Beta: Elsa2 (go and read her stories! She's fantastic!) THANKS!

Sorry for the LONG delay. I try to be faster this time.

Chapter 5 – Harry

Even after the lesson, he was in a bad mood, and that didn't happen too often. He liked to teach these talented, young men and women, and these occasions was always able to cheer him up – even when he arrived here from the ministry, having had a rough quarrel there.

From the ministry but not from his own home.

How much a man can be accustomed to good! He'd always liked to go home, to his last haven, the only place he felt really at ease. When the boys had been little, it was even better: the constant laughter, the jokes, the mischief-makings… he always had sided them against Hermione… and the tea-times in the evenings, and the long walks in Hogsmeade, or up to the castle where they could stare at the illuminated windows of the castle for minutes, and returned home. The boys hadn't accompanied them on those walks too often: they preferred to go to Neville's or have their friends come over instead, and Harry could be always sure to meet something unexpected upon arriving home.

When the boys had gone to school the house had become strangely quiet. It had taken some time for Harry and Hermione to find the new rhythm: it was much calmer, but no less satisfying. They began to hang out with old friends again, whose children were in school as well, or to look for some muggle kind of entertainment other than watching telly, which they could always do at Hermione's parents'.

Harry liked this life, very much so. But since Seren had left them after that awful quarrel, his home had become a battleground, and his oh-so-beloved life lay in ruins. Seren was mad at him, Barrys had decided to support his brother, Hermione and he often had quarrels, and once after one of those quarrels he'd spent the night on the couch of his workroom. Hermione, of course, had been sulking for days after and it had been almost impossible to get on with her even in the simplest everyday things.

It was not a miracle that teaching had lost its appeal too. His pupils could sense his apathy, and the usually animated lesson had turned to a dutiful obligation for both parties. The young people had been staring at Harry through dull and sleepy eyes, while he had been struggling to keep his thoughts at the topic – and failing miserably.

He hurried back to his office ready to Disapparate home as fast as he could, but Moody caught him just in the door.

"Potter, a moment!"

Harry gave up the chance of a fast disappearance.

"What's it?"

"One of our beloved delinquents has arrived. Seremov. The ministry doesn't know he's here, and with a bit of paperwork I organised to keep him here for this evening. I thought you wanted a word with him."

Going home forgotten, Harry entered his office to lay his books on the table, and turned on his heels to follow Moody who was already halfway to the staircase.

Seremov!

He had to have a strong grip to keep his growing anger under control. It would be a hard conversation, and he would need his head cool so as not to let the long-awaited moment slip in a heated moment of fury and frustration.

Perhaps he would learn something about Lestrange's whereabouts; perhaps he would know what had really happened that night when his best friend had died. Or perhaps they would receive a useful tip-off and be able to find the Death Eaters still hiding: Malfoy and his accomplices Rodolphus and Bellatrix. Yes, Seremov could be their way to Rodolphus and to that perverted bitch of a woman, and Rodolphus might even lead them to Malfoy…

His guts clenched at the thought of Malfoy. No, he wasn't afraid of him, it needed much more than a Malfoy to destroy him, but the slimy aristocrat was clever, very clever, and no one could guess what his next move would be. Like a snake…

A couple of days after Harry had killed Draco Malfoy, he had received a message via owl. Nothing extraordinary: it had contained no curse, no poison, no mail bomb, just some words with an elegant writing:

Do not think you can escape the vengeance of a grieving father.

There had been no signature, but none had been needed. And Harry couldn't go and protest to Lucius Malfoy that killing Draco Malfoy had been only a chance – he had believed him to be his father, Lucius…

He had trained his sons to be skilled combatants, he'd practised with them every day from their very young days, and if he'd told once, he'd told them a million times not to trust strangers and – even more importantly – not to trust acquaintances behaving in an unusual way. As well as that, he had taught them Occlumency and Legilimency so that they would be able to defend themselves in any way.

But if they could catch Malfoy through Seremov, his night sleep would be much calmer from now on.

The cell was dark, and Moody on their way down had told Harry they had been keeping Seremov in dark and in total uncertainty for hours deliberately. Harry generally didn't agree with such a treatment, but this time he was grateful that he would meet a bit softened version of Voldemort's infamous strategist.

Seremov was barely older than him, he had been in the same year as Krum in Durmstang. He had entered Voldemort's service not long after Harry had won the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry knew the details of Seremov's life quite well: the man had already been caught once, and so there were documents of him in the ministry, but using his brilliant strategic skills, he had escaped during the transport from the ministry to the prison.

The man now looked much older than Harry. There were several grey streaks in his hair and elegantly cut beard, and there were heavy lines across his forehead and in the corner of his eyes. But he didn't seem helpless or weak. Even when they had just entered the cell and lit their wands, and Seremov couldn't yet see his opponents, Harry could catch the expression of his face and knew that his brain was working very hard to find the way out of this situation.

