!Thank you! Just wanted to say thank you so much for all your reviews, I'm lovin them all, especially the guesses at what's going on! Please review this chapter too (if you like it), it really makes my day. If anyone has any suggestions please, say it in your review, I'd be happy to receive them!

!Update Warning! As I don't have a Beta-Reader (hint, hint), after the publishing of this chapter I will be editing all past chapters, to make sure they're extra spiffy! As such, the updating of the next chapter will take a bit longer than usual, sorry for any inconvenience this may cause to all you lovely readers!

!Before you flame! I am well aware that Argus Filch is a squib in the Books, and also please remember that this is FANFICTION, therefore things will be different from canaon, this is the purpose of this site. Also I am aware that in Chapter 1 it is said Voldemort has been back for three years, however six years ago he obtained the Philosiphers Stone, I've done this because, like in the books, just because he was back does not mean everyone believed it until Voldemort made his first 'public' appearance. This is why the dates are different…

!Author! Happy Fingers

The-Boy-Who-Fled

Chapter 4: The Re-Mergence Of Lost Knowledge

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"The spasming of her body slowly subsided as did the painful cries of those who had witnessed her demise. And so, another body joined those who had already accepted their fate, albeit proudly, and, the attacker began to move on to his next victim."

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Knowledge.

Knowledge is everywhere. It surrounds us, it weaves its way through life, coming between us, bringing us together and sometimes, sometimes breaking us apart. Human nature is, although we don't like to admit it, controlled by knowledge. Its power is undeniable. Several sayings, theories, and stories attempt to describe knowledge, to explain it, perhaps to ease the over abundance of it that is pressed down upon us every waking moment of our lives. Maybe those who create these descriptions hope, in some way or another, that they make the daunting prospect of struggling through the copious amounts information that surrounds us in life seem less…frightening.

However those considered wisest amongst us do not attempt to explain away knowledge, they do not aim to ease its power, or hide behind it, for they recognize it for what it is.

Dangerous.

To them knowledge equals power, without knowledge, we, as beings, are worthless. They recognize its potential, and they utilize it. One such person had learnt this from a young age, and had, later in life, become the most powerful wizard of his time.

And his name is Lord Voldemort.

The Dark Lord, as they call him (a name Tom Riddle himself was incredibly proud of) was well aware of the necessity of knowledge, and, perhaps more importantly, knew how to implement it, and as a result, had become who was today.

Minerva McGonagall was also one of the lucky few to be aware of this vital lesson in life. She, like the Dark Lord, had learnt the necessity of knowledge from a young age; she had developed the uncanny ability to retain any particular granule of information upon a mere whim, causing it to stick with her for eternity. Yet as she landed with a painful crash at the end of the usually immaculate Great Hall, she had no recollection of the men who were attacking them. She did not recognize the thunderbolt tattoos sprawled across their Asian-looking faces, despite the fact that, although several, several years ago, she had once actively sought them out, researched them, and then, consequentially, ran from them. Somehow her uncanny ability at retaining information had eluded her, and as her leg seared with pain, as it twisted and broke with a sharp snap, she still, could not remember who these men were, or, why they were attacking them.

The Great Hall lay in ruins, its floor littered with rubble, glass, remnants of scorched wood and most worryingly, bodies. The three attackers had moved quickly and efficiently, they were deadly, and prepared. The dwindling remains of the Order fought as valiantly as they could, defending their injured comrades, while at the same time trying to stay alive, which in itself, was no mean feat. A few feet away from Minerva lay an unconscious Molly Weasley, her red hair was stained dark crimson, the deep gash on her neck continuing to gush blood onto the dusty floor as various hexes, curses and jinxes flew through the air. Next to her lay her husband, unlike his wife, he was conscious, however his legs were badly injured and no matter what he did, he could not muster the energy to move, even as one of the men strode towards him, about to finish him off.

