I own nothing. Least of all this.

6) KEEPING MY EYES OPEN AND MY MOUTH SHUT

Bellatrix sighed.

It was no good. Every single dress she owned was unsuitable. True, she'd been raised believing that her parents and Head of House would pick her out a suitable spouse when the time came, and as such her role was to prove her worth as either a manager of a household or a respectable career woman (that the career she had been aiming for wasn't exactly 'respectable' was neither here nor there). But now, things were different. She had been practically ordered to use any means at her disposal to get the wizard Zarathos firmly on the side of the Blacks…and she had been looking forward to running with the idea.

That is, right up until she took a good look at her closet.

"Oh, Merlin's saggy underpants, this is all rubbish!"

A familiar head poked around her bedroom door. "Well, well, well. I sense no small amount of distress in here. I haven't heard you swear like that since the day you discovered our illustrious Ministry's attitude towards career witches."

Bellatrix sniffed. "Please. As if you didn't swear enough for a sailor after your first day apprenticed to Madame Pomfrey. How many bandages did she make you wrap again, Dromeda?"

Andromeda Black growled. "Too bloody many. But right now, we're talking about the troubles in your life, not mine. So, spill. What's all rubbish, and why is that particular fact vexing you?"

Bellatrix pointed with no small amount of emphasis in the direction of the offending garments. "That! They! Those! Take your pick; because I certainly can't take mine."

Andromeda glanced around the room, noting for the first time exactly how much clothing had been tossed in seemingly random places. "Ah. I take it that none of these fine pieces of tailoring are suitable for whatever half-baked idea that's taken up lodgings in your lovely little head?"

"Not just my head," she returned dryly, sinking to the floor. "Father's head as well. This was as much his idea as mine."

Andromeda joined her sister on the carpet. "And what idea, pray tell, is that?"

Bellatrix sucked on her lower lip. "There is…a wizard. A rather powerful one; Father thinks he just might be a Lord. And I'm inclined to agree with him. Father has ordered me to…ensure his loyalty to the Black family by…any means necessary."

"…Hence the need for a certain kind of dress."

"That's about the size of it."

"…And what exactly does your beloved fiancé have to say about this? Or our Mother, for that matter?"

"I imagine Mother would say quite a number of things, if she knew. And so would Roddy; that is, if he were still alive to do anything about it."

That certainly killed any of Andromeda's desire for their usual back-and-forth banter stone-dead. "Bella, you're my sister, and I love you. But unless you tell me exactly what the sentence you just uttered actually means, I swear I will impale you with my hairbrush."

Bellatrix shrugged. "I meant what I said; Roddy's dead. Killed. I watched it happen, right in front of me. Rabastan, too…good riddance. Seeing as how he was stupid enough to insult a demon, I think he deserved every single thing he got. Which was, if I remember correctly, a flaming sword through the chest."

Andromeda's face had gone white. "A demon?"

"Metaphorically, of course. You know that Father's been having me attend meetings of the Knights, in order to assure our position with their Lord?"

"Ye-es…"

"Yesterday was supposed to have been my initiation as a full member. A few worthless Muggles killed, right on the Wizarding World's doorstep, as a message. Only, instead…he was there; waiting. Almost like he was expecting us. The first four he turned into torches; Fiendfyre, I think. I was almost next; I'm ashamed to say the only reason I wasn't was because my knees gave out right before. His second attack vaporized the Knights behind me…not even ash left of the bodies. His third…was the sword I mentioned. After that…I can't say. I was cowering, trying to keep my shields up. It was only because I was next to him when he executed Roddy that he even noticed me at all."

"…What did he do to you, Bella."

"Hmm? Oh, not much. He gave me a message; for one of the Knights' Inner Circle, I think. Said that no matter where they looked, they'd never be able to find out anything about him. Not even his name. Whereas he knew everything there was to know about them. And that their war wouldn't be as easy as they thought."

"I…see." said Andromeda slowly. "Am I correct in assuming that this…wizard…is the current object of your preoccupations?"

"Yes, Dromeda."

"Hmm. And just how do you propose to go about…persuading him…when without a name, I anticipate it will be quite troublesome just to find him? Especially considering we've never heard of hm before."

"Oh, that's quite simple Dromeda. When I showed Father the memory, he made the brilliant deduction that our wizard was a Potter; a half-blood bastard, in fact. He's got Uncle Charlus looking for him right now; it shouldn't be too long before they find him. And while we may not have his name yet, he did leave behind a title in his message to the Knights."