It was completely fruitless to try to legilimize him: his eyes staring directly at Harry were empty and his mind closed. The man was a skilled Occlumens.

But his body betrayed his nervousness: his back was too uptight, and his arms crossed over his chest.

"Will you answer or questions?" asked Moody with no preamble, but before he had finished the sentence, Harry already knew the answer. Moody could sense the same too, because he added: "We have tools to make you talk, believe me."

A strange frown appeared on Seremov's face.

"Tools? Are you going to torture me? I was told that since Potter and his beloved wife had won over the ministry, physical punishment was deleted for good."

"We are not in the ministry, Ivan, and my wife isn't here," Harry answered, his expression mirroring that of Seremov's. "But even if she was here… I don't think she would make an exception of you. And of course," he paused for a moment, because Seremov made an uncomfortable shift, "of Rodolphus either."

"Oh, that case," Seremov said, uncrossing his arms long enough to wave a dismissive hand, and he became much calmer. "I didn't participate in that, you should know it. I was sitting in one of the ministry's examination cells when Rod did your friend in… What was his name?"

But Harry wasn't easily angered. He repeated:

"We are not in the ministry now."

"And no one knows you are here," added Moody with a vicious glee on his face, and his magical eye was dancing madly in the weak light.

"I'm still not sure that Potter has enough power to cast an Unforgivable at me. He wasn't able to do that not even to destroy the Dark Lord…"

Harry laughed.

"Ivan, Ivan… I was seventeen then. I'm forty-five now. Trust me that all those years haven't passed with no trace." He waved a hand towards the cell's ceiling, and there appeared the sky as it was outside in that very moment over the Auror Headquarters. The clouds were almost glowing in the red light of the downing sun.

Seremov made a step back, and his pupils widened in fear. But Moody just murmured to Harry:

"Potter, showing-off is not your style…"

Harry shrugged, and the next moment they could see only the plain stone ceiling again.

"So? Will you speak?" he turned to Seremov.

"You don't dare to torture me."

"Oh, no, I don't think to sink that low. There are other ways to learn the truth…"

"Illegal use of Veritaserum is strictly prohibited by the International Wizard…"

"Unforgivable Curses are even more strictly prohibited, Ivan, but it never stopped you to use them. But no, we won't give you truth serum." Harry waved again and an armchair appeared behind him. He seated himself comfortably. "From my part, I thought of something more… effective…"

Moody again murmured something about Harry's behaviour, but the old auror pulled out a full bottle of Firewhisky from his pocket. Soon, Seremov was completely drunk. In the beginning, he protested against the drinks, but as the alcohol overpowered him, he himself gulped down the last draughts with obvious pleasure and toasted the pair with the empty bottle.

"You can try this method any time you like! You can't make me drunk, believe me, I can hold my drink with the best of them!"

What Seremov hadn't known was that Moody's drinks were always mixed with different (and to Harry unknown) serums and potions, and no amount of practice could make anyone stay sober once they'd had more than two or three mouthfuls.

When the man was sneering at them with malevolence that was just lopsided enough, Harry lifted his wand:

"Legilimens!"

Four hours later, they were sitting in Moody's workroom. Harry was gulping a strong tea while Mad-Eye tried to fish his Pensieve out of the chaos of his cabinet. Harry didn't mind the short break: memories that weren't his were spinning madly in his head, and he felt nothing other than repulsion that he had had to sink into the pool of shit – again.

It wasn't the worst example of those forays into the filth of a Death Eater mind, not by a long shot, but still, it didn't make it easier to face. But the well-trained techniques helped: he let the memories swirl in the surface of his consciousness, but didn't let any of them to stop and sink. They were coming and going until in a couple of hours they would become part of that pile of rubbish, which was lying in wait in the back of his mind, waiting for his mental gates to be lowered.

But as a fifth year student, Harry had already learned the lesson about the mortal consequences of lowering those gates, so they stood firm for more than twenty years. And would, Merlin help him, remain so for a lot longer.

Moody finally found the stone bowl and, and with a satisfied grunt, he pushed it to the desk. On the other side of the desk a couple of scrolls and a heavy book fell and on the ground.

"You may begin, Potter."

Harry nodded, and lifted his wand to his temple and pulled a silvery thread of memory to the bowl. The sparkling material first turned into a swirl of colours and pictures for a moment, then the surface calmed down, and became soft and smooth as if it were quicksilver.

Harry repeated this action until he could not feel the last bits of Seremov's memories mumbling in his head, and nothing remained of the four-hours Legilimency in his mind.

