Chapter 17: The Flames Within
Part 1

Author's Note: As always, I very much appreciate the comments and even criticisms of the last chapter. Especially those who said they were 'done' when Harry let his cloak go. I wanted to address a few of these in small detail before the chapter started; although, the next two chapters will elaborate on that decision and its consequences more.

Firstly, a common criticism was that people thought it was a 'dumb decision' to give Voldemort Harry's cloak because he could use it as a weapon. Interesting. However, to those I would say, know your Canon. Not to spoil anything, but in the interest of elaboration, Dumbledore tells Harry in The Deathly Hallows, "But the Cloak, I took out of vain curiosity, and so it could never have worked for me as it works for you, its true owner." Then, and this is key, when talking about Voldemort's and the Hallows, "But even if he had known about them Harry, I doubt that he would have been interested in any except the first. He would not think he needed the Cloak…"

Extrapolate from this what you will, but I have accumulated my own explanation in the coming chapters and how this fits into Harry's journey. If you didn't like that Harry gave it away, I totally understand. My goal with that decision was to place Harry in a position where he must choose between something he thinks he cannot live without and his morals. Though it is common in war stories, and perhaps Fanfiction in general, to treat Harry as cold and unforgiving in order to separate him from Canon, I chose to embrace the struggles of his heroes journey and see where those consequences take him. This was hinted at in the opening excerpt about conditional leadership from the last chapter.

Though many other, and far better, stories might embrace a darker or morally unflinching Harry, that's not what I'm interested in. This also answers the second criticism people had: that Harry should not have saved Malfoy. This is a personal preference. If you want a Harry who kills without regard, then sorry, this is not that story. Will there be death? Of course. But I think I would like to keep it as close to Canon in terms of if Harry can save a life, no matter who that life is, then he will. That's the type of leader he is and what I would like to shape further with the no-win situations experienced in war. After everything Voldemort has done, in their final battle in DH, Harry still offers Voldemort the chance to surrender…I'm not sure my Harry would quite do this, but still.

Enjoy the new chapter, if you like action this might be one for you…

'Nothing is as haunting as the desire that drives your every motion. Most people, muggles and magic folk regardless, tend to meander without such a drive often falling prey to gravity's incessant call. But for those rare few who dive into the world, the magic of life knows no bounds.'

Taken from an oft disregarded overture on magical and muggle treatise from renowned Wizarding composer Albin Sharosi who died at his piano aged 26.

Snow fell in fluttery, flighty flakes against the kitchen window. A cold Christmas was sweeping its way over the southeast of England. Though you wouldn't know it to look at the Burrow which resembled the magical version of The Old Lady Who Lived In A Boot's house. Take a step inside and Mrs Weasley's decorations would light up the eyes more than Hogwarts itself. Her fifth batch of cookies was currently simmering in the oven and giving off a smell so sweet Harry could taste them in the air.

"Here's an idea," Ron said, cutting into Harry's stomach-leaden daydreams as much as the potatoes Mrs Weasley had them peeling, "if someone in the castle has your cloak, then why not just use the map to track them. That way when you can't see them but the map does, you'll know exactly who has it." By someone, Ron was actually talking very specially about a certain blonde Slytherin but had resigned to spreading the blame given the lack of evidence.

"Not a bad idea," Harry replied, "except-"

"-Except," Ginny interrupted, discarding another peeled potato onto the mountain, "Harry would be forced to follow every single person around the castle with his map all the time."

"I didn't mean everyone," Ron retorted in kind, "Besides, I didn't say it was a full proof plan, did I?"

"We'll hold our breaths until your next one," Ginny remarked sarcastically, earning her a peel in the face from Ron. She moved to retaliate when the twins and Mrs Weasley walked into the kitchen.

"Ah, Ah! We'll have less of that." The Weasley matriarch interjected. "If I catch you two fighting you'll be in the garden degnoming without hope of a coat or a cookie to keep you warm."

"Fine," Ron said, though they both uttered something to the tune of, 'then we won't let you catch us,' under their breaths. Harry felt he occupied a kind of no-mans-land between them and wasn't willing to risk having his cookie privileges revoked before they even became available.

"Anyway," Ginny continued in a whisper, "if a certain someone did steal it, he wouldn't be so stupid as to wear it willy-nilly around the castle. I wouldn't call him smart, but he's not an idiot either."

"Now, now," Mrs Weasley cut over them, interpreting the seriousness of the conversation, "Harry why don't you help Fred and George with the firewood while these two finish off the peels… by themselves." She finished pointedly at Ron and Ginny who groaned. Mrs Weasley simply turned up the Wireless and hummed along to a Christmas tune by The Weird Sisters.

"Er, Mum, you do realise we don't need Harry's help," George stated matter of factly.

"-We've been able to use magic for years now," Fred finished confusedly.

"Did I say help? I meant supervise," said Mrs Weasley, who flashed a brilliant smile at her mischievous sons.

"Not even trusted by our own mother. Can you believe that, Harry?" George said as both twins wrapped their arms around Harry, sandwiching him between them. Fresh out of the frying pan of one no man's land and into the molten fires of another, Harry thought.

"Listen, Harry," Fred continued loudly as they left the kitchen, "I've been meaning to talk to you about selling our new line of pranks at Hogwarts."

"Don't you dare!" Mrs Weasley yelled from the kitchen. The three of them chuckled as Harry plopped himself down on the couch to watch the twins handy work.

"Say, Harry, had time to try our little project on yet?" George said sidling down next to him. Fred decided to stand within eyesight of the kitchen door to catch any eager ears. He waved his wand lazily at the fire.

Smirking, Harry lowered his own voice. "Not yet. I've not had much time. Though I hope to report some feedback to you in the next couple of days." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Excellent. We promise it won't disappoint." George replied with a glint in his eye. This gave Harry pause, what if the twins had pranked the suit they'd made him? That was all he needed when diving headfirst into battle, having to stop mid-fight to unlock his legs and dispel the bright pink umbrella that had sprouted out of his backside. "Listen, Harry, we were wondering-"

"-Since you've carried on with the DA and we are woefully out of practice-"

"-if you could give us a few pointers."

"Pointers?" Harry was a little confused, "You mean-"

"Duelling, of course," Fred said, rejoining them on the couch, satisfied Mrs Weasley wasn't going to make an appearance.

"Not that your skills with the ladies aren't worth fawning over, Harry-"

"In fact, we hear tell of a certain brunette from Slughorn's party-,"

"How do you know about that!… Oh, who am I kidding? How could you not know should be the more accurate question?" The twins offered equally eye-rolling grins. "Not that I'm unwilling to help but what prompted the sudden interest?"

The twins looked at one another, "In all seriousness, Harry-"

"Wait, what? Are you guys feeling okay?" Harry replied incredulously: he never thought the word serious would escape or be caught dead coming out one of the twin's mouths unless it was part of an elaborate joke.

"We'll take that as a compliment, oh illustrious leader," George said with a mock bow. "Anyway, we've become a little rusty since the DA and seeing as we've got our own lab space now, we thought we'd put it to good use and train in case old Voldy comes knocking."

"Right," Harry replied, drawing the word out. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that your most recent line of pranks was all You-Know-Poo themed, would it?"

"Very Astute. You see Alicia and Angelina-," George began.

"-Ever the voices of reason in our lives, Harry," Fred inserted.

"May have mentioned that such creations of ours will only slip under the Death Eater's radar for so long before they come looking for revenge or something equally unsavoury…

"-a job?…well there can't be much money in Death Eating can there?" Fred tried justifying his suggestion to George and Harry's raised eyebrows.

"So," George continued ignoring his brother, "if you know any spells, tricks or tips-

"We'd surely appreciate," they finished together.

Harry took a moment to absorb that one. "Wow, guys. I think that's the first real question I've ever heard you ask."

"Its the girls, Harry-."

"Some would say they're of a positive influence on us." Both the twins wriggled in the skins before grinning.

