Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!

The proverb Harry quotes here is real.

Chapter Sixty-Four: What He Meant

"Are you sure?"

Harry wanted to shout that, no, he wasn't sure, but he had made his decision. And he had put this off long enough, saying he wanted it, saying he didn't want it, claiming one thing and feeling another. He locked his eyes on Snape's and nodded.

Snape fastened the hand into place on the end of his left wrist, fingers moving with the same delicate slowness he used in brewing a volatile potion. Harry shuddered a bit as his arm sagged with the weight, and felt Draco, standing behind him, grip his shoulders in reassurance. Harry breathed in and licked his lips. If this goes well, I might be able to do that to Draco soon.

Snape's wand skimmed over the edge of the silver where it joined Harry's wrist, and he murmured the beginning incantations that would bond the hand to Harry's arm and start the long, long process of Transfiguring the metal into flesh and filling it with bones and knuckles, nails and blood. Harry felt Draco's own hands tighten again. He had wanted to do this for Harry, but his magic wasn't strong enough. It had to be a powerful wizard whom Harry trusted completely.

And then it was done, and Harry could feel the subtle, questing trails of magic traveling up his arm from his wrist, now and then sniffing as they took in the scent of his skin or blended with his own power. At one point, he thought he felt them colonize a vein, and start busily learning his blood. He shuddered slightly.

"You remember what Manus said," Snape murmured, drawing Harry's attention back to him. "You have to use the hand as much as possible. Slip the fingers around those things you want to grip. Visualize making it bend and move even before it can. Position it on the handle of your broom alongside your right. And do welcome it, Harry." His hand pressed on Harry's arm for a moment, hard enough to leave fingerprints. "If you don't, the magic will sense that and withdraw."

"I know," Harry whispered. Those were all reminders that Rosalind Manus had given him, over and over, when Harry had finally chosen her shop and owled his order in, explaining what he wanted. Perhaps it was because they communicated solely by owl, and had never met in person, but she was refreshingly brisk about it, without peppering her post with exclamation marks and questions on the nature of her patron. She had asked innumerable questions about facts that Harry himself didn't know but had labored to find out, including the length of his fingers on his right hand and in what position the sun had been standing when Bellatrix had cut his original hand off. Harry understood that she needed to know that in order to create a model that would bond to him instead of having to be Transfigured by force—a process that usually resulted in an unholy mess—and so he'd done his best to answer.

He had balked, a bit, at the price; Draco and Snape had insisted that he choose without looking at the Galleons it would cost him, and Harry had, unwittingly, chosen the most expensive hand he possibly could. Regulus had firecalled him the same day and had a long, stern talk with him about blood pride and what the heir of the Black family could and could not do with his vault. Harry had argued until Regulus resorted to guilting him; Harry had spent Black money for other causes, after all, so why not this one? And it would help ease Regulus's own guilt, at not being in Harry's head when he lost his hand, and being gone for eight months and not there to help him when he needed it.

Harry had given in. Now, he wondered if he shouldn't have.

"Stop worrying at it, Harry," Draco said into his ear. "If you do worry at it, then it's just going to detach, and you'll have spent the money for nothing."

That made Harry try to relax and think welcoming thoughts. The trails of magic winding through his arm, which had slowed for a moment, brightened to red and gold under his skin, and wended faster.

"That's it," Draco whispered into his ear, and Harry let himself think only of that, the whisper on his earlobe and the soothing rub in his shoulder, and watched as the lines shrank and glowed and thrummed.

"You will be whole again," Snape said a few minutes later, into the silence.

Harry looked up in surprise at his guardian's tone. Snape leaned on the wall, his face as close to relaxed as it ever came, his eyes fastened on the silver gleam of Harry's new hand. It was news to Harry that Snape had been hurt, in his own way, by the loss of his hand, but it was another reason to strive for and keep it.

And you can want it, he told himself sternly. Just like anyone else would. Normal person, remember?

"Thank you, Severus," he told Snape, and then turned and nodded to Draco. "Let's go practice. I don't want everyone in the Great Hall gawking when I nearly tip over my pumpkin juice."

"They're going to gawk anyway." Draco rubbed his chin along the side of Harry's neck, eyes almost closed, an expression of sleepy contentment on his face. "But at least it should be for the right reasons."