"We can begin," he stepped back, and stretched himself. "But I warn you, Alastor, Ivan was really affected by that whisky of yours… The picture will not be perfect, and you may feel as if you were drunk as well…"

"You are not talking to one of your pupils, Potter. I've already seen a Pensieve from inside."

"Even when the owner of the memories was completely smashed?"

"Even when the owner of the memories was dying, and by the time I finished watching them, he was not alive any longer."

"I see," frowned Harry, and they both stepped to the bowl. "Let's see, then."

The first memories were completely unimportant: some pictures of Seremov's South American life. And then – Harry suddenly remembered – Moody had begun to ask questions, and from here the memories were more or less answers to these inquiries.

Well, rather less than more.

The "answer" to the "Where is Malfoy now?" question first showed the Lucius Harry had known from his own childhood: the arrogant, disagreeable aristocrat, who, as a right-hand man of Voldemort had been a cut above most of his accomplices. The pictures changed very fast; there were only fragments of real memories among them and even these were too short and with no real significance.

Harry had the feeling of being on a madly waving ship, and he didn't know how Mad-Eye felt, but his stomach began to churn.

But then an elegant saloon appeared in front of them with a small coffee table surrounded by a number of chairs. Only three of the chairs were occupied: Malfoy, McNair and Seremov were sitting in them. The memory couldn't be too old: Seremov looked like the man they had met in the cell. Malfoy was speaking.

"You have to get everybody hiding In Argentina and Brazil prepared. Organised. But no actions – just keep in touch with each other, and build a working alert line."

"Magical or muggle, sir?" Seremov asked with obvious respect while Macnair nodded in his usual stupid way.

"Muggle might be better. I guess the majority live in the muggle world anyway," said Malfoy. He looked annoyed at the thought.

"That was the easiest method to disappear," Seremov explained quickly. "But the two of us remained as wizards, because with the Dark Lord's er… disappearance the Dark Mark vanished from our arms, so that we could easily state that in the UK we were untruthfully accused."

"And how did you get past the ministry examination there? I guess they led an examination anyway…"

"Oh, yes. But we used MM."

Harry saw from the corner of his eye that Moody leaned ahead with sudden interest. But Seremov didn't explain the expression. Malfoy laughed.

"The ministry really is staffed by idiots. Leon," Malfoy turned to Macnair. "How many times did you manage to get through examinations this way?"

"Six, sir," the ex-ministry executioner grinned stupidly.

"Complete idiots…"

But to their annoyance the memory became again a rocking, swirling blur of colours and vague pictures.

Moody looked at Harry. "What's that MM stuff? Have you ever heard about it?"

"Never. I guess that can be the Death Eater scheme with which they can always trick truth serums."

"I too understood this much," muttered Moody, but a new memory interrupted him. They couldn't see Malfoy anywhere in it, and Moody said: "My second question was about Rodolphus."

Harry nodded and both turned to the slightly swaying story.

Harry felt a stab of disappointment when he caught sight of Seremov with thick, black hair: the memory was quite old with no importance for them. It was about some muggle drug business, and Harry knew that there was no point to get involved in it. It was not their country's business, and these drug things were like the hydra: if one head was cut off, two more grew in its place.

And another conversation:

"Ivan, Ivan!"

Seremov had grey hair here. He and Rodolphus were standing on the seaside. The day was shiny and bright, but a cold wind blew – it must have been early spring.

"I heard you are going to get across" nodded Seremov towards the sea.

"Yes," Rodolphus said. "The boss found a job for me there. Family business."

"Family?"

"There are things that can be done only by family members. This is one of those."

"Come on! What's about?"

"Cleaning."

The answer surprised not only the watching Harry and Moody, but Seremov too.

"What?"

"I told you. Cleaning. We found the new Headquarters."

"Why don't I know about it?" cast Seremov a jealous glance at Rodolphus. "Am I not to be trusted? I always supported him, helped him if it was needed…"

"No, it's another thing. I told you: there are things that can be done only by family members. For the time being no one else, just blood relatives can enter the Headquarters."

"Sometimes I hate this stupid, British inbreeding of yours," muttered Seremov. "You are using blood spells to defend your manors while you are interrelated… What a stupid defence! And we, your loyal friends are completely left out…"

"Your work is just as important. And we'll solve this problem too, and as soon as the new Dark Order will be formed, we will change all the defence systems…"

"Can you give me a precise date, perhaps?"

"It's just a short time. The boss said that by the end of summer we could have a stronghold through there."

The memory swirled past, but this time Harry decided to have a break. Mad-Eye must have felt the same, because they emerged from the bowl almost at the same moment.

Moody, muttering something undecipherable under his breath stepped to his cabinet, and began again to rummage through its content. In a couple of moments, he emerged with a bottle of golden-coloured liquid in his hand.