"I'll have to thank them for that," Harry said under his breath. "Firstly, I'm flattered and happy to help. And secondly, you don't need any spells." Harry stated as obviously as he knew it to be. Meanwhile, the twins looked dumbfounded. "What I mean is that from all I've researched and read, spell knowledge itself won't help you as much as spell strength and spell ease, for lack a better word."

"You've lost us, Harry," Fred replied wearing a perplexed impression for the both of them.

"To sum it up," Harry continued, "Practice. Practice as much as you can. You said you have space, so train with and against each other. Repeat your key spells until they feel like second nature and you can produce them without thinking, accurately hitting the target every time. How's your non-verbal casting?"

They both gave looks that reminded Harry of Ron when Hermione questioned him about homework. "Is it supposed to be good?"

"It'll help in a fight when your enemies don't know what spells you're throwing at them."

"Gotcha," Fred said, ticking an invisible list in the air, "Practice, non-verbal spell casting, practice, duelling and…what was the last one Georgy?"

"Practice?" He supplied.

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Do those and I think you've got a good chance of escaping if they come after you.

"Escaping?" Both twins flashed looks as though Mrs Weasley had just grounded them for a year.

"Harry, are you nuts?" One of them said. "We want to be able to kick some Death Eater arse!"

"Actually, no," Harry replied becoming as serious as he could while trying not to sound too much like Hermione's lecture mode. "I'll tell you guys the same thing I'm telling my DA class, Death Eaters never fight fair. So, fighting when they come for you is never going to end well. Do what you can to survive and escape, and if that's not possible, call for backup."

"Great, then how do we call you?"

"Me?"

"Well, yeah! Who else do we want coming to our rescue than The Chosen Slytherin Lady-killer himself."

Harry was on the edge of whipping out his wand when the twins both leapt off the couch and Mrs Weasley entered the living room once more. After a firm reprimanding at the end of which the tougher-than-she-looked matriarch concluded how much of a bad influence the twins were on Harry, she shuffled off for dinner.

Harry's conversation with the twins had left him with much to think about over the next few days. Could he help teach or even train more people than he was in the DA? What about escaping, was there a means of escape once the Death Eaters came for you? And then there was helping? If the twins had been serious, which was a dangerous statement to consider, then would he be able to help people in need? Hermione's gold coins they used for DA meetings jumped to mind. But he needed a more practical version for communication and calling for backup. Doing so would mean he could show up when the Death Eaters weren't expecting and attack the attackers? But how to put all of that into action?

One thing was for sure, Harry wasn't going to find answers yo-yoing the questions back and forth across his mind. So, in the short build-up before Christmas, he dedicated every spare morsel of time to pouring over his textbooks and borrowing Bill's old Runes books for answers, insight or haphazard ideas.

Ron, of course, thought Harry was mental for spending so much of his time reading.

"Books, books, books. Are you sure you're not really Hermione on Polyjuice?" Ron asked, looking at Harry like he was a year old sweet he'd found underneath the couch.

Harry let out a burp at that moment, Mrs Weasley's chocolate pudding finding the right time to make its appreciation known.

"Thank Merlin. You're still you. Read anymore and …"

"And what Ronald?" Mrs Weasley said, overhearing from the kitchen, "he'll learn something?"

"Well…yeah," Ron said candidly, causing Mrs Weasley to roll her eyes and say something to the tune of you'll wish you'd studied harder later in life.

"Not likely," Ron whispered back to Harry, causing him to smirk. A fair point, and one that only half a year ago Harry would have shared. What a difference such a time makes, he thought. Especially when the wizarding world he had come to know and love was slipping closer and closer to the knifes edge of war.

As such, every spare moment Harry had he claimed he was getting his homework out of the way or researching spells for the DA; two things which were true, just not the whole truth. And when no one was looking Harry searched his book collection and read anything on hand that might reveal how the hell Harry had blown a punching bag off its hook and across the room. So much had happened on the train, he'd barely given it thought, but as he overcame the loss of his cloak and relived what had happened, he realised he'd not only channelled his innate magic into his fist but he'd also combined it with his emotions.

At first, his speculation lead him to guess it was a side effect of wrestling with wandless magic. But upon reading his eastern magics book, he found a passage in the appendix which both excited and frightened him:

'The journey into the depths of ones own magic is like swimming in the open sea: refreshing, invigorating, emboldening, but on occasions deadly. For out of nowhere a surge of magic brought forth along open channels, leaps from the within and attacks. This is not to say such magical forays are inherently dangerous. Otherwise, none of the tribes I have discovered would have survived, let alone thrived. Simply that magic, like every other organ in the body, is tied to our emotions: Slip into a fit of unbound anger and flee from the destruction that occurs; lose sight of fear and hold your breath for who knows when the current will release you.'

As unnerved as he was, the text at least painted a more useful, if speculative, picture of how he had managed to punch the bag so far. The next question, then, was not about the why, rather: How the hell can I harness this for battle?

Not everything is about fighting, Harry knew, but as long as there was a war to win, a talent for striking his enemies with magic-infused punches wouldn't hurt…well, it wouldn't hurt him.

In the days that followed, Harry found his mood to be on a strange kind of rebound. Moping about something you couldn't control, it turned out, was a lot less pathetic than moping about something you could. So, with that in mind, Harry tried to put thoughts of his father's cloak aside and focus as hard as he could on getting it back. And the only way he was going to do that, was winning the war.

More often than not Harry found his thoughts stolen by a certain brunette who had not written him since their furtive rendezvous on the train. Harry's pen hovered over the paper several times, but there was a bitterness that had settled over his obvious feelings for Daphne. Like ink claiming paper, Harry couldn't let her rejection go and ironically couldn't find the words to write on the parchment they shared. He didn't want to sound like a lovesick puppy but her rejection at the party and confrontation on the train only compounded the loss of his cloak and if he was honest with himself, Harry had never felt so heartbroken. Therefore, and after finding himself constantly distracted by carrying it in his pocket, he decided to leave the note in his trunk, tucking it in a Potions textbook for safekeeping: the last place Ron would look.

A few days later brought Christmas Eve and with it a flurry of visitors to the Burrow. Christmas at the Dursely's was always a sordid affair, full of false cheer, gaudy and garish decorations topped off with presents that were emptier than Dudley's diary.

By contrast, the Burrow was full of hearty life, run-me-down trinkets, hand-me-down robes and homemade treats to the stomach's content. To Harry's eyes, it was nothing short of wonderful. The cherry on the top was the addition of Remus and Tonks to dinner whose ragtag charm clashed vividly with Fleur's cultivated refinement and the Weasleys chaotic sense of order. A perfect storm of wholesome activity, Harry thought.

"That…was a very noble thing you did, Harry," said Remus after Dinner to Harry alone. "Stupid, but noble."

Harry smiled, "That sounds like something Sirius might say."

"What I'm sure any of us might say is that you may look like your father, but in your heart, you are your mother, through and through. If there was a chance to save a life. She wouldn't hesitate."

Harry exhaled. "Yeah? Why do I feel so reckless then?"

Remus shifted in his seat. He took a few seconds mulling over Harry's question as much as he did his glass of red wine before he spoke. "Tough decisions come hand in hand with uncertainty, Harry. That's the price of being… well, a leader."

"I'm not sure I can pay that price," Harry replied worriedly.

"You can," Remus said calmly and confidently. "Frankly, it would be more concerning if you weren't as worried over your own decisions."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it, Harry. Do you honestly think Voldemort frets over the decisions he's made? I highly doubt it; he just blames others and considers himself faultless. Does Dumbledore? Of course, he does. The more you wrestle with your decisions the greater your conscience. The trick, I suppose, is not to let your conscience topple your confidence in yourself. Otherwise, you'll end up in a web of your own inaction."

When Remus had finished, Harry's precarious mood had vanished and a smile replaced its pull. "You know Remus, I think you're wasted in the Order. You could be writing philosophy books or hosting motivational talks or something…"

Remus laughed and took a sip of wine. "Thanks, Harry. Although I rather think it's the wine doing most of the talking." He batted the compliment away as though it were a fly around his face, but Harry didn't want to let him deflect it

"Seriously Moony. Thanks. I honestly don't know what I would do without you." Remus peeled his eyes away from the Weasley's fire and met Harry's, with a look that held a mixture of inevitable sadness and ecstatic happiness. For a moment, Harry wondered what about his words had caused such a conflict in the man until Remus cut him off before he could ask.