Harry smiled, a bit, and imagined he could feel the fingers flex in return.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Draco approved highly of Harry's new hand. For one thing, he had chosen well; the hand was beautiful as gleaming silver, and would adapt to Harry's arm much more smoothly than most of the other models, eventually making a hand as lovely as the rest of his body was.

For another, his lover would have two hands for the first time. Draco did look forward to seeing what would happen in bed, then.

"Pay attention, Draco."

Peter did tend to notice when one of them slipped out of contemplating the Animagus transformation. Draco bit his lip and closed his eyes, sending his mind back to what it should be doing: fixing on his Animagus form.

He knew he was something small, lithe, four-legged. But he could still see only the silhouette. It frustrated him, this endless process of seeing what was really there, what he really was, instead of what he wished for. He had wasted a week with wings because he had hoped his form would be able to fly. Peter had questioned him sternly, informed Draco that a four-legged form was still marvelous, and returned him to the simple drills of visualization until he could promise meekly that he would try not to let his desires interfere again.

Draco was beginning to see why so few wizards became Animagi. One might be stuck as an animal one didn't want, and it took so long even with an expert teacher, and it required such bloody patience.

He focused on his form again, scowling at it. He could see the shadow of a turned neck, a graceful, lifted head. The animal he would become stood at an odd position in his mind. Peter had had him look through books—not for images, but reading them, trying to recognize the name of the creature he naturally thought of as standing in such a position. Nothing worked. Draco was beginning to despair of seeing his form at all, or at least seeing it before Potter saw his.

His thoughts wandered again, but this time, he kept his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even, just this side of drifting off to sleep, and he didn't think Peter would be able to tell. He was thinking of his father's latest letter, the one in which Lucius had all but sworn to take back the disownment—if only Draco would admit he had been wrong. Since that would take away the force of his decision, Draco had refused, in lines he still thought of as clever and scathing.

Clever, he congratulated himself. I am that. And cunning. That befits a proper Slytherin, but not all of them are as clever as I am.

He started as the silhouette in his mind moved, turning fully towards him, but clung to his current train of thought. Peter had told them that sometimes this would happen; if they thought of something that coincided with their animal form, it might reveal itself to them.

Clever. Cunning. What is small and lithe and clever and cunning, able to adapt and survive the way I can, capable of great effort when necessary but preferring to take smaller prey? He knew from the shadow of teeth that his form was a predator. And though it stung to adopt Harry's description of him as lazy and only doing well when he needed to, it made his form spring forward, shadows peeling back from it, showing him the gleaming edge of a jaw, sharp teeth, bright amber eyes, a coat as pale as moonlight, a body adapted to slipping into holes and along the banks of streams to fool the hounds—

Draco opened his eyes with a shout. Peter glared at him, and so did Potter, jolted out of his trance. Harry looked at him expectantly, with a smile that widened as he stood and came over, putting his arms around Draco. A moment later, two hands pressed against Draco's spine, holding him.

"You found your form," he said.

Draco nodded, his heart singing with triumph, especially since he could look over Harry's shoulder and see Peter's and Potter's expressions turn to ones of interest and envy, respectively.

"What is it?" Harry whispered in his ear.

"A fox," said Draco. He knew his voice was smug. He did not care. "A white fox. I should have guessed. Foxes are the epitome of cunning. They're supposed to have magical powers, and dance to lure their prey close to them. And they're clever. They'll run through streams and ride on the backs of sheep to escape the hounds."

"They live in dark holes, too," Potter muttered. "How appropriate."

Peter laid a hand on Potter's shoulder and gave him a stern look. Then he nodded at Draco. "Very good, Draco," he said. "Now that you know your form, and exactly what it looks like, you can begin the exercises that will blend your human body with your—vulpine one." He had hesitated a moment, to remember the correct adjective. Now he smiled. "More weeks of work ahead of you."

Harry sighed into his ear. "The fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big thing," he murmured into Draco's ear. "Oh, Draco, be careful. Remember the many things that will save your life, and don't forget the one big thing that might doom you."

"You're telling me to see the forest for the trees, Harry?" Draco had not experienced pure joy in a few days, at least. It was pleasant to see it again. "I promise I'll look. And you can be my eyes in the dark, since you're the lynx."

Harry drew back, grinning, and pushed his shoulder. "That's not certain yet."

Draco pinched him back. Harry hissed. "Oh, yes, it is," he said, and ruffled Harry's hair. "My little kitten."