"A title?"

"Yes. Zarathos. A good strong name, don't you think? Even if it is quite probably a false one. Perhaps he knows more of wizarding culture than we thought, to pick such a pureblood-sounding pseudonym. But that's for Father and Uncle Charlus to find out. In the meantime, I need a new dress. One with far less…" she wrinkled her nose in distaste. "…frills."

"You know…I believe I have a few little numbers in my closet we can alter to fit…"

"Really?" a smile lit Bellatrix's face. "Then what are we waiting for?"

And with that, Andromeda found herself being dragged down the hallway at breakneck speeds. Oh, well. If the family of Black was truly considering swaying a half-blood bastard to their side over the cries of their fellow nobles, who was she to stand in the way?

At the very least, it might make things easier for her later…


A silvery mist passed through the halls of the Ministry, leaving behind the feelings of warmth and joy in its path.

Ironic, considering the form it coalesced into in front of its intended recipient.

"Mad-Eye." The frightening image began. "Dealt with Fenrir Greyback. No medical attention needed. Would bring body in for ID and reward, but don't want my hosts left unguarded for too long. Floo is the Green Dragon pub; I'll be waiting. Bring a trustworthy warder with you when you come."

The spectral figure faded away, leaving behind two very astonished wizards.

"…Albus?"

"Yes, Alastor?"

"I thought you were the only one around with a Magical Patronus."

"So did I, Alastor. So did I."

"Mind explaining exactly how it is that Zarathos' rather reminds me of a Thestral?"

A Ministry employee passing by caught Moody's last sentence, and stopped to see what else they could hear. Neither wizard took any notice at all of their eavesdropper.

"…While I can hazard a guess as to the how, I'm afraid that, once again, it would not be my secret to tell. Might I suggest you ask him yourself after you conclude your other business."

"After we conclude our business, Albus."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard him; blighter needs someone on wards. Name one other witch or wizard with half the amount of your skill in that department…"

Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply…

"…That also happens to be even one-tenth as capable of keeping a secret."

Dumbledore's mouth clamped shut once again.

"Not so easy, is it? Specially when it comes to our mutual friend."

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm just…not convinced it's a good idea for me to accompany you. There is simply no telling how he may choose to respond, should I either let something slip or push too hard."

"Well then," Moody drawled, "if you're worried about pulling, you might just try pushing instead. And as to the slipping…might I recommend you stay away from any and all banana peels?"

Dumbledore's glare did absolutely nothing to wipe the smirk off Moody's face.

"Listen, Albus, the man's taken out Fenrir Greyback. The most dangerous werewolf in all the British Isles; on a full moon, I might add, with absolutely no damage done to either himself or anyone else. Just another one of our problems he's taken the time to clean up. Consider this a…down-payment for his services. Anything else he might ask of us afterwards…well, that's for him to know and us to find out. Can you live with that, Albus?"

A long silence.

A sigh.

"…I shall try, Alastor. I shall try."

"Good. Now come along. We've got an appointment at the Green Dragon pub; and it would be a terrible shame if we were to be late."

A small grin tugged at the corners of Dumbledore's face. "Quite a shame, indeed."

As the two wizards continued along their way, neither noticed their little spy immediately set out in the opposite direction. The House of Black had offered a substantial fee for any information pertaining to a wizard named 'Zarathos'; and if the Daily Prophet happened to pay handsomely as well for a tip about the slayer of Fenrir Greyback, well, who was he to complain?


Moody's head emerged from the fireplace…and was met with a rather large metal cylinder pointed directly between his eyeballs.

"Prove that you're Alastor Moody."

"…Considering I'm the only blighter I know that's managed to survive speaking to you face to face, shouldn't I be asking you to prove who you are?"

"Fair point. How bout this: Constant vigilance, Mad-Eye. If it hadn't been me waiting for you, you might've lost your head when you came through."

Moody snorted. "With a Muggle firearm? You insult me."

"Trust me, there's nothing Muggle about this particular weapon. Fella that built it intended for it to kill the unkillable; and so it does."

"How'd you end up with it, then?"

"Present from the man that put down its creator for good. Said I was one of the few he trusted not to go overboard with it."

"What's it do, precisely?"

"Eats souls. Now, I believe I told you to bring along a warder?"

"Aye. That you did. He's right behind me; shall I send him through?"

"No, not yet. You come through first; then stand on your right side of the Floo. You, I trust. Until I know who you brought, I can't say the same about them."