"You're quite welcome, Harry." The werewolf replied, shaking the feeling from his eyes, pretending it was a tear and not an emotion. "That street runs two ways, you know."

"Oh, I know," Harry said in mock arrogance, causing Remus to raise an eyebrow. "Speaking of," Harry continued.

"-Here we go," Remus interjected.

Adjusting his voice, Harry asked a question that had been burning his throat for the past couple of weeks now. It was one neither Mr nor Mrs Weasley was keen to answer or even acknowledge. Likewise, the twin's speculation was only as good a guess as anyone else's at Hogwarts. Then in the Daily Prophet that very morning, one day before what was supposed to be the happiest holiday of the year, a report from the Ministry tipped Harry off to the idea that everything was actually a lot worse than he thought.

The headline read, More Death Eater's Arrested: Minister Hints The End Of The War Is Near. Such obvious fabrications would usually have made Harry's teeth grind to dust, and it still did; except this time he saw more than just political manoeuvrings to Scrimgeour's machinations, he saw desperation. Something was brewing within the Ministry and it didn't forecast a calm result, more like one of Seamus' wildfire mixtures.

Harry relayed these thoughts to Remus, at the end of which he asked, "So, how's the war going, really?"

Making sure no one was in earshot, lest he get in trouble for revealing order secrets, Remus leaned in, "The thing is, Harry, things aren't going well for the ministry. Not that any of Scrimgeour's Auror's would be caught dead admitting it."

"Tonks not included, I'm guessing," Harry replied.

"Quite," Remus said, merrily glancing to his better half who was distracting Fleur from Mrs Weasley's questionable choice of music. "To be frank, we aren't doing much better in the Order," Remus continued, "The point is Voldemort and his Death Eaters are, for all intents and purposes, winning. And now a sudden lull in attacks and activity. Dumbledore is suspicious, to say the least."

"What could be the reason for it?"

"We're not sure. It's either a lack of resources on their part or a foreboding pause before a big attack."

"Not to be a cynic, but this is Voldemort we're talking about. If there's a pause, there's a purpose."

"The Order agrees," Remus nodded seriously, "Which is why we're approaching this defector situation with more caution than curiosity."

"Then why go at all? Why not err on the side of caution?"

"Because even if there's only a small chance this defector knows Voldemort's inner workings, then the Order cannot pass the opportunity lightly. Severus is only privy to so much and considering our standings in the war so far, we could use the win…"

"Yeah," Harry said taking Remus' statement to heart and making a silent vow to dent the war effort in his own way next term. Picking up the pistol of conversation, Harry aimed it where he knew Moony would resist, "I suppose it's too much to ask for Snape to shed any light on the situation…"

Remus looked at him askance, "Severus cannot risk more scrutiny than there already is on him."

"Of course…Wouldn't want the Dark Lord to question his loyalty now, would we?"

"No, we wouldn't, Harry," Remus replied in a way that dispelled Harry's sarcasm. "I know you dislike him but, perhaps, it would do you good to remember how much and how often Severus risks his life for our cause."

Harry bit back an eye roll. They should put that on his tombstone. "I'll try," he said finally, "It's just hard to believe the man who treated you with nothing short of sheer and dripping contempt your entire Wizarding life is actually on your side."

"We all have our secrets, Harry," Remus said suggestively, giving Harry distinct cause for pause.

Was Remus hinting at hidden depths to Snape's guise? Or simply that Snape represented a middle ground Harry could not yet see and that he, Harry, was one to talk about secrets…?

Either way, with the number of things Harry was keeping to himself this year, maybe he shouldn't be so harsh to others who might harbour the same. Then again, Harry remembered Snape giving him and Neville detention in one of their last lessons because Ron had misspelt Sphynx, so he couldn't give Snape much slack.

"Anyway," Harry said, turning the tables back to tonight. "I'm sure Moody's sixth sense - CONSTANT VIGILANCE -," Harry donned his best Moody impression, "is ringing like Christmas Day Church bells at the sign of a setup."

"Hence our trepidation," Remus concluded with a smirk. Meanwhile, Tonks had leapt away from Fleur and span almost producing her wand. The room chuckled at her overreaction - all except Mr Weasley who had nodded off with his feet up in his favourite chair and Mrs Weasley who was so mesmerised by her song she was conducting an invisible orchestra.

"Okay, what wise guy did a Mad-Eye impression?" Tonks asked, putting her hands on her hips. Harry pointed smoothly at Remus.

"Yeah, right," she replied disbelievingly. "You almost made me fall into a salute, I thought I was back in Auror cadets again."

Harry smiled. "Just keeping you on your toes, cadet Tonks."

"I'll have you know I am an Auror of much grace, Harry Po-," but Tonk's sentence was cut off when her jumper caught on the Christmas tree and nearly pulled it over. Most of the room laughed, especially when Tonks saved her spin with a pirouette and bowed gracefully. Fleur then came over and the two tried to untangle Tonks from her latest mishap. Moony looked on fondly, his youth breathing a second life thanks to Tonks.

It was a shame to twist the conversation back to his curiosity but Harry needed to know. "So, what's the Order's plan for tonight?"

A frown curled Remus' head. "Harry, as much as I want to tell you, I fear if I reveal such you'll-," he lowered his voice, "see an initiative and charge in headfirst."

"What's wrong with a little helping hand, Moony? After all, why do you think I'm doing this?"

"Because Harry, have you learnt nothing from your last visit to Hogsmeade? We, The Order, have a plan. We are aware it might be a trap and have planned for it. But if you, an unknown, come rushing into the situation it'll change our priorities and someone might get killed…" Remus finished, struggling to contain his voice.

Harry tamed his immediate response not wanting to turn their conversation into an argument, especially not in front of suspicious eyes.

"Look," Remus continued, "according to your account, had it not been for your helper in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, you might have been seriously hurt or worse." Harry drew in a calming yet exasperated breath. He couldn't deny Remus' logic but, and it may be conceited, he liked to think he would have found a way out.

"It's not that I doubt your ability, Harry," Remus said kindly after a drawn-out pause, "it's that the Order work as a unit and if we become distracted for whatever reason, it could end in disaster."

Harry released a bit of the pent up tension that had wound within. "I understand, Moony. It's just frustrating to sit on the sidelines. Just promise me you'll be careful."

Remus laughed out loud, causing Mrs Weasley to glance at him in annoyance. "Sorry, Molly," he chuckled. "Oh, Harry. The irony of you beseeching me to be careful out there, when you're-"

"What are you two jabbering on about?" Ginny inquired eagerly, plopping down next to Harry on the couch and listening in as though the two were brewing mischief - which in a strange sort of way, they were. A warm feeling buzzed through Harry's side as Ginny leaned in next to him and the flowery scent of her hair unfolded like spring rescuing winter.

Harry and Remus looked dumbly at each other for a moment, before Harry blurted out, "We were talking about The Marauders. Remus was telling me about a detention Dad and Sirius had in… fourth year, wasn't it Remus?" Harry pulled from thin air.

"Fifth." Remus matched the stripe of mischief in Harry's eyes.

"Really? Any tips?" Ginny smirked.

Remus laughed again, "You really do remind me of Lily sometimes, Ginny. Although, she almost entirely disguised her humour at our antics, whereas you openly embrace it."

"What can I say, my brother's ignited a fire in me," she declared glancing at her palm as if a fire danced there. Harry got the impression the money he gave the twins for their joke shop would have been put to more destructive use by their younger and unsuspecting sister.

"Well, in that vein I have an early present for you, Harry." Remus continued, his eyes lighting up. "Something I think Ginny, here, might get a kick out of as well." The old wolf reached into his jacket pocket and produced a tiny broomstick. It reminded Harry of a small action figure you might find in Quality Quidditch Supplies for kids to play with.