Harry hissed at him again, sternly enough this time that the Many snake on his throat uncoiled. Peter shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Children," he said. "Settle down to visualizing again." He paused. "Well, Harry, at least. Draco, come with me. I need to show you which books you'll be using now."

Draco followed him, smug both in the knowledge that he knew what his form was now, and that he'd got there before Potter.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Thank you for coming to meet me, sir."

Adalrico chuckled in spite of himself and held out his hand to Harry. "Still so formal, when we have been allies for more than three years, vates," he said. "Please, call me Adalrico, as you call Mrs. Parkinson Hawthorn."

Harry relaxed a bit, and his smile warmed his face. Adalrico glanced over his shoulder, taking in their surroundings and making sure no one was nearby to threaten Harry. Granted, they were meeting in front of the Ministry, in the same alley where Harry had ridden the dragon, but one could not be too careful of enemies. Adalrico and Elfrida still warded their home tightly when one of them left, and they had only placed Marian in the care of a trusted friend one or two times. Life in the wizarding world had been difficult, once, and when it turned difficult again, those who were prepared for it would survive the best.

Adalrico almost wished the difficulty would hurry up and arrive. Then he could go to war again. Peace was telling on him. He woke from dreams of the First War now, and they were not always nightmares.

"I appreciate you coming," Harry reiterated, and walked towards the phone box they would take into the Atrium, perforce drawing Adalrico with him. "Merlin knows this will be a thankless task otherwise."

Adalrico nodded to him. "And you want me to testify that your magic does not do harm to Marian?"

"If you would." Harry punched the number to let them into the Ministry and told the witch's voice their names and business, then turned around, leaning on the phone box while he waited for it to spit their badges out. Adalrico tried not to stare at the new silver hand cradling Harry's right elbow, and thought he succeeded. "The monitoring board has a new idea about how to thwart me, now that they can't bicker about who I bring to the meetings or how often we meet." He rolled his eyes. "The latest idea, which Marvin Gildgrace gave the Prophet an interview about, is that my magic could harm young children, either in the womb or younger than two years old. If you could testify that Marian received no ill effects even though I was with her when she was born, I'll be grateful."

Adalrico frowned. He had seen that interview, but it had seemed so ridiculous, just another wrinkle in the striving over the Grand Unified Theory, that he'd skimmed right past it. He thought now that he should have searched it for a mention of Harry's name. "Why would he think that?"

"Supposedly he has research—" Harry's tone made it plain what he thought of that research "—that wizard children have adapted to the presence of Lord-level wizards in the world, but not one as young as I am. Because I'm closer to a child in age myself, my magic can have an adverse effect on them. Or something." He waved his silver hand in the air. Watching closely, Adalrico thought he could see one of the fingers bend, but that might have been wishful thinking. "I must admit, I didn't try to follow the convulsions of his argument once I realized he was targeting me, and why." His mouth tightened in exasperation. "These Light wizards don't give up."

"Why bear with the monitoring board?" Adalrico asked, a question that had been bothering him. "You could dismiss them. You have the legal right to do so."

Harry gave him a sharp glance. "I see that someone's been talking behind my back," he said, his eyelids dropping a bit. "I'll have to talk, too."

Adalrico let a faint, chill smile wreathe his mouth. "Actually, Harry, no. I grew interested in the ways that the Ministry has dealt with unexpected Lords in the past myself, so I did my own research. And though none of them have been quite as unexpected as you were, they still should have treated you better. The threat of Voldemort, the fact that you went against Dumbledore, and your age frighten them, and make them think they can control you."

Harry flushed. "My apologies, si—"

Adalrico raised his eyebrows.

Harry sighed and held out his flesh hand to catch the badges that dropped into them, handing Adalrico's over. "Adalrico. I'm sorry. I should have realized that other people can do their own research, of course. But I had thought I'd demonstrated my resistance to control quite well already."

"Light wizards never understand that until you embroider it on a flag and wave it in their faces," Adalrico said scornfully. "They'll try to drag you down, Harry, like hounds on a stag. Even the lesson of the dragon didn't linger with them long. It has to be your own magic." He felt his skin prickle and his hair lift as Harry's magic rose a little, heightened by Harry's outrage, and he sighed. The wild scent of a thunderstorm was all around him, and he appreciated it as he never had. Of course, there were so few Lord-level wizards in the world to smell. He let his voice become a coaxing whisper. "Think of what you could do with it."