"Trust me lad, he's one of the most trustworthy and competent individuals in the whole business."

A sudden, horrid possibility happened to cross Harry's mind.

"…Albus Dumbledore, I presume?"

"Aye; that'd be him."

Bollocks. Double bollocks.

Oh, well. When in Rome…

"Fine. But I'm still asking you to stand to the side, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, lad."

The fireplace gave a flare of light as its first passenger came through, and then took up his assigned position. Seconds later, it flared once again to admit a second guest…who was met with exactly the same sight as his predecessor. The only difference was in his reaction.

"I would ask you to prove that you're Albus Dumbledore, but the fact that you're only one of two wizards I know of who could even possibly be able to feel this thing's aura seems to speak for you. And I very much doubt the other possibility would ever consider Polyjuicing or glamouring himself as you."

Dumbledore slowly lowered his wand as his shield dissolved into nothing. "May I inquire as to exactly who this other possibility might be?"

"The Lord of the Knights. And that's all I'm saying until we've got wards between us and any listeners."

Moody frowned. "If you're so worried about security, why'd you tell us to come here?"

"Several reasons. One, it's the nearest Floo to where we need to be. Two, I could have sent you a Portkey, but I rather think a paranoid blighter such as yourself would have taken that poorly. Three, I refuse to leave those under my…protection…alone for too long. And fourthly, 'the only brew for the brave and true comes from the Green Dragon'."

Moody snorted. "Brave and true? That'd make you a Gryffindor, then."

Harry smirked. "So I'm told. You can put your wand away now, Mister Dumbledore. I rather doubt any shield you can produce would be able to block all the damage from my little trinket."

The aged wizard reluctantly complied. "Perhaps; but I think it would be able to hold for long enough to give Alastor an opening."

The table in front of Harry slid to the side, revealing the purple ball of energy glowing in his left hand. "What opening?"

Neither of the two had a response to that.

Harry stood, holstered his Thorn, and gestured towards the door. "After you, gentlemen."

Moody couldn't resist making one remark backwards as the door swung shut behind them. "You know any Apparition from here to…wherever we're going can be tracked, right?"

"Of course," Harry replied. He clapped a hand on each of the wizards' shoulders. "That's why we're not Apparating."

Moody had just enough time to look up and see the absolutely massive bolt of lightning come crashing down.

His last thought before the world went white was that it was still better than a Portkey.


"POTTER!"

Charlus Potter rubbed his nose. Giving Cygnus Black his Floo address had been a mistake. "No Cygnus, for the third time today, I haven't found anything."

"WELL I HAVE! GET YOUR ARSE OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!"

One quick jump into a fireplace later, and Charlus Potter was standing in front of his (for now) very valuable ally. "Right. What's happened?"

Black was, to his surprise, shaking. Whether in fear or excitement, he couldn't tell. "He's struck again, Charlus. Took out Greyback, all by himself."

…And last night had been a full moon. "I see. To St. Mungo's, then?"

"Guess again."

"The morgue?"

"Still wrong."

"…Don't tell me; the DMLE's holding cells, waiting to see if he's been fully turned."

"That's a definite no. Can you guess why?"

Charlus scratched his head, and then shrugged. "I've got nothing."

"He wasn't hurt, Charlus. Not even a scratch on him. He killed the worst wolf in England, on a full moon, without so much as a bloody scrape."

"…HOW?"

"Buggered if I know. But I can tell you who does know by now for sure: Alastor Moody…and Albus Dumbledore."

"…Bugger."

"My thoughts exactly. My informant overheard the old fool call his dealing with Greyback 'one of our problems he's taken the time to clean up'. If he's already tight with Dumbledore, we may be too late to sway him."

Charlus growled. "And if Dumbledore's been the one hiding him, and I dare say raising him as the weapon he is, then he and the rest of my House are going to want to express their…displeasure with him. Preferably using copious amounts of violence."

"I'm sure Zarathos would take that personally, if he really were the old man's bulldog. Which I have reason to doubt, seeing as how Dumbledore seemed absolutely terrified of him."

"Terrified, hmm? We can work with that. So…what's our plan?"

"I've got a Floo address; the Green Dragon pub. For some reason, he had Moody and Dumbledore come to him, instead of claiming the reward at the Ministry."

"If it were anyone else, I'd say he was trying to avoid attention."

"You're forgetting; he is a Potter. Brave in every other arena…except for that of public opinion."

"Oi! I resent that!"

"Do you deny it?"