Minerva summoned her wand to her, but nothing came, she willed with all her might for her wand to return but still, nothing. She was too weak, drained. She couldn't understand it, they had no wands, yet they were performing magic, dangerous magic. Even Dumbledore himself was struggling She only just managed to spit out the thick, syrupy blood that pooled within the back of her throat unpleasantly as she tried to inspect her leg, coughing and spluttering as it spilled over her chin, and down her chest. Her once grey hair was now a mixture of black burnt marks, brown dust, and blood, all of it hanging wildly at her shoulders. Her leg was fractured, badly, a small bump in her robes telling Minerva all she needed to know, she was not going anywhere. As if in slow motion, another extremely powerful spell then hit her square in the chest, causing her head to whip back, she fell slowly to the floor, blood spraying from her mouth as she did so. In the distance Albus Dumbledore's voice could be heard bellowing her name, telling her to run, he was tryingly desperately to get to her, to help her. Minerva's head hit the floor with a sickening crack as she struggled to breathe through the massive amounts of blood pouring from her mouth. She couldn't breath. All that stood between her and her attacker now was none other than Argus Filch, the man fought bravely, protecting his Deputy Headmistress with his life, but Minerva knew he wouldn't last long. They were too strong. They were going to lose.

Thud.

Another body had fallen, that only left three standing. Tears stung at Minerva's eyes threatening to trickle down her battered cheeks, she had fought so long, so hard, it couldn't be the end now. Even though Argus Filch was a particularly powerful Auror, he didn't stand a chance. Minerva tried to warn him, to tell him to run, but she couldn't, she was in too much pain to speak as another puddle of blood gargled at the back of her bleeding throat and bubbled uncomfortably. The man Argus was fighting deflected his jinx effortlessly and in a flash was standing in front of him. Within moments Filch was floating in the air, his assailant laughing wildly, and, with an earsplitting scream the man fell to the floor, a glowing yellow mist crackling around the injured man. Minerva tried to move, urged her aching body with all her might to stand, but as she watched the man stride towards her, the evil grin spread across his face, she knew it was useless.

He was standing above her now, and cocked his head to one side, smiling in mock sympathy. Minerva McGonagall was not one to beg, she was a proud woman, and would rather be eaten alive by dung beatles than let her assailant know she was terrified. And so, as he began the spell that he had performed on Argus, Minerva McGonagall watched him defiantly, she was not afraid, she was terrified…

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Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1936

"Yes, Minerva" Professor Hogden sighed, he was understandably exasperated at the fact that the only relief from the nerve grating silence that smothered the classroom was Minerva's desperate attempts to answer every singly question correctly, gasping and sighing with her hand up to get the Professor's attention at every given opportunity.

Theodore Hogden had applied for the teaching position at Hogwarts immediately after his resignation from The Association. He could no longer take the stress of the job, the secrecy, the lies. It had all become too much for the young man. Hogwarts was, what he considered to be, a safe haven from the harsh reality of the world. There was no talk of assassinations, undercover operations, cover stories or political scandals. No, in Hogwarts it was O.W.L.S, N.E.W.T.S, who kissed who, and who has the worst haircut. Something Theodore was thoroughly enjoying. Although it was not nearly as exciting as traveling around the world, searching for gems, or, quite possibly protecting the world from the greatest threat ever to endanger human kind, he still found his cozy, little classroom, to be the safest place for him.

The end of the lesson couldn't have come soon enough, for student and teacher alike. Everyone jumped up from their seats, the room erupting with the sound of hungry students. Apparently, they couldn't get out the room quick enough, as each and every one of them clambered to fit through the small doorway leading to freedom, resulting in something similar to a clogged up drain. There was one student however, who had not moved, in fact; she hadn't even packed away her things. She merely sat there, smiling at Theodore. Truth be told, Theodore had suspected that Minerva had the slightest little crush on him. She stayed behind every lesson, smiling pleasantly doing some further reading or quizzing Theodore on the previous lesson. The usual barrage of questions would be flung at him until her thirst for information had been quenched (usually being half way through the lunch hour) and then the two of them would walk to the Great Hall for a spot of lunch, discussing magical theory and it's uses. Today however, Minerva was not smiling, instead she was flicking through the pages of an extremely old book, her thin lips pursed together tightly. Theodore began to pack away his things, presuming Minerva was not there to 'chat' and after several moments relished the idea that he may actually be able to have a full lunch hour today. With that thought in mind he bolted to the door, but as his rather chubby fingers clasped desperately around the thick black handle Minerva McGonagall's voice could be heard.