The smell dropped abruptly, and Harry gave him a faint, wry smile. "I have thought of it," he said. "And there are some uses I prefer not to put it to." He clipped his badge to his robe. "I don't think the Light wizards are the only ones manipulating me. Sir."

That was deliberate, not a slip of the tongue, and Adalrico accepted the message it gave gracefully. "At least I am honest about it," he said.

"Yes. I've never forgotten your honesty."

One look into Harry's eyes made it obvious he was remembering the night when Adalrico had told him about torturing Alba Starrise. Adalrico nearly swallowed his tongue, but forced himself into a gracious nod. "I'm known for that," he said.

Harry gave him a dangerous smile and paced past him into the phone box lift. Adalrico hastened to join him, and told himself he'd deserved that slap. Never forget what he is, and never stop watching. He changes so fast, and he's recently changed so much, that you'll need that simply to keep up with him.

They stepped out into the Atrium, and Harry nodded to a door at the far end. "That's where the monitoring board meets, that small room."

Adalrico concealed his disgust. Harry should have demanded—could have demanded, rather—both a larger room and one more convenient to his own schooling at Hogwarts. But he had got this far being humble, and it did seem that he had little use for trappings of rank, though Merlin knew why. He merely nodded and took a step forward.

It was swift. Adalrico saw the shadows stirring from the corner of his eye, and just managed to turn before something silver skimmed at him, curved and silent as one of the legendary death-blades. It caught him around the neck and seared his skin with a cold burn as it closed. A collar, Adalrico thought, and he felt his magic try to leap out through his body and his wand, and slam against unseen barriers.

Then someone seized his arm, and the tug of a Portkey took him away, and down, down, down.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry didn't hesitate; he released his magic directly at the Unspeakables in the shadows, a hail of deadly knives that he thought up even as they flew. The Unspeakables melted and dipped like bird's down in front of the blades, two of them vanishing altogether. A third took Adalrico's arm, and turned his hooded head towards Harry with a smile he could feel, if not see, and they Portkeyed out together. Harry cursed and raised his magic into a shimmering aura, then directed it outward with a sweep of his hands. He realized only a moment later that he had used the silver one as well as the flesh one, and wondered if that would weaken his command.

It seemed to have made it stronger, instead. The air around the Unspeakables froze, and they were trapped in glittering blocks of blue ice. But the ice melted a moment later, and they also vanished, soft as ripples in water.

Harry clenched his flesh hand and tried automatically to close the silver one into a fist, and cursed again. He was shaking.

They have Adalrico. They took him into the Department of Mysteries. Harry tried to swallow, and felt as if something had stuck in his throat. The Stone isn't playing fair anymore.

He turned sharply as wards rang and Aurors came barreling through the gates of the Atrium. Too late, of course, Harry thought. Far too late. And the door at the far end of the Atrium was opening, too, and Snape and Draco were coming out. They'd gone ahead to wait for him, given that Adalrico was Apparating in less than a minute after they descended and Harry wanted to impress the monitoring board with how much he trusted Mr. Bulstrode by having them come in together. Harry could see the looks on their faces, and grimaced. It'll be a long time before I hear the end of this one.

And then the thought fell away, and turned into sheer fury, because they had Adalrico, and how could he worry about his own safety in the midst of that?

"What happened?" It was the Auror called Hope who spoke, her eyes wide, her fingers turning her wand in a nervous gesture.

Harry drew breath to explain, and someone laughed.

Harry turned, his silver hand rising in a flurry and flash of sparks. A man walked away from one of the fireplaces at the other end of the Atrium. He was putting something in his pocket—an Unspeakable artifact, Harry thought, what looked like a key made of diamond. That was the reason they hadn't seen him before.

He immediately had six Auror wands trained at him, but he didn't seem to notice, or care. His eyes were fixed on Harry's face, and his smile was horrible, and he seemed to be waiting for something.

Recognition. And Harry knew him by his slightly dreamy, slightly mad eyes and his pale hair—knew him by the reflection of another man through him, a man who had looked like that. "Pharos Starrise," he said, and had to close his eyes to keep from screaming. Was there no end to the foul, ash-starred ripples that could spread out from a single act of vengeance? Did no one but him ever get tired of claiming and shedding blood?

The thought of Cupressus Apollonis blazed in his mind like the edge of the sun in a solar eclipse. The scion of Light sinking into shadows. Pharos is whom he meant. A Light heir, a setting star. Damn it! I should have known.