"Um," Harry began, a confused look rushing to his face. Ginny, he saw, seemed similarly unimpressed, "I mean it's great Remus… it's part of an action figure, right?"

Remus simply chuckled in a knowing way. He brushed some of the stray hairs out of his eyes and let a cheeky glint rest there. "This Harry is an old Marauder invention. One of our first actually."

Ginny and Harry looked at each other in confusion. "Um, Remus," she said delicately, "I'm not sure you and The Marauders invented toys." Causing Harry to chuckle.

"No. Not toys. But expandable magical items. Very tricky stuff, you know." Harry and Ginny stared at Remus, a little non-plussed.

Harry tried for a recovery, "yeah, no, that's great Remus.-cool gift."

Remus rolled her eyes, while Ginny snorted. "You do realise how difficult this is to make, right?"

"But Remus, magic can shrink anything. Fred and George are adding shrinking charms to their firecrackers."

"So, you don't see them coming?" Harry queried.

"Exactly," she replied with a satisfied smirk.

"Okay," Remus began, "allow me to get my teacher's hat out once more." Ginny and Harry groaned in very over the top fashion and sunk down into the couch they were sharing.

"Ha, ha! Listen," Remus found a tone that balanced equal measures Hermione and Professor McGonagall. "This isn't just any shrinking charm. One that will wear off after a certain amount of time. It's an extendable charm with runes involved. Meaning the broomstick can be shrunk or expanded as needed many times over without the spell decaying."

"What? Ever?" Harry asked.

"Well, not ever. Even Runes run out of magic eventually. But it'll certainly last a lot longer than an average shrinking charm. Anyway, that's not even the most impressive part." He continued, fascinated by his own instruction. Harry and Ginny shared a smirk. "Placing such a highly temperamental spell on a non-magical item is easy. Placing it on one as complex and delicate as a broom is not. Have a go one day and you'll see. The brooms kept shrinking every time we tried sitting on them in school.

"Cool! Thanks, Remus," Harry replied a little more gusto now. It was nice to know his father and Sirius had toiled away trying to make this spell work when they were at school and now Harry held the fruits of their labour. It also felt good that his own creativity in magic was a mirror, however distant, to what his father had been accomplishing twenty years before.

"And just what did you have in mind for Harry to use it for, Remus?" Ginny asked, suspicion written all over her soft features. Her glowing red hair, aided by the fire, made her seem half devil's advocate, half opportunistic lioness. She then raised an eyebrow, as if catching them in the headlights of their own rebellion.

"Well," Remus began knowingly coming to Harry's rescue, "If Harry has a problem putting it to good use, I'm sure you would have an idea or two in your back pocket, Ginny."

"Flattery will get you nowhere…you two are up to something." She stated more than asked.

Harry decided to roll with it. "Maybe we are." What followed were Ginny's wild and brilliant theories about Remus and Harry's rebellion and how it would lead to the inevitable and obvious downfall of Voldemort. Turns out she was quite the gifted storyteller he discerned while leaning back and watching her and Ron trade outlandish ideas. It was in that vein the rest of the evening continued: hearty merriment and warm conversations. For Harry, coming to The Burrow always felt like wearing one of Mrs Weasley's home nit jumpers: full of warmth, oddities and it often tickled you at random times. All in all, it was Harry's home away from home, and he embraced it as much as he could knowing that he would have to sit and wait while Remus, Tonks, Bill and Mr Weasley went on a mission somewhere without him.

As midnight reared, the music faltered and with it the mood. Mr Weasley shook off the dust of sleep and everyone said their goodbyes. Ron, Ginny and the twins all went up to bed not knowing that their father and brother were about to walk into a potential trap. Harry clutched Remus a little tighter and watched them exit quietly through the faint layer of snow and out into the unforgiving night.

Leaving Mrs Weasley and Fleur downstairs to sit in silent worry, Harry climbed the stairs and tried to go to bed. Doubting it would be fruitful, he could at least pretend to sleep while he listened for Mr Weasley's return. Ron was already snoring as Harry got undressed. He was about to take his wand holsters off when his mystery wand - as he now dubbed it - gave a faint prickle. Harry span round. Nothing. No danger, no noise. Ron continued to snore, oblivious.

He couldn't see any trouble from the window either: not even the Gnomes stirred on the eve of Christmas. So, what was it?

Looking quietly through his trunk, Harry followed his instincts. After a short search, he finally got to his Potions book and Daphne's note. She had written several times; her normal smooth longhand was replaced with frantic scrawls.

Harry, there's something I've got to tell you! It's about D's Order and the mission they're going on tonight.

Potter?

Potter, this is urgent. Answer!

Look, YOU NEED TO PASS ON A WARNING ASAP! Whatever is happening tonight is a trap, a trap bigger than any of the Order are expecting. Warn Dumbledore's people to retreat from the Shrieking Shack.

HARRY!

How long ago had Daphne written this? Shit!

It was too late to warn anyone now. Unless…? Had Remus taken his mirror?

Grabbing his half of the mirror, Harry whispered for his friend, careful not to wake Ron. No response. Remus likely hadn't taken it with him and even if he had, he would have cast a silencing charm so it didn't distract him.

Now the question became could Harry alert anyone else? Mrs Weasely and Fleur would surely question how he knew for certain. And Harry couldn't even say he was having a nightmare as he'd only just gone upstairs. Dumbeldore would also probably question his insight. Prompting questions he couldn't answer. Or could he? Could Harry reveal he had his own source while protecting Daphne? No, bad idea; especially as he couldn't even verify where she got her information. Questions without answers continued catapulting through Harry's mind as he scrambled for the best course of action.

Then, in his trunk, he saw Fred and George's case hidden beneath everything else. It was unopened since they'd shown him last. Daphne had said The Shrieking Shack…

With tingles up his spine, Harry grabbed the contents and slipped out to the bathroom. Ginny was just leaving as he got there. Harry stuffed the outfit behind his back.

"Oh, Harry. I didn't know you were waiting." She said pulling her dressing gown a little tighter.

"It's okay, -I wasn't. I, -um… night Gin." He spluttered, slipping by her without turning his back. She eyed him curiously, but Harry closed the door before she could ask.

Quickly pulling on his gift from the twins, Harry hoped it would fit. No better night to test it.

After adjusting the sleeves, he looked at himself in the mirror. Staring back at him was a reflection of noir combat robes with form-fitting dark green dragonhide plating covering his chest, arms, back and legs. It was surprisingly light and allowed him to retain most of his mobility, although it was a little tight in the crouch area. Happily, the twins had seen fit to include a hood. Pulling it up, Harry noted it clouded his appearance once in place; a nice obscuring charm from the twins.

He would admire his set-up later. For now, Harry opened the window sucked in the chill of winter on the air. Within the next second, he'd slipped into his hawk animagus and lifted off into the perilous grasp of a winter's night.

Harry sucked in gasps of cold air, adrenaline flooding his senses with a need to warn his friends. Even as a hawk the wind was particularly biting tonight and he struggled to get high and far enough away from the Burrow's wards to apparate. Finally, the washing sensation flowed through him and he transformed back. Now all he had to do was apparate.

This would mark the first time he'd done so over such a great distance. Hell, any distance that wasn't on the other side of the room. For the second time tonight, he thought, No better night than this.

With the necessity of warning the Order fully on his mind, Harry barely thought of the three D's and simply told his magic where he needed to be. Spinning on the spot, the infamous feeling of being sucked through a tube too tight for comfort engulfed him. When his feet touched snow too deep to be the burrow, Harry knew it had worked. He dropped right outside the Hogs Head front door. He almost lost his balance and fell into the snow but managed to grab the side of the building at the same time. He was going to have to get used to apparating over larger distances.