"Sir!" she asked, swiveling on her stool.

Theodore sighed, removing his hand from the handle that was freedom and turned, smiling.

"Yes Minerva"

"I was wondering whether I could ask you to explain something to me?" Minerva hands were twiddling around each other rapidly as her voice quivered slightly. She was nervous about what she was asking. Theodre wasn't the most sensitive of people but even a Balrock Spider would be able to see it. Theodore moved to sit on the stool opposite the young woman, placing his tattered briefcase on the table.

"Go ahead" he nodded.

Theodore was not an extremely large man, but indeed he certainly wasn't small either. His tweed suit struggled to fit around the, let us say plump, man, the buttons bulging threateningly, as his suede elbow patches squeaked every time he moved. His short grey hair had begun to thin on top, reminding Theodore most unpleasantly of his father. Since working for the Association his body had evidently crumpled under the pressure, ageing rapidly. His once fit and able body had become a frail shriveled vessel that carried a mentally exhausted man.

Minerva breathed heavily, avoiding her teacher's apprehensive gaze. Without looking up from the book that was laid before her, she swiveled it on the table, sliding it towards the teacher slowly. She was watching him now, her eyes wide, she was waiting. Confused, Theodore took the book, and judging by his expression, was less than pleased to see what was in it.

Kiminari Ansatsusha – (See Book of Kokoroe 23:11:44)

Theodore began to shake his head vehemently, muttering under his breath.

"M-Minerva…t-that's not… t-they're not…I-it's not the kind of thing you would…want to know about" He stuttered, backing away form his stool slowly.

Minerva's expression had not changed, she was still waiting for the answer, and, a young Minerva was no different to the much older, wiser version. She would get what she wanted, by any means necessary.

"Oh Sir…I just wondered where I could find the book of Kokoroe I'm not interested in-" dropping her gaze to the thick black writing sprawled across the page, providing the best performance she could muster. "-The Kiminari, I've just heard a lot about the book and was wondering where I might obtain it"

Theodore's face collapsed from its tormented position, visibly horrified at his outburst. Nodding vehemently he offered a smile, not something dissimimilar to his Uncle Lockhearts' business smile, the kind of smile that caused numerous faces to grimace in disgust. Minerva had obtained all that she needed from Hogden. Her suspicions were realized, and in doing so, she had found her way in. Even if the door was somewhat obstructed at the moment, she had had no doubt in her mind that soon, very soon, she would know all she needed to know about the Kiminari Ansatusha…

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Three days later Minerva awoke bright and early, ready for the day ahead. Today was the day she would implement 'Phase 2' of her masterfully crafted plan. Her last encounter with Theodore Hogden had gone exactly to design, he knew of the Kiminari, more so than Minerva first thought, but she needed to find out exactly what he knew, and perhaps more importantly, how he knew it. After getting dressed she went to her profoundly organized bed stand and opened the small cupboard within it. With three sharp taps to the back a secret compartment flashed open. Inside it lay a crumpled, ripped piece of paper. Cautiously Minerva snatched it, quickly opening it to make sure everything was in order. Stuffing the bit of paper into her robes she proceeded to the dungeons, where she knew that (from a rather nifty piece of spying she had performed) Professor Hogden would be eating his breakfast, going over some 6th Year papers.

Minerva arrived at the door, cleared her throat and slowly pushed the heavy door open. Theodore should have been sitting at his desk, most likely drinking pumpkin juice (his favorite drink) while humming that awfully peppy tune he sung whenever he was concentrating. He was not. The plan was not going according to schedule. Disgruntled, she entered the, presumably empty, dungeon. As she walked up to the desk, Minerva's hairs began to prickle.