"Yes," said Pharos, his voice full of the sated sound that usually came to someone else when they had a good meal, or a good round of sex. "And he is gone, vates. He is gone where you will not find him." He paused, and when Harry opened his eyes, Pharos's gaze was fixed, glittering, on his left arm. "Or gone where you must follow," Pharos whispered. "You swore a family alliance with the Bulstrodes, didn't you? The scars will break open and bleed you to death if you do not fulfill it. Oh, dear. Venturing into the Department of Mysteries, the heart of the Unspeakables' trap, in order to rescue a single ally. Of course that is something Harry vates would do."

And he smiled.

Draco had reached Harry's side by now, but Harry didn't look at him. Draco offered calm, and what he wanted was rage.

He let his magic travel through his eyes. With nothing more than his gaze, he froze Pharos into an awkward position, his neck twisted to the side, his chest ceasing to move, his triumphant smile becoming a rictus. Harry could feel trapped air brewing in Pharos's lungs, searching for a way out. One of the Aurors cleared his throat, and he knew the monitoring board would be watching him in silent horror, but he didn't care, he couldn't care.

"You are going to tell me everything you know about this, you fool," he told Pharos softly. "Or you'll cease to breathe."

Hope did step forward then. Harry turned a remote gaze on her, and she stopped, but stood her ground. "You can't treat a prisoner like that," she told Harry. "We have to question him. We have to put him in a cell and protect him from—those who might try to harm him." She hesitated for a long moment. "And that includes you, vates."

The air in Pharos's chest kicked and struggled like a trapped baby. Harry could feel the urge to keep on holding Pharos tight, to kill him like this, or to turn and rape his mind with Legilimency, get the information he was hiding.

And the small, nervous Auror, standing up for what she believed in, was the one to defeat him.

Harry twisted his silver hand, and Pharos collapsed to the floor, able to breathe again, his face almost blue. Hope hurried forward and bent over his shoulder, spelling his hands together behind him.

"You'll come and present evidence to the Minister, of course," she told Harry. She hesitated again, then said, "What is this about?"

"Pharos's uncle had a twin sister," Harry said distantly. He watched Pharos rub his throat and his neck, and tried to feel remorse at how close he had come to killing him. He could not. What he could feel was the screaming necessity to go after Adalrico, panting like the breath of a Grim in his ear, and Draco standing behind him, running one hand over his neck. "Pharos's mother. She committed suicide after being rescued from Death Eaters. Augustus Starrise, the uncle, raised her sons, and searched obsessively for her killers. He found out last year that Mr. Bulstrode directed the torture. He challenged him to a duel, and they fought, and Augustus died. That should have been the end of it. It wasn't." He jerked his head at Pharos. "He has something to do with the Unspeakables, and their taking Mr. Bulstrode."

"I do." Pharos could talk again already. He was smiling at Harry. "I gave them information they need to trap you. In return, they promised it would be Bulstrode they took." He laughed quietly. "And they've shared a few immunities with me, too. You won't get what you want by questioning me with Veritaserum, or magic. I'm immune to them both."

"Torture would do it," Draco whispered into Harry's ear.

Temptation—Harry crushed the temptation. He leaned back into Snape's comforting presence, and rubbed his left arm, which was beginning to itch, and nodded to Hope. "I'll want to speak with the Minister, of course."

"Of course," she murmured, and waved the other Aurors forward to help her take Pharos to the lifts.

Harry, staring blindly about, caught a glimpse of the monitoring board, and Aurora's pale face, and smiled a smile that made a few of them flinch backwards. "The meting of the monitoring board is canceled for today, sirs, madams," he said. "I hope you understand." He made sure his tone said that he didn't give a damn if they didn't understand, and then followed the Aurors.

Anger and horror howled in his ears, combining with the itch on his left arm to urge him to rush ahead. He's your ally. He was endangered because he was with you, and for no other reason. The Unspeakables only wanted him to have you. How can you stand here? How can you not go and save him at once?

Necessity answered. Because my life is important to other people, too. And Pharos might know something about the traps the Unspeakables have set. It would be stupid to rush ahead when he could warn us.

Necessity, Harry decided, would have to shut up in a short while, if what he suspected was true and the Unspeakables had really made Pharos immune to questioning.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Rufus watched Harry as he shut the door quietly behind him. Percy had preceded him into his office, and Rufus had let him go first to make the young man feel better, even though he hardly thought Harry would kill him over this news. Now Percy's nostrils were flared, and he scratched like mad along his shoulders, where Harry's magic would be making him itch.