"What's this?" asked Harry suspiciously.

"Something I'd never give to drink to ex-Death Eaters," answered Moody, and filled two glasses with it. "Brandy, and a high quality brandy at that. Cheers!"

Both lifted their glasses, and downed it.

The alcohol acted as a medicine to his upset stomach.

"That was good."

"Yes. How much left?" Moody nodded towards the bowl.

"Enough."

Moody filled their glasses again.

"Rodolphus is here, in Britain. At least he is if the last memory is to be trusted."

"I know," Harry replied tiredly.

It was good and bad news at the same time. Good, because it made their researches much simpler, and they could act in a territory they had the proper authority for it.

Bad, because if Rodolphus was here so was Bellatrix, and most probably Malfoy, and this thought made him feel exposed and vulnerable. However well trained his family members had been, they had no real chance against these dark wizards.

Yes, there was the Protecto Familiam Charm, which should be unknown to the Death Eaters: it was Hermione's own creation, and the reason they had finally dared to return to the wizarding world. It protected the life of their sons Barrys and Seren. But if Seren renounced his family, he could even break the charm… He had to talk to Hermione about it. Harry's stomach churned again, and so he quickly downed the second brandy.

"I hate this situation. I hate this war. It's barely twenty years the other was finished, and now it starts again…" he muttered half-angry, half-resigned.

"It seems we caught them just in time now. Come on, lad, let's finish it. I want to pop into Aberforth's. He told me he had some interesting news for me. Though as I know him that would be about Mundungus and his suspicious businesses again…"

They put their empty glasses down, and approached the bowl again.

The quickly changing images didn't affect his stomach this time. It must be the brandy: he was never a drinker: if he drank just a little, he became rigid and emotionless; too much and he became drowsy.

The colours finally settled down, but this time the only person they could see was Seremov, sitting in a nicely furnished living room reading something when his English-style fireplace huffed and Rodolphus's head appeared in the flames.

"Hello, Ivan."

Seremov peered over his book. "Hello, Rod. News?"

"Some really interesting news, actually. If everything goes plain, we have the chance to secure a very good starting place in the upcoming war. Or perhaps no war will be needed at all…"

Seremov lowered the book immediately.

"Pardon me?"

"You heard it right. We found some very important traces: one of our allies in the ministry, following the tip-op of the boss, took a look into some secreted documents. You will not believe what he found!"

"So? Spit it out!" said Seremov impatiently.

"It's about Harry Potter. We perhaps found the way to eliminate him."

Rodolphus didn't go on again. Seremov was now almost shouting at his colleague.

"Go and play with your house elf, Rod."

"Harry Potter's younger son is not his natural child. He's adopted."

Long break. Seremov was thinking very hard, but in the end, he just waved with resignation."I can't see what we could do with this piece of information."

"The boss has seen the boy." Moody and Harry exchanged a quick look. "Shit," – murmured Harry, but Rodolphus went on. "The kid is the bastard of the traitor."

"Whom?"

"Snape. The traitor. The slimy git who came out to have been working for Dumbledore."

"Is that positive?" Seremov asked with a predatory look.

"Adamant. The boss was in London a couple of weeks ago and ran into the Potters. He managed to cast a simple, blood charm to the bastard, and it worked."

Harry remembered that day. They visited Diagon Alley in the morning, and Seren, with no visible reason, had become sick and feverish by the evening, and it had taken two days to pass. It's so typically Malfoy that he hadn't found something less painful to test for family connections!

"It's still not much. You are so interrelated…" waved Seremov.

"The kid was adopted after Snape had died. And he looks like that oily-haired git, and Snape's mother is a cousin of the boss's mother. So everything fits."

"If it should be true, it changes a lot…"

"Yes, it does. And this is not the whole story."

"Do you still have something to tell?"

Rodolphus broke a triumphant grin.

"We found out how Potter defeated the Dark Lord. And we found a way to destroy him, and the kid will be a tool for it…" but the memory here faded again into nothingness.

Harry didn't know how he had gotten out of the pensieve, but now that he could sense the outside world, he was sitting on the ground in Moody's office, and Mad-Eye was working very hard to wrap Harry's numb fingers around a new glass of brandy.

"Potter! Potter!"

Harry looked up at him, his face grey.

"They know everything… They want to catch Seren…" His heart was beating so hard that his chest began to feel pressed and he could barely breathe. He scrambled to his feet and with a small gesture he refused the offered drink. "Sorry, Alastor, but I have to go."

He was almost running as he left the Auror building, but he had the distinct feeling of being late, whatever else Moody said about their being in time. He was late, very late.

He was praying to himself that this time being late would not prove fatal.

Next: next week, I hope between Wednesday and Friday.