What Harry didn't count on was how busy the Hog's Head was. Peeking through the window, he saw it bustling with all sorts of people, ghosts, Goblins, Warlocks and more. Harry hadn't seen it this busy since he had hosted the first DA meeting here last year. And then it hit him. Of course! It's Christmas. He was damn lucky no one was outside at the moment he apparated. Before he could finish the thought, hulking footsteps thunking on weary floorboards could be heard as someone trudged their way towards the other side of the door.

Harry leapt out of the way of the door with not a moment to spare. Half a second later it flung itself open with a force that should have by all right sent the door flying off its hinges. A gruff voice coughed into the night, took two steps out then called out, "Righ, cheerio, Abe. Merry Christma'!"

Hagrid? The friendly half-giant let the door close behind him and faced out into the night, surveying the lights of Hogsmede in the distance: barely discernible through the haze of snow and the harshness of night. Hagrid seemed to soak in the fresh air as though it were a tall glass of water.

"Right. One foot in front of the other, Hagrid." The half-giant said to himself. Harry almost laughed but caught himself and instead held his breath.

After only a few clunky footsteps Hagrid stopped. Seeming to smell something in the air. Moving without thinking Harry quickly cast a disillusionment on himself. The half-giant span around and produced his pink flowery umbrella from nowhere. Fortunately for Harry, he knew Hagrid couldn't do too much magic with it. Unfortunately, he was pointing it right at the spot where Harry stood so no matter what magic Hagrid did, Harry would give himself up by moving out of the way.

Hagrid looked confused for a moment, sniffed at the air once more. Harry dared not move. If he did - even to breathe - the disillusionment charm would shimmer and it would be game over. It was times like this he missed his cloak.

If I get discovered by Hagrid and his pink umbrella I may as well retire in embarrassment, Harry thought a little too unkindly. Yet, he couldn't afford for this to happen.

Hagrid considered the blank stretch of wall outside The Hogs Head Inn, then seemed to shake it off. Or rather, his balance seemed to shake for him and he stumbled to the side in order to regain himself. Knotting his eyebrows he muttered something about a stupid Ministry for some reason then pocketed his umbrella. In the next second, he had turned around and trudged away towards the lights of Hogsmede.

Harry let out a breath. That was way too close. He needed a more effective concealing charm now that his cloak was gone. I'll add that to my ever-growing list of research.

Casting it aside for later, he transformed and within a second was up in the air, beating his wings trying to gain as much momentum as possible. Time was short. And the iciness in the air only intensified the anxiety in his heart.

Once he'd reached a certain height nothing could be heard but the yowl of the wind as it carried winter's icy chorus. Flurries of snow were competing in the air making it all the more difficult for Harry to navigate. Not even his enhanced eyesight was any good in these conditions.

A handful of strenuous and stretching wing beats later and the Shrieking Shack reared its decrepit form. The sight that met Harry's eyes, made his insides do somersaults and his wand rattle in his holster like a frantic bird trapped in a fiery cage. The yowl on the air wasn't coming from winter's wind at all. Tonight the Shrieking Shack was earning its namesake.

-HP-

Remus arrived at a vantage point overlooking The Shrieking Shack. With him were Tonks, Bill, Arthur, Hestia Jones, Kingsley and Mad-Eye. Dumbeldore would join later should the need arise, but otherwise he was travelling.

"Right," Moody barked immediately taking charge, "You all know the plan. It could be nothing. But it also could be something. Tonks, you're with Arthur. Hestia, you're with Kingsley so as to protect your identities: you two will keep watch outside the Shack. Remus and I will confront the supposed defector inside - the Death Eaters already have a good idea whose side we're on. Bill, you stay here on the high ground and keep your eyes peeled. Once we've talked to the defector we'll leave. As soon as you see us apparate, do so yourselves and we'll meet back here."

Everyone nodded.

"Now," Moody continued, speaking as though the gathered group were Auror Cadets, "it's more than likely this is a trap of some kind, but we won't know until we're in there. As such, each of us will have Portkey's. Don't ask where we got them, what the Ministry doesn't know won't hurt it," he grumbled, proud to affront the ministry Remus was sure.

"Should anything go wrong, send sparks up in the air and then apparate or Portkey. Remus and I will deal with the defector. Otherwise, we'll turn tail. Got it?"

Nods followed. "Right, you all be on your way first. And remember, if you even think you smell Death Eaters, shoot sparks into the air."

"What do they smell like?" Hestia whispered to Tonks.

"Like day-old squid." She replied, causing both to smirk. Though Remus thought the laughter from Hesita was mostly nervous.

"Pack it in you two." Moody countered. "Ready? Off with you." Hestia, Tonks, Arthur and Kinglsey all disapparated. Before she did Tonks, turned and winked at Remus. They had already said their "It'll be fine's" and "we'll see each other in a jiffy's," earlier. Instead, they exchanged a brief look. One that conveyed a canyon's worth of feeling, before she disappeared. Remus swallowed hard as soon as she left. Not since he was a Marauder had his heartbeat this much. And if Remus was honest with himself, he couldn't go back to his recluse life again; he couldn't lose what mattered most.

"I hope you've got your wits about you, Remus," Moody said turning to face the haunted visage of the Shrieking Shack across the dark belly of the valley. "I may not have your heightened talents but my sixth, seventh and eighth senses are all acting up tonight."

Harry's impression of Moody's Constant Vigilance, jumped to Remus' mind. "Which is why we're so prepared," the werewolf replied, pulling his jacket tighter more to aid in case of combat than shelter from the wind.

"Ha!" Moody barked, "if we had all the might of the Ministry and the Auror's of 81' I'd still think we were underprepared. Voldemort is nothing if not thorough."

"True, but this could be worth it, so may as well face it head-on," Remus said defiantly, letting the energy that characterised the rebelliousness of his youth emerge. Moody grinned and took a swig from his hip flask. He offered it to Remus who welcomed the rush of Firewhisky. Thoughts of Tonks swept his vision before they apparated to the shack.

A minute later found the two men with wands raised and eyes sharper than swords stepping cautiously over the creaking floorboards of the Shrieking Shack. A deeper chill was in the air tonight and not one caused by the bitter season. It was as though the abandoned ruins of a once lively manor house were alive and groaning; the shadows cast by a far off moon stretched deeper sinking into the very splinters, the crack of the floorboards gave the impression Remus was standing in a rusty ship rocking to the whim of a violent sea and the crunch of their snowy shoes on the floor echoed against the walls before being swallowed by a hollow darkness.

The Shrieking Shack had awoken. And Remus knew they were not alone. Wands aloft, senses peeled, they advanced.

"Show yourselves," Moody bellowed.

Silence pursued. Nothing moved except a shadow. That shadow produced a wand. Remus and Moody were quicker. A standoff. The black-robed figure stood underneath the fireplace of what was once the largest room in the old house. Remus knew the room well. It was the place where he had spent many nights together with James, Sirius and Peter. It was a place of torture and hardship and fear. But also of companionship. Tonight it did not seem like any of those things. It seemed like a trap.

"So, are you the defector… or the bait?" Moody said.

The hooded figure didn't move to respond. In fact, their only motion was the almost imperceptible tremble of their wand. They were afraid.

With their free hand, they reached up and pulled down their hood revealing the unmistakable pearly locks of Lucius Malfoy. He stared ahead, to the space where Moody and Remus stood, except he did not seem to see them. Remus thought Malfoy appeared to be looking far off, his eyes focused on some distant end.

"Malfoy?" Moody said incredulously. "YOU want to defect? Was Azkaban that bad? Or perhaps, being free to sit underneath your master's seat is worse, after all, ey?"

Quite the contrary from usual sneer, Malfoy simply stared back, appearing if nothing else defeated. He had crease marks on his forehead and the lines of dirt and fatigue were evident on his paler than normal skin and beneath his sunken eyes. Still, he kept his wand high.

Remus tried another tactic. "Lucius. If you're seeking refuge from the dark lord, we can protect you. Dumbledore can protect you and your family."

"I wish it were," Malfoy choked as though a noose were round his neck. "I wish it were that easy. But you see if I don't do this…he'll do unspeakable things to my family…"

"Do what?" Remus asked.