"No, but I resent it."

Cygnus sniffed. "Tough. Now, as I was saying, while we can speculate on exactly why he made officialdom come to him, to my mind, there's only one conclusion worth drawing from his actions."

"And that is?"

"For the time being, he's staying in one spot. A spot we just so happen to know the approximate location of."

Cygnus hurled a handful of Floo powder into the flame. "After you."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up. I understand why I'm going; why you? You know what he did to the last member of the Black family he came across."

"Yes, yes I do. Which is why I have you going first. You're going to make such a marvelous shield after the introductions. Pity about your unfortunate widow…excuse me, my unfortunate sister."

"Still sore about that, are you?"

"Who, me? Never. I reiterate; you first."

Charlus' voice echoed from the fireplace long after he'd been swept away. "Your sister; my sergeant-at-arms."

And for a brief moment, Cygnus Black regretted sending his brother-in-law like a lamb to the slaughter, as he recalled exactly which Dark Lord the man's wife had managed to duel to a standstill.


Moody rubbed his eyes once more. "You sure this'll go away on its own?"

Harry's retort came quickly. "I don't know, its not like I've ever looked directly into the Light while using Ionic Blink; figures it'd be you that thought of it first. As a point of curiosity, what'd it look like?"

"White. Just…white."

"Huh. So, just like a flashbang then. I wonder if I can get the effect to extend outwards…would make it more useful for fast exits…"

Dumbledore's voice cut into his speculations. "As interesting as alternative magical transportation methods are, I believe there are some wards that need to be applied?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, sure. The house in front of you. Owners are named Willis, if you know them. If not, I'm sure they know you."

A look of recollection crossed Dumbledore's face. "Half-blood wife and Muggle husband?"

"That's them. Just go on in and get to work; we'll join you as soon as Mad-Eye here ID's Greyback's body."

And explains a few things, he silently added.

Dumbledore nodded, and made his way up the porch steps. The minute the door creaked closed behind him, Harry whirled to face his still somewhat blind companion. "Seeing as how you're not gonna be doing any identifying for a while, I 've got a couple of questions to ask you."

"Fire away."

"One, just what the hell were you thinking dragging Albus bloody Dumbledore into this? You said it yourself, he's not much of a hope! His talents lie in dragging out and obfuscating bureaucratical matters as long as possible, when he's not being a controlling, secretive mastermind that is."

"Exactly why I 'dragged him in', as you put it lad. There's no better person to keep certain people from getting answers to awkward questions they might ask, as well as keep anyone from interfering when you decide to go poke another hornet's nest. Like you did yesterday afternoon, I believe."

Whatever Harry had planned as a response vacated his mind at that very instant. "…You know about that, then?"

Moody snorted. "Know about it? The whole bloody Department of Mysteries knows about it, lad. You weren't exactly subtle."

"For me, that was subtle. And the only remotely Dark thing I did shouldn't have set off any alarms."

"It wasn't the kind of magic you used, lad. It was the amount. Any magic by itself in Muggle neighborhoods is investigated as a matter of course; you probably expected me to bury that for you, right?"

A nod form Harry.

"Yeah, well, considering you left the place looking like bloody Grindelwald himself had been there, you're lucky I was able to get Albus as soon as I was. He eradicated every single piece of evidence you left behind, but not before an Unspeakable got a good look at the site. We had to work quick after he left to make sure he wouldn't be showing anything he found to his friends without a Pensieve."

"Ah. As much as I appreciate that, I really think you're wrong about what set off the DOM's alarms." Harry shook his head. "No; it wasn't the amount of magic that drew them. The amount I used…earlier that day didn't disturb any anthills. And I'm not talking about that little fracas in the pub. It must've been the…"

His voice trailed off.

Moody finished the sentence. "…The bit where you was too tough of a bastard for the Devil to swallow, so he spit you back?"

He had barely gotten the last word out before a blade, glowing with the same energy as the ball had earlier, was singing next to his throat.

"Explain. Preferably using very small words."

Moody tried very hard not to swallow. "Albus…reconstructed the fight. Everything…from beginning to end. He was…hopeful, at first. Then…awed, is the closest I can get. And at the last, after you…did what you did to the last one…he was terrified."

"Terrified, I can understand. Why the hell would he be hopeful?"

This time, Moody did swallow. And got a thin gash across his neck for his trouble. "You…have to understand. Albus…he's spent years battling his inner nature. The real reason he refused to fight Grindelwald…is that he was terrified of what he could accidentally do. That his control might slip, even for a moment. It's the real reason he became a teacher…a diplomat…a politician. If he confined himself to the battles done with words and speeches…there was less of a chance he'd do something he'd regret."