Something was not right, Minerva could smell it…

Several papers were strewn across the table, and on the top of one, lay a quill that had fresh ink gleaming at the end of it. Next to it was a large yellow mug filled to the brim with pumpkin juice. Minerva felt her hairs rise as the chilly wind rushed in through the open window, and went to close it, extremely perplexed as to where her 'way in' could be. Pulling the window closed with all her might (it was extremely stiff) she turned to leave, out of breath.

It was then that she saw him.

On the floor lay Professor Hogden, and around him a thick dark pool of what Minerva could only think was blood. He was laying on his front, his white eyes wide in shock, as sharp crackles of yellow energy snapped around his body. However the thing that caused Minerva to heave was not the stench of death, or the coagulating thick pool of blood she was standing in. No it was something far more horrific. Something that certified Minerva's suspicion that this was a murder.

The numbers 6, 12, 88, 94, 59 and 3 were carved down the centre of his back, the cut's going so deep into his flesh that Minerva could have sworn that segments of his spine were visible.

However any thought of despair or fear were expelled as a rustle sounded from the centre of the classroom.

Someone was there.

Minerva shot upwards, removing her wand and pointing it towards the sound, her skinny arms shaking. There was no one in sight yet Minerva stood deathly still, straining her ears for the slightest sound. There was most definitely someone there. Minerva was unsure what to do, for she knew it was most unlikely that she would be unable to defend herself against someone, or something, that had infiltrated Hogwarts undetected, yet her feet were staying firmly put.

However it seemed, knowledge, and a powerful brain was not everything in life. For the young Minerva McGonagall had no idea that a few feet behind her, an Asian looking man was silently climbing out the window. And before she could to turn around to inspect the small thump that came from the window he was gone, running towards the woods, his thunderbolt tattoo carefully concealed within his elegant black robe.

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The sun was shining down upon the busy, bustling crowds of Hogwarts, moving their way to and from classes, the funeral of Professor Hogden the interesting talking point of the week. However Minerva McGonagall had not yet rejoined the repetitive ritual that was school life. No, she was sat at her dormitory window, clutching a small ripped piece of paper, struggling to keep her stinging tears at bay. She had been questioned so excessively over the past three days, been quizzed so thoroughly about Hogden's murder, that she could now predict what questions they would ask her and answer them rapidly before they could even finish. She unfolded the piece of paper that lay in her hands and sighed, she still, despite her research, could not possibly comprehend the numbers sprawled messily across it.

On her bed lay The Book of Kokoroe, left to Minerva from Theodore. She'd read it through, once, twice, maybe even three times. And yet she couldn't absorb what it was saying, she still could not understand what Theodore was trying to tell her.

The Kiminari by Nicholas Flamel

Little is known about the ancient race of the Kiminari, other than what has been recorded by surviving witnesses, which I assure you, is very little. The Kiminari are known to originate from Japan, and it is confirmed that they follow a god named Quezacotl. Several theories have derived from these two simple facts, however, this book has not been written to aid imbeciles in providing mere guesswork and assumption.

According to eye-witnesses the Kiminari are 'Asian-looking' confirming the theory of them originating from Japan. It is also theorized, that although the Kiminari posses magical ability, they, unlike Wizards, were limited to certain magic's, although the specifics are sketchy.

It is well known that the Kiminari are also able to drain magical ability, to suck the magic energy out of anything. Including living things. Due to this, it is widely hypothesized by many (including me) that the Kiminari are responsible for the condition known to us as 'Squib'.

It is well documented that thousands of years ago, the Wizarding population were at war with a race other than Muggles. Several people have provided numerous explanations as to who this 'race' was. However from recent documentation and investigation, it is most likely that this race was the Kiminari. After the war, the first 'Squibs' begun to appear, leading to more evidence that the Kiminari are able to drain the magic's out of people.