"Trap, Remus. Let's go." Moody said having had enough. Both men tried to apparate but found they couldn't. Touching their Portkeys not a second later left them standing on the spot with useless trinkets in their hands. Somehow, wards had covered their entrance. And they must have been powerful at that because Remus hadn't felt them go up after arriving.

"I'm sorry-," Lucius Malfoy was saying. "-I never wanted this. Not this way…"

"What the devil are you playing at, Malfoy?" Moody barked but didn't advance. Just tensed the grip on his wand ready to duel. Both he and Remus knew they had to deal with this delicately. If they attacked, Malfoy might unleash any number of hidden traps. Playing with an unbalanced suspect with wand aloft was like trying to pick apart a ticking time bomb, Remus knew. He just hoped Malfoy didn't explode in all their faces.

"I have to, I have to," Malfoy said. "I don't have a-"

"-Choice." Remus interrupted. Malfoy looked at Remus, for the first time seeing him. "But you do have a choice, Lucius. You can choose to let us help you. You can choose to let us save your family from him. Isn't that what you want?" Remus was pleading with Malfoy now. Moody, meanwhile, was edging around the side of the room trying to flank him.

"The only way that can happen, is if I give him everything." He said in a rasping yet resounding voice, a solitary tear escaping down his wayward face. "Forgive me."

"Run, Remus!" Moody barked, drawing on Malfoy. But Moody was too late. Out of the tip of Lucius' wand hurtled a torrent of fire; its screeching wail was more than enough to send Moody and Remus running for the exit.

Fear could make you do many things. It could make you put your life on the line. It could make you reckless, desperate, unforgiving and cruel. Many of these it had made Lucius Malfoy. But as the cursed fire brought new life and death to the Shrieking Shack, it was a strange bout of courage that Remus saw in the man's tormented eyes, before he ran for his life.

-HP-

Harry nearly lost his flight at the sight of it. The Shrieking Shack was being torn, no, eaten apart from the inside; like a pumpkin on Halloween, fire was roaring within its windows and doors and producing a wail akin to an ancient beast sentenced to death.

Harry flew straight at it. Unflinching. Beating his wings as if on fire and engaging the eyesight his animagus afforded. He just prayed no one was still on the inside!

But as he got closer, he saw two figures through the only facade that remained as yet unmaimed by the fire. No. There were three. They were hastily trying to control the fire.

Get out, Harry shouted. A screech engulfed by the roar of the fire was the only thing that escaped his beak. Closing in, he recognised two figures: Remus and Moody. The third figure had already disappeared. The fire spat its anger at them.

No! He wouldn't lose Moony too! Harry was getting closer, he was almost there. An almighty blast that sounded like a roar came from within the shack. Moody and Remus were flung back against the near wall as if they weighed nothing. The fire grew larger and more ravenous like it had a mind of its own. And that mind was feral.

Harry didn't hesitate. He didn't think. It was now or never. He dived straight for the window. Transforming as soon as he cleared the frame, he landed between his targets and the fire which he now realised was not just any fire. It was some kind of cursed flame and it had taken the form of a dragon larger, greater and more terrifying than Harry's eyes had seen or imagination could conjure. A wall of vapour-less air choked his throat; the heat setting every pore of his skin alight like being caught in the torrent of an immense forest fire: all life had evaporated from the air as the wild red, gold and black inferno devoured everything it licked. Harry held his ground.

The dragon grew enraged at his presence and struck. Gripping his mystery wand tighter than he ever had and acting on sheer will, Harry summoned his magic. And his magic answered. Throwing everything he had, he banished the dragon in one huge thrust of his wand. The collision of magic and fire drove Harry to the ground. As though slashed by a great sword the fire dragon reared letting out a horrendous molten screech. It may have as well have been a volcano clearing its throat.

The next thing Harry knew it had burst through the remaining parts of the roof sending rubble and fiery debris flying. There was no doubt now. What was left of the Shrieking Shack would collapse or turn to ash. If Harry didn't act now, all three of them would become part of it.

In the split second it took the dragon to regain its fury, Harry caught a lone figure gripping his wand. Through the lashing heat, they were somehow still alive, caught in the beating heart of the flames. Black-clad robes and gritted teeth could not hide the fearful eyes that had overtaken Lucius Malfoy. He appeared as scared and alone as a boy lost in a nightmare. Lucius let out a bellow that was as animalistic as the dragon he was wielding.

"Run!" He thought he heard him yell. Harry didn't need to be told twice.

With the smoke throttling him, he spun and sent duel banishing charms at Remus and Moody. The two were struggling to their feet when the spells hit and they were propelled through the thin exterior walls of the Shack. Harry dived out after them. But the dragon wasn't finished. It spat a river of flame after them. Moody and Remus were clear, falling down the snowy hillside in an uncontrolled tumble. Harry was right behind them. Except for the flames, the heat, the sickening quench of air wrapping its fingers around him.

Tucking himself Harry gritted his teeth, feeling like he was passing through a furnace. He could almost taste the rage of the dragon in the aridity. Was this how he was going to die? How could he survive? What about Remus and Moody and the Order and the Weasleys and Hermione and Daphne. She leapt to his mind through a veil of engulfing pain. Harry dared not open his eyes.

The next thing he knew he emerged through the fire and the snow-covered ground hit him hard outside the Shrieking Shack. The cold of the snow was a balm against the sun he'd just flown through. Smoke rose from his new and unblemished suit as he rolled away further and further from the inferno in front of him. His jacket, his new jacket had saved his life.

His next present to the twins would need to be a big one, Harry thought.

Scrambling away, Harry grabbed Remus and Moody who were struggling to their senses as far away as he could. The dragon, meanwhile, was far from done with them. It seemed to be growing and evolving to become the size of the shrieking shack itself. It poised for a final attack when a lone and gut-wrenching scream filled the void. Suddenly, the dragon arched upwards as if roaring at the sky. It could have been a beast unchained or a monster breaking free, regardless it forgot entirely about its escaping prey.

Spreading for the first time its frightfully large wings it swung them back and forth in a red and gold blur leaving the remains of the shack. Propelled upwards into the night sky, the dragon gave one last roar before it began to fizzle. Harry was left to stare as the greatest torrent of flame he had ever seen, one that had almost swallowed him whole rose in the style of a Phoenix before disappearing into the inky darkness of winter's grasp. It gave one last pop and was gone. The only trace of its presence was the simple flames left to lick at the skeleton of the Shrieking Shack.

When Harry looked back down he saw only scorched remains and the charred spot where Lucius Malfoy had taken his last, desperate breath. There was no doubt. The curse had killed the caster. And his death may well have saved them from the fury of the dragon. Making it to his feet, Harry tested for the first time his lungs. Thankfully, his cloak had taken most of the damage. His hair was a little burnt, maybe, and his lungs needed a breathe or two but otherwise, he was unharmed.

"Just who the hell are you?" Moody growled, pointing his wand at Harry despite his position on the ground and the leaking gash across his head. Harry turned, his hood firmly covering his face.

"Moody," Remus tried before descending into a coughing fit.

"Well!" Moody barked between rasping chokes himself.

Harry simply stared into his former Professor's eyes. After everything he'd just done, he was in no mood. He walked slowly forward and leaned into Moody's wand until it pressed against his chest. When he spoke it was not the boy-who-lived Remus had first met, the teenager Moody captured from Privet Drive or even the young man they both thought he was; it was the wizard with the weight of the world on his shoulders and a burning mission in his heart.

"I'm the one who just saved your life." His voice husky and coarse. Mad-Eye let out a humourless grunt. "You should apparate away, both of you," Harry stated.

"Like-hell-" Moody said trying to stand, but faltered when the gash began to spill.

"We can't," Remus choked, "Anti- heee," he gave a heaving inhale, "-disaparition-."

Harry tried to apparate, but the threads of magic that he could normally follow were missing. It felt like someone had set up a magical dam, the drought of which stopped them from escaping.

"Portkeys?"

Remus shook his head and Moody groggily reached for his flask. Harry noticed the aged Auror now had burn marks to go with the scars on his face. He wished he knew how to heal burns.