"Yes, I'm well aware of the great Albus Dumbledore's capability for regret. Get to the point."

"When he saw…when he saw how you handled them, talking first, violence only when that failed…and never losing control up until the very end…he saw someone that could maybe, just maybe, do the job he feared he couldn't. Deal with the Knights, while he dealt with their backers. Speak softly, and carry a big stick, that's what I told him. Albus would never willingly let himself be the stick, but if someone else, someone better than he, could do it, without losing control…then he would do everything he could to ensure that the stick got everything they could possibly need…and he would do his part to protect them."

Harry hissed. "I'm not your bloody stick."

"No. Albus and I both figured that out right about the time you ripped that guy's face off. You're your own person; and nether of us can make you do anything; all we can do is ask…and hope."

"Still with the hope? I thought Dumbledore would've given that up after my finale."

"If you really thought that, then you don't know Albus Dumbledore as well as you think. What he saw was someone willing to offer mercy, even though he knew exactly who the men in front of him were. That you didn't want any witnesses to your…side-trip was…understandable. It was your ruthlessness that terrified him, more than anything else, I think. Albus…when he gets angry, his eyes start burning. When you got angry…they went completely cold. He wanted an executioner…he didn't count on getting a free judge and jury along with it. The minute he saw you come back, the minute he realized something about you that he hasn't even told me yet, he started doing everything he could to not make you angry. He's taken care of the DOM, for the moment. They're tied up looking into exactly what spells you used, instead of your nonexistent backstory. He's started putting together a coalition in the Wizengamot that knows whats really going on; they're doing everything they can to buy time for Dumbledore to find out how deep the rot in the Ministry goes. He's hoping that by giving you what you want, doing whatever you ask…he'll earn even a sliver of the mercy that you might have given."

"Might have? Might have? What I did was a mercy, Mad-Eye. It was what I offered him in the first place that would have been a torture."

"Well then. All the more reason for Albus to go on hoping, don't you think?"

Slowly, the sword moved away from Moody's throat. "We'll see. I promised you a body; can you stomach another one of my…masterpieces?"

"Now that I know what to expect? Yes."

THUMP!

"…That's Greyback, alright."

"You sure? It could be just another random werewolf…"

"No, no, I'm quite sure."

"Positive? Come on, take just one more look…"

"No thanks, I'd rather keep my breakfast if its all the same to you."

"Fine. Be that way."

Back into the sack the body went, Moody breathing a sigh of relief as it vanished.

"You're looking a little green there, Mad-Eye. Why don't we head up to the house and get you something to drink?"

Moody could only nod and follow.


Albus Dumbledore had, very wisely, decided to leave his wand on the table.

He gestured to the tea-set resting next to it. "Missus Willis was quite insistent I take refreshments; and even more so that you do the same when you had concluded your…business."

Harry took the seat directly across from the elder wizard. "Wards are all up, I assume?"

"Can't you feel them?"

"When I said there were only two wizards I knew of who could feel my weapon's aura, I meant it. I know just enough about wards to efficiently rip them down; hence the need for a professional to put them up."

"I would have thought someone with your level of…skill would be able to detect them, at the very least."

"Oh, I can tell something's there; just not what. Most times I can hazard a guess, like Anti-Apparition or Anti-Portkey. For everything else, I just use a multi-purpose ward-breaker."

"And what would that be?"

Harry grinned. "A really big bomb."

"Ah."

"Quite."

Dumbledore glanced in the direction of their only other company. "Is there a particular reason Alastor is shaking his tea cup quite badly…or one for the bright red line across a rather vital area, for that matter?"

"Oh, that's easy. You see, Mad-Eye here was more than willing to enlighten me as to exactly what events the two of you took part in yesterday."

Dumbledore sighed. "I rather thought he might…which is why I have taken the liberty of disarming myself. Not that I believe that particular wand would ever be able to affect you, much less harm you in any way."

"Hmm. Figured it out then, have you?"

"…Yes. Whatever you need of mine, you are more than welcome to it. Even my wand, should it be necessary."

"It won't. I'm outside the laws of causality now."

"I rather suspected you would be."

Moody finally made his presence in the conversation known. "If you two are gonna keep being all mysterious, that's fine by me, but I reserve the right to get some answers to things I can understand."

