiveable, not me," he pressed, now standing. "Christ, it was ten against one, and I was fighting for my life. If you'd only had the sense to use stunners, and not blasting hexes and other lethal curses, maybe I wouldn't have retaliated quite so hard."

"We're aurors, for Merlin's sake!"

"And I'm still a human being!" he responded hotly. "So don't go running around pretending that the world revolves around you."

Albus raised a hand to silence Tonks and then proceeded to give everyone a minute to calm down. Finally, he said, "This really isn't the purpose of our discussion here. It is not necessarily my intention to give you over to the Ministry. We have brought you here, because we would in fact like to have some answers. In particular, your parents would like to have some answers. We believe that one of your friends is with us, being cared for by your mother."

Harry's head snapped to attention, his green eyes locking with Albus's blue ones. "Minnie?" he asked tentatively.

Albus nodded. "yes, I believe that's her name.

"Is she all right?" Harry asked.

Albus nodded. "Perfectly so. Now, if I may, could we perhaps move this meeting to a more comfortable location?"

"My wand," Harry said. "I'm not going to walk away without it."

"Yes, well, we do need to talk about that as well."

"Where is it?" Harry demanded.

"I have it on me," Albus said, producing the wand in question from beneath his robes and showing it to Harry as proof. Harry extended his hand to take it, but Albus shook his head and pocketed it again. "I'm afraid not. Like I said, there are a few questions about the wand that need answering, before I can return it to you. In addition, there is more about you I would like to know before I arm you again."

Harry narrowed his eyes. Don't let them push you, he told himself. You can't guarantee what they'll do after they hear your story, however much of it you decide to feed to them, and you need it. Finally he said, "What makes you think I won't simply kill you outright?" Harry asked, knowing full well that none of them believed it to be a credible threat.

Mrs. Weasley looked positively pained, while Tonks glared and Remus seemed amused. Albus continued to wear his poker face, as he said, "If you truly had such power, and you had the absence of conscience to employ it against us, then you would certainly have done so already."

"True," Harry conceded. "But if I have such power, and I have demonstrated restraint not to employ it against you, would you return me my wand immediately?"

Albus seemed to consider the question carefully, most likely searching for whatever power Harry could possibly possess that would allow him to best all four armed adults while he himself had no wand at his disposal. "I understand you can do wandless magic, Harry," Albus said tentatively, "but it still won't be enough to overcome all of us."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "You didn't exactly answer my question, Albus."

"No, I didn't," he admitted. "so be it. If you can demonstrate that you could kill us all before we could disarm you - if you could prove that you could retrieve your wand on the condition that you exercised unconscionable acts, then I will return your wand immediately, on the condition that you do not attempt to flee without permission or that you do not turn the wand on us to bind us, cause us pain, kill or do anything else that we would consider an act of antagonism."

"Done," Harry said, nodding. "I've never known you to lie. Tell half-truths, omit information, mislead, yes, but lie. Never."

Harry turned to Bono, who had returned and now sat comfortably on his arm and hissed, "Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Come on, just do it," Harry said.

Issuing what sounded like a long, suffering sigh, Bono acquiesced. Harry, ignoring the surprised gasps coming from all four adults, waved his hand over his arm, clearly saying so that there was no question as to which spell he was using, "Transfiguratus al fine." Immediately, the Chameleon Transfiguration was lifted, exposing his basilisk familiar for all four adults to see. Harry fixed his gaze on the Headmaster and said in a hard voice. "I trust you recognize just what type of creature is currently sitting on my arm."

all that met his pronouncement was a stunned silence, all four of them transfixed by the sight of the baby basilisk curled comfortably on Harry's arm, many of them their mouths working in silent comprehension, dawning horror creeping over their expressions like the edges of twilight between day and night. All of them except Albus flinched suddenly, turning away as if just realizing how close they truly were to death at that moment.

"Harry," Albus said, his eyes remaining on the basilisk, as if trying to look to see where the joke was.

Harry took their moment of distraction to summon his wand wordlessly from Dumbledore's pocket, the warmth of it stealing over his fingers and running through his body, connecting to his magical core, singing to him, telling him he was a wizard. "I think we'd better take this to the other room now," Harry said softly. "As you've already pointed out, we have much to discuss." Harry then turned away and led the four stunned Order members to the drawing room, where he took a seat at one of the couches and proceeded to discuss his tale.