"Stay here. I'll send help."

"Speaking of which," Moody continued, "where the hell-"

But he was cut off by a scream that rattled the valley. The sounds of spellfire followed on a treacherous wind.

"Tonks!" That was all Remus said before forgetting his injuries and sprinting off. Harry didn't bother addressing Moody. While Remus ran around, Harry chose the faster route. He ran off the side of the cliff the Shack was perched on and dove headfirst into the valley. Transforming in midair, he beat his wings towards the heart of darkness. As he drew closer his hawk eyes revealed Tonks and Mr Weasley fighting for their lives against five Death Eaters. They were back to back in a small clearing in the trees, spells leaping back and forth like fireflies blasted out of cannons in the night. So much so that if it weren't for Harry's animagus eyes, he wouldn't be able to tell who was who.

Harry was about to dive to help, when another shower of sparks interrupted the night. They sprang from further across the valley. Harry barely made out a lone figure through the downpour; they were surrounded by a group of dark-cloaked enemies, spellfire again lighting up the blizzard. A cackle like nails scraping chalkboard made his heart leap and he decided without thinking.

Diving over Tonks and Mr Weasley, Harry transformed shooting spells as fast as he could summon them. Not expecting an attack from above, three of the Death Eaters were blown back by his variety of banishing and blasting charms. Except now the ground was within inches. Transforming back, Harry pulled up just as the icy tickle of snow slapped his wings. He managed to gain some altitude and didn't look back. That was all the time he could give. He just hoped he had helped Arthur and Tonks.

Up ahead, the spellfire had stopped and the sparks had vanished. The only thing that now broke the darkness was an ear-splitting scream. It caught Harry mid-flight and he nearly stopped. Someone was under the Cruciatus. But Harry was too far away to do anything. He beat his wings pushing everything he had into making himself go faster. Except the wind was against him. The Death Eaters were torturing them to death. As he drew closer, he made out Bill's telltale red hair. He was wriggling and writhing on the floor, desperately trying to get away from the curse. Come on Harry, move!

Then, out of the shadows leapt a new attacker. They jumped between the Death Eaters and Bill and began duelling anew. Harry threw himself into his wings, panting through his beak as the snow battered his brow and diluted his eyesight to a watery mirage.

The fireworks of spellfire lasted only a few moments before more Death Eaters appeared out of nowhere. How were the Death Eaters able to apparate when they couldn't, Harry asked himself? It didn't matter. Right now all that did was the rescuer was hopelessly outmatched.

There were now at least ten - maybe more - Death Eaters surrounding Bill and their rescuer. A mad cackle that sounded like a horse gone feral split his ears. Not even a snowstorm could dampen the cruelty behind that voice: Antonin Dolohov stood with his hood askew and his wand raised, enjoying the sport of the fight. With him and also recklessly hoodless, Harry recognised Rudolphus Lestrange - Bellatrix's maniacal brother. Moving as a seditious unit, they advanced on their prey.

Clutching his talons Harry beat the wind like it was the punching bag. His ferociousness, his anger at everything that had happened fuelled his flight into battle. He must, he had to get there to save Bill. What if Bill was dead, what if it was…? The spells had stopped!

Another shriek assailed the air. But this did not come from the shack or Bill. The rescuer fell to the ground writhing in desperate agony under the assault of multiple Cruciatus Curses. Their limbs whipped around like the whomping willow, only they were not under their control at all but the relentless daggers of torture. Above them, in unhinged glee Dolohov wielded the curse.

NO! Harry had to do something! He was nearly there - only moments away when the hood of the struggling rescuer fell. Harry froze in mid-air. Blonde locks, polished features and a youthful resilience were being torn apart. DAPHNE!

It was the same disguise she had used in Diagon Alley!

She screamed a hellish wail that made Harry's hair stand on end and his blood boil. Both her and Bill, whom she had protected, struggled and flailed under the desperation of the hateful curse. The last thing Harry saw was Dolohov, a wild grin plastered across his fractured face.

All Harry would remember afterwards was seeing a shade of red reserved for the darkest moments of the soul.

Before he knew it, he was diving and a snarling scream flew from his mouth. What came out as a hawk's screech warped into a roar as he transformed and flipped feet first. With all his momentum Harry cracked Dolohov right in the face. A great crunch met his boot and the unsuspecting Death Eater crumpled under him.

The next few seconds slowed to a crawl. Harry's heart jumped into overdrive. Using Dolohov to break his fall, he rolled and started blasting spells, his arms moving in a blur of motion the way they would as if on fire. Right hand wielding his mystery wand, left-hand wandlessly conjuring hexes, shields and anything he could think of. Having no idea what curses he sent, he simply shot on instinct.

He caught three off guard: two Death Eaters were blasted into a tree with vicious precision and the other one collapsed into an unmoving pile on the snow. The remaining Death Eaters quickly recovered and tried to surround him but Harry was having none of it. His anger was too pure, his energy too righteous. Instead of defending, he sprang. Attacking and dodging with a speed he knew the Death Eaters weren't used to.

Engaging them in close quarters caught them off guard and Harry was able to send blasting hexes powerful enough to rip through shields and wipe them cleanout.

The ones he downed he didn't have time for. He just kept on sprinting. Moving. Dodging. Sliding. Spinning. All the while firing spells on top of spells, not thinking about the danger he was in, the consequences of the curses he sent flying or the fates of his friends. All that mattered was their lives. And that came out in furious waves of light.

Fortunately for Harry, Snape hadn't been teaching the Death Eaters his basics of duelling. As of right now, their key weakness was arrogance. Instead of using tactics and overwhelming Harry, they fired all the worst curses under the moon at him. While this may have made them dangerous, it took an extra second to conjure over the easier and quicker spells they deemed useless. An extra second which, in Harry's hands, translated to two or three spells and a few spare metres. The only downside was that it rendered the duelling space a minefield of curses charged with so much anger they spat coloured flares at the air they flew past.

Ducking out of the way of a sickly purple curse, Harry moved between two Death Eaters, trying to trick them into shooting at themselves. With the speed of his movements though, Harry found himself close enough to almost touch them. Not even thinking Harry let his rage carry him. Before he knew it his fist was clenched and he had punched one of the Death Eaters square in the mask.

Anger, fear, rage, passion, Harry threw it all into that punch. The sickening crack of a white mask and nose met his fist and the magic within sent the Death Eater sailing backwards. The other Death Eater was so shocked he didn't even fire anything. In fact, he tried to turn and run. Harry, aware there were still many more to fight, sent a simple stunner after him.

Somewhere in the mix, a nearby tree caught fire, despite the snow. It sent a dance of shadows and flame across the snow and set their fight by the cliffside alight.

After another half a minute, Harry could tell the tables were turning and not in his favour. He couldn't keep up this pace and the Death Eaters were just too many. Although there were only four left now, Rudolphus was sending so many curses Harry's way that most of his actions were going into dodging just his spells. If only they were in a one on one. Though he didn't want to leave his primal mind, he began to realise he needed a plan.

Just then Harry felt his wand tingle.

"Avada Kadavra!" Someone shouted from the shadows.

Harry managed to turn and duck out of the way. The curse sailed past, missing him by inches. It flew straight ahead and hit another Death Eater right in the chest. They fell down in a deathly quiet heap on the snow.

Holy shit that could have been me. I'm the luckiest son of a-

Just then Harry's world was turned upside down. He felt more than saw a blasting curse hit the floor near him and before he knew it he was tumbling through the air. He smashed against the floor, the snow barely cushioning him as he fell. His jacket must have absorbed much of the blasting damage, but Harry's head still got a large piece of the shock. The wind was thoroughly knocked out of him and he struggled to regain his breath. Once he did he realised his wand wasn't in his hand anymore. He had landed somewhere near the cliffside. The Death Eaters were advancing.

"You little shit!" Dolohov spat, advancing in pure anger and having recovered himself. Blood was gushing from his crooked nose.