It was strange, Rufus thought as he limped across the room, the focus of five pairs of eyes—Harry, Draco, and Snape had entered the office, and Mr. Bulstrode's wife and elder daughter had been summoned—how Harry could do nothing but sit casually in a chair in his office, and still be murderously angry. His magic went back and forth across the room like a stampede of scorpions, lashing the other way whenever it encountered a wall. It remained invisible so far, but Rufus thought that wouldn't last much longer when Harry learned what he had to say.

He sat down, and leaned forward, and gave them the news.

"Starrise is right. We can't make him talk, not without bringing out knives and other—methods we prefer not to use."

"Then bring them out," said Bulstrode's daughter. Millicent, that was her name. She leaned forward, her elbows gouging into the arms of her chair. Big girl, Rufus thought. Strong girl. Strong enough to make Percy reach nervously for his wand, at least. Rufus caught his eye and shook his head. "I want my father back. I'll use whatever I have to."

Rufus had not feared being killed. He had feared this, clash of Light principles against Dark. He said steadily, "That won't be possible, Miss Bulstrode. We don't torture our prisoners."

"Except when you accidentally let someone slip through the net," said Millicent, with an unpleasant twist of her lips. "Usually a Dark wizard suffering vengeance at the hands of the Light one, or a werewolf 'tripping' on the way into Tullianum. So 'accidentally' let someone through now."

"No," said Rufus. "I will not be a party to deliberate violation of another wizard's rights."

Millicent drew breath to speak, but it was Harry who answered, voice only mildly inquisitive. "So you couldn't get any information about the Department of Mysteries from him?" Around him, the scorpions marched. To be in the same room was becoming actively painful, but Rufus had endured worse. He replied.

"No. He hinted and taunted about 'chains,' and that was all he would say." He paused, studying Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"So am I, Minister." Harry nodded. "Especially since I am going to have to invade the Department of Mysteries to get Adalrico back."

"No—" said Snape.

Harry flipped his left sleeve back. A fat drop of blood was just welling from a scar along his arm which Rufus thought was normally faint and pale, but had now turned pink as if newly inflicted. "I have no choice," he said, every word as heavy as a falling boulder. "The family alliance oath will name me traitor if I don't. And it would be right." He put the sleeve back. "That doesn't mean I'll go alone. I'll take anyone who's willing to go with me, and that includes whichever of your Aurors you can spare, Minister."

"You'll have them," Rufus promised, feeling a brief, dizzy spin of irony around him for a moment. He had never thought he would be lending some of his Aurors to rescue a former Death Eater he knew had escaped Azkaban on only the flimsiest of pretexts. If asked sixteen years ago, he would have preferred to let Adalrico Bulstrode rot where he was.

But that was before he knew what the Unspeakables did, before they rebelled against the Ministry, before he became Minister, before he decided that holding onto his principles was worth it even in the midst of crises. He would not let Pharos Starrise be tortured, and he would not let it happen to Adalrico Bulstrode, either.

Snape was talking quietly with Harry, Rufus saw when he looked up. The words grew more violent, and finally exploded into loudness when Harry pulled away from him and stood up, eyes polished green stone. The scorpions were visible now as great snakes, looped around Harry's body, their hisses nearly drowning his words.

"I know they want me. I know this is a trap for me, more than Adalrico. I don't care. I'm going. I have to. Adalrico is my friend and my ally, and I swore an oath." He flicked a glance at Elfrida Bulstrode, who had sat pale and silent since she'd come into the office, and whose face was almost milky now. His voice gentled. "I'm sorry this happened to you, Mrs. Bulstrode. You can call whoever else you think might like to go with us, but it can't take too long."

"I know," said Elfrida, and seemed to recover, bending over her wrist.

Rufus went to fetch his Aurors, and tighten the guard around Pharos. He had questioned the man himself, hoping the words of another Light wizard might get through to him. Nothing had helped. Pharos had only laughed at them, and remarked now and then that his vengeance was complete.

Perhaps he could not stop the Unspeakables from appearing in the middle of the room and spiriting him away, but Rufus was certainly going to try.

And he would be grateful for the chance to act on the, low cold anger rising in him now. The Stone had sworn an oath, and had broken it, probably due to some technicality in the laws of magic. The Unspeakables were rebelling against the Ministry's ideals of law, and against his direct control.

He would be more than happy to help defeat them.