Although I myself, completely discredit this theory, it is my duty to pass on the information as promised, within this book. The leader of the Kiminari, during the beginning years of documentation, was known as Cavkar. However several hundred years later, the leader held the same description and name – Cavkar. This has led to the theory that the leader is somehow sustaining his life, and, according to one eye-witness, is doing this through some sort of ritual burial inside a hidden chamber. Of course, the location of this 'chamber' is unknown, as is the theory's integrity.

The Kiminari's ultimate goal is to ride the world of magic; this is confirmed by the Kiminari transcript that was recovered after a raid in a temple in Japan. Though it is unclear how they plan to do this, the ancient transcript states, very clearly, that they need the 'Elder' to achieve this. A process that takes several years to complete.

Sightings of the Kiminari have been reduced to mere myths and hoaxes, and so, it is most likely that the dangerous race are now, thankfully, extinct.

Minerva McGonagall was not one to cry. In fact, she was not one to display any emotion whatsoever, apart from anger or despair at not achieving grades expected. Her Uncle always said that displays of emotion were 'a guilt mechanism employed by women to get what they want' Yet here she was, her shuddering body racked with emotion. The grief was too much, the tears that had threatened to trickle down her cheeks for the past three days were coming, and there was nothing she could do about it. And so, within the privacy of her dorm, she let go. She allowed herself to grieve, to cry. The tears came thick and fast, falling from her shaking face and splashing down against her black robes, as she leaned on the window for support. The deserted room was filled with the cries of pain that escaped the grieving woman, and alone, she sobbed. Grieving the loss of a teacher, a mentor and most importantly a friend.

And all because of one silly question.

Who are the Kiminari?

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Present Day, Hogwarts

Minerva McGonagall stared at the Asian-looking man that stood above her. His eyes were wide, and although Minerva knew she was slightly concussed, she was positive his glowing yellow light emanating from them were not a figment of her imagination. His shiny-white teeth leered at her as he chuckled while brushing of the dust that clung to his black robe. Apparently, he hated being dirty just as much as Minerva did. Biting down on her blood soaked lip, she concentrated the abysmal amount of energy left within her on keeping her spasming body from shaking. She, Minerva McGonagall, was not going to die like some kind of whimpering fool, not even strong enough to control her body. She would not give the man the satisfaction. The man slowly started to raise his arms as crackles of yellow energy sparked around them. Minerva's body, just like Filch's, began to rise slowly in the air, her arms and neck drooping painfully. Minerva could do nothing, not even move, instead, she struggled to conceal the searing pain shooting through her immobilized body, and strived to maintain her eye contact with the man, she wanted to watch her murderer as she died. The yellow energy began to swirl with increasing speed, the crackles becoming louder and more frequent. In the distance both Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin were calling her name, pleading for her to run, but deep down they knew, as did her attacker, that it was too late. Soon enough, it was over and Minerva McGonagall's body slumped to the floor, her eyes white and glazed. Her usually thin mouth was wide open, a small trickle of blood steadily making its way down her pale face. The spasming of her body slowly subsided as did the painful cries of those who had witnessed her demise. And so, another body joined those who had already accepted their fate, albeit proudly, and, the attacker began to move on to his next victim.

Yes.

Knowledge is power, it is undeniable.

Yet sometimes this power eludes us, hides itself, resurfacing its ugly head when its use is no longer necessary. This is especially true with one such brave woman, who even when facing death, could still, not recall the identity of her attackers. For as her assailant turned to move onto the severely injured Remus Lupin, he was muttering something, as were his comrades, something that may well have jogged Minerva's memory.

"6, 12, 88, 94, 59, 3…6, 12, 88, 94, 59, 3…6, 12, 88, 94, 59, 3…"

Don't worry I know what you're thinking, and no, I haven't killed off all the characters right at the start, that just wouldn't be clever would it? Everything will make more sense next chapter!

Please Review, thank you so much!