Rudolphus snarled from behind, a satisfied grin on his face. Harry guessed he was the one who cast the blasting curse that he had failed to shield against.

"You'll eat a killing curse now, along with your friends." Dolohov went to wave his wand, Harry reached out for his own wand, ready to summon it like it was his familiar.

"Wait!" A voice from the shadows called. Dolohov, Rudolphus and the rest of the Death Eaters held their advance on Harry. Wands raised, they were poised on the edge of a knife, ready to strike.

"Why?"Dolohov yelled back. "I want to decimate this little-"

"Because I said so." The voice rang back, emerging from the shadows and making his way towards them. "Because I want to know who our mystery man is, that they nearly derailed our fun."

"We can reveal him when he's dead," Dolohov said, consumed by revenge. If it were possible to set someone on fire by looking at them, then Harry would have been a smouldering crisp already. Dolohov wiped the still streaming blood away from his nose. Not bothering to fix it with magic, he simply kept his wand trained on Harry.

"Yes, but a dead man can't spill his secrets, can he?" The voice was calm. It stood stoic and stern behind the typical Death Eater mask. But it was clearly in control, clearly commanding and comfortable doing so.

As Harry struggled to regain his breath he wondered who was a higher ranking Death Eater that could command Dolohov and that wasn't Voldemort? Could this be the secret partner Remus has speculated about? Only they were very much not looking to defect.

"Now, reveal your hood, my troublesome intruder and I shall make your death quick." The words were cordial but the tone was anything but. For underneath lay an acerbic threat: do this or else a fate worse than death will meet you. And if it wasn't evident in his words then it was written on the rest of the Death Eater's faces. Dolohov especially, who looked like he wanted to murder Harry all to himself. Wands were gripped in clenched fists, eyes were narrowed, daring Harry to try something.

How was he going to get out of this one? What wandless movements could he do without giving anything away? Sweat creased his clothes and time refused to slow, giving him nothing to work with, nothing to think. The wind gave a growl, snapping reality back with a bite.

"Well?" Dolohov began but was cut off "- Arghhh!"

Out of nowhere, a great shadow leapt at the Death Eaters. Harry thought the night had come alive and to his aid. It took him a second to realise it was a creature, blacker than the night. A large dog, perhaps. Was it…? No, it couldn't be… Padfoot? Except it was sleeker, less scruffy, and moved more like a large jungle cat than an alley dog.

Biting the arm of Dolohov, it used its momentum and flung him into the pack of Death Eaters. Not needing an excuse Harry summoned his wand, bounced up onto his feet, forgot the pain in his side and aimed his wand.

The Death Eaters recovered themselves to find Harry back on his feet, rearmed. Standing in between them was a panther. Large and Ferocious. With fangs sharp and paws ready to pounce.

A new battle was about the rage when Harry noticed the hood of the leading Death Eater had dropped. So too had his mask. Harry saw a man, maybe in his late fifties or sixties. He seemed well kept compared to his feral companions. It was the type of face Harry would more likely associate with Wall Street or a politician than with The Death Eaters.

What was even stranger was the panther in front of him. It had stopped snarling, its fangs unclenched and instead seemed to teeter on falling over.

The man was oblivious to this and was enraged at being unmasked. "Kill the-"

A large boom shook the darkness of the valley. It carried a great weight and sounded like a dome had been shattered in the atmosphere above them somehow. Vaguely, Harry picked up a subtle shift in the magic around them. Whatever wards the Death Eaters had been using had collapsed.

"The Aurors are coming. We're leaving." The maskless leader said.

"This will take but a second," Dolohov said, aiming his wand. Harry moved to counter, the Panther tensed again.

"So will the Aurors," the man replied. Then in a swish of black robes and before Harry could even utter a curse all four Death Eaters vanished. The night now lay quiet except for the faint whining of the nearby burning tree.

What had just happened, Harry thought? And who the hell was this Panther? He turned to move towards Daphne when he saw only Bill lying on the ground. His chest was moving up and down. Thank god. But where was…?

He turned around to see the panther collapse onto the floor. It then transformed into Daphne Greengrass. Not Daphne with blonde hair, not Daphne from Hogwarts. This was Daphne the warrior. Dressed in black combat robes and with dirt lining her face.

Too stunned to think Harry simply moved. He was by her side in an instant, her face in his hands. He brushed her trademark tanned hair out of her face.

"Daphne? Daphne, are you okay?" Her eyes were closed and her breathing shallow. "Daphne, please, you've got to be okay."

He felt a wand pressed against his chest. He looked down. She cracked an eye open. "Daph, it's me." He pulled the hood back ever so slightly.

"Harry? I thought… I thought you-," She sighed in relief and dropped her wand "-what took you so long?"

Harry smiled. "I guess I'm not the quick cat that you are."

She smirked, despite her obvious pain, "that was…lame." But the smirk didn't leave her face. "You came."

"Of course, I did. I can't believe you did. I mean what were you-"

"Do you mind if we talk about this later?" She stated more than asked.

"Sure, I just…are you okay? Can I help you up?" He offered her his hand ready to help where necessary.

"No, it's okay," she replied regardless of her current state and tried to stand on her own. "I don't need any…" She collapsed right before she could even sit up.

"Take it easy, you were under the Cruciatus. Let me help, please." Harry pleaded with her.

"No, I don't need it, Potter." Harry knew he should feel hurt by her pushing him away but all he cared about was that she was alright. Nor could he think on it for too long as in the next second blue-robed Aurors materialised in the outcrop that was only a minute ago their battlefield.

"No choice," Harry said, bending down and throwing Daphne's arm around his shoulder. She groaned at the extension of her limbs but let him do it. Lifting her to her feet. He quickly pulled his hood and Daphne's over themselves, concealing their identities.

Harry turned to walk towards Bill but Aurors were pouring in from every side and for all they knew Harry and Daphne were Death Eaters. Where were they five minutes ago!

"YOU! FREEZE! Hands up and wands on the floor!" One of the Aurors yelled.

"I can't be caught," Daphne whispered to him.

"Neither can I. If either of us is, the game up and we're both screwed." Harry pictured the look of fury and disappointment on Mrs Weasley and Dumbeldore's faces. If the Aurors caught him, Dumbeldore wouldn't let him out of his sight again. Let alone see Daphne anymore. No. Getting caught was definitely not something they could afford.

"This is your last chance. Drop your wands. Now." One of the Aurors said slowly advancing on them.

"Can you apparate?" she asked frantically, all the while losing her footing and leaning more and more on Harry.

Harry tried, but the tendrils of magic were gone again. "No. The Aurors must have put up new wards."

"Me either," she said, giving in and wrapping her arm around him. They were edging backwards ever so slightly. Nothing but the valley cliff behind them. "Unless you can fly, Potter, we're going to have to fight our way out." She tried to take more of her own weight and managed to somehow.

Despite what she thought, Harry knew they couldn't fight anymore. That much was obvious. But flying on the other hand…

"Wands on the floor or we start shooting!"

They had maybe five seconds. Harry knew what he had to do. "Daph, do you trust me?" Harry said raising both his hands, his mystery wand tucked safely in its holster.

"What?" She whispered back.

"Do you?" He turned to look at her. Their eyes met. For a long second, they held each other as if in an embrace of gazes.

"I do, Harry." She replied, with a voice of honey that melted what was left of Harry's heart that didn't belong to her.

"Good, then hang on to me and don't let go."

"What?"

Harry sent a wandless blasting curse at the surrounding Aurors in front of him. They went to defend but Harry wasn't trying to push them back, he was trying to push him and Daphne away. And it worked…a little too well. Clinging together in a tangle of limbs, Harry's blast was so strong it hurled him and Daphne over the cliff's edge and into the mouth of the valley.

Instantly they were swallowed in darkness, the air slashing at them as they fell face-first into the ravine. Daphne clung to him for dear life, her hands around his back and her head cushioned against his chest. If worse came to worst and his plan failed at least there were no other arms he would rather die in. Little comfort given their situation. But for Harry, it was the most alive he'd ever felt.