Harry took a sip from his tea. "Fire away."

"You said that what you had offered to…that fellow…was torture, and what you actually ended up doing was mercy. Mind explaining that?"

"It's simple. I offered him the chance to defect. If he worked for me, I'd keep him safe from his former Lord, and after everything was over, I'd ensure he'd never pay for any of the crimes he'd committed."

"And how, exactly, was that torture?"

Harry put down his cup. "Are you familiar with how the Dementors came to be?"

Shaking heads from both of his listeners.

"I thought not. Its not a story the DOM would tell you. In the old day, and I mean old, old days, there was a group of Atlantean mages who, naturally, wanted to live forever. Through interactions with something called the Vault of Glass, a doorway to an infinite number of realities and universes, they managed to predict the coming destruction of their home. So, they tried to strike a bargain. In exchange for servitude to the religion of a group of worm-gods, rulers of something known only as 'the Deep', they would receive eternal life…and their island would never perish. But it is best to remember when dealing with worms that everything they say has more than one meaning. The Vault of Glass was responsible for keeping Atlantis afloat; but the Atlantean mages were unaware of that. They proceeded to follow the only mandate of their new religion: to avoid being consumed by their new hunger, they had to conquer all in their path. So, they chose the most convenient target to start with: the Vault itself, and all the realities inside. The keepers of the Vault repelled the attack…and then vanished the entrance. Atlantis sunk. And the wizards who had bartered their very souls away, replaced with ones the worm-gods had fashioned in their images, were trapped at the bottom of the ocean, there to be consumed by their ever-hungry possessors. It wasn't until an unlucky wizard discovered the location of the lost city that those abominations saw the light of day once again."

Dumbledore frowned. "I thought that, in addition to eternal life, the worm-gods promised that the island would never perish?"

"They did. And it didn't. It exists now, forever trapped as a memory and/or possibility in the only dust ever recovered from the Vault's entrance on Atlantis: the so-called Sands of Time, used to power the Ministry's Time Turners. And as long as those exist, the Dementors will forever be bound to whoever controls them. No one wants to find out what happens if they're destroyed, least of all the Dementors. So, they follow whoever possesses the Sands, in exchange for souls to feed on…and protection of the last remnants of their home. There are thousands more Dementors, still trapped down at the bottom of the ocean, waiting for their island empire to rise once more. The DOM have no intentions of allowing that to happen, but they can do their best to keep the location safe. Or did you think it was coincidence that Azkaban was built where it was?"

Moody's green look was back. "How did you find all this out?"

"Truthfully? I think you'll find that all information has a price in Durmstrang."

Dumbledore's voice held no warmth in it. "And just exactly what was the price for this particular information?"

"A rematch. But that's neither here nor there. To get back on topic, I believe you asked how what I proposed to Mister Yaxley could be considered could be counted as torture?"

"…Yes."

"Its simple. The Lord of the Knights has developed a…mark. One gifted only to his most faithful followers. It's a milder version of what was done to the Atlantean mages, but one that ensures almost faultless loyalty of the mind, if not the soul. The problem is, with a mark like that, there are only two ways to remove it: kill whoever granted it, or…replace it with something even stronger. Since I can't currently kill the maker, I would've had to do what the worm-gods did: replace his will with my own. Take him, with a capital T, and make him mine. The only reason I would've hesitated is that I don't want to give the Knights' Lord any more bright ideas. In the end, I'm glad Yaxley decided to fight. Felt a lot better about condemning his soul than Taking it, let me tell you."

There was nothing but horror on Dumbledore's face. "You would've turned him into a Dementor."

"To ensure his loyalty? Yes. But seeing as how that wasn't necessary, and I was still able to wring a good deal of information out of him before he died, I'd call that a win."

"You would truly have gone that far?"

Harry frowned. "I'd like to point out that the other side went that far first. In other ways as well as this one."

Moody's gruff tone cut him off. "And who, exactly, is this 'other side'? We know they have a leader; but who? Who would even dream of doing this sort of thing?"

Harry leaned back in his chair. "A very talented wizard. One who worked his way up from the very bottom of Slytherin House, graduated as Head Boy with an award for…'Special Services' to the school…and then disappeared, planning his rise as England's new Dark Lord."

White was the only color left on the aged Headmaster's face.

Moody failed to notice his friend's distress in his burning desire to know the truth. "Who, lad? Tell us! Who?!"

"Why…"

Harry's eyes met Dumbledore's.

"…Tom Riddle, of course."