A/N: Hey everyone, I know there was another posting drought, but honestly, compared to the last one, this one wasn't that bad. I honestly really struggled to work out how I wanted to write this chapter and rewrote it like three times. I know that I kept y'all waiting for so long, so I do hope that you find some enjoyment in this 6,000 + word chapter!

Chapter VII: Hook Line and Sinker

(Harry P.O.V)

In medicine, there is a famous saying that reads when you hear footsteps think horses not zebras. It aligns with the theory of Occam's Razors which states that the simplest solution is most often the correct one. They were mottos that Harry had reminded himself of often, and normally, they helped, but this was not one of those times. Michael's eyes flickered in thought, Harry had grown rather familiar with the boy's unorthodox face when lost in thought. He also knew the face Michael made when he'd hit dead ends, and Harry had seen that face far too many times.

"It's not adding up. I've ran through so many simulations in my head, but all of them have a critical flaw." Michael sighed. "Hear me out, okay? We believe that the cup of Helga Hufflepuff was a horcrux, right? And we believe that a horcrux is needed to revive Voldemort? On top of that, we know that if those conditions are both true, that the enemy has the cup in their hands yet we haven't even hear the softest whisper of Voldemort, so what does that mean?"

Harry held up his bandaged hand, "Four possibilities. One, the cup wasn't a horcrux. Two, the cup was a horcux and the return of Voldemort isn't connected with it. Three, they've yet to complete the ritual or don't want to do it. Finally, four, someone stopped the ritual from the inside. Those might not even be the four options but those are the only ones I can even think of."

Michael scratched his head, the two of them agreed that either the third or fourth option was the most likely, yet they couldn't pinpoint the rationale for either. The vampire force was strong on its own without a doubt, but with Voldemort back, Harry imagined they'd secure their victory. Granted perhaps there was some behind the scenes negotiations he wasn't privy to, but it didn't make sense that the enemy would shoot themselves in the foot by choice. However, option four made even less sense.

If their ritual was stopped, who did it, and why? Harry couldn't get that question out of his head. He'd faced off with enough Death Eaters to know they weren't the type to betray the Dark Lord, especially not when they were on top. Harry tugged at his messy hair, his forehead pounded but no answers sprang to him.

Screech! Harry's ears twitched at the noise. Astoria smiled apologetically at him. She pointed at the chair she'd pulled out and fell into it. Astoria leaned in, and Harry sent the girl the best grin he could. "You know, if you ask me, you're going about this all wrong." Astoria said.

"What do you mean?" Michael asked.

"I mean you're basically throwing something at the wall and hoping that it sticks, right? Why don't you try asking one of them instead?" Astoria posed the idea with a comical ease.

"Right, yeah. Why don't I just stroll up to Voldemort's hide out, pick up one of the goons and question them. Why didn't I think of that?" Michael huffed and steadied himself, "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I'm just a little stressed."

"That's okay, I probably should have explained myself better too," Astoria relented. A pregnant pause filled the room before she continued, "Look, so my thought was that right now, we have theories, but no way to prove them. If we want to prove them, we have to ask somebody on the inside, but it can't be just anybody because a random foot soldier probably wouldn't know. We need to catch a big fish, and to do that, we need bait."

Harry studied his younger sister carefully as she kept on, "We need to catch one, but when we do, Harry can explore their mind for the answer you're looking for. If we can bait one, we can catch them hook, line, and sinker. What we need though, is good bait. It can't be Harry because most Death Eaters are scared shitless of him, and while you and Neville might be fun targets because it would mess with Harry's confidence, you probably aren't important enough for them to risk getting one of their own captured or killed for you. What we need is a really good bait, what we need is-"

"Me," Claire said. "What you need is me."

Harry's jaw clenched at the French witch's words, but Michael lifted himself from his seat before Harry could speak, "Are you insane? You can't volunteer to be bait? Do you know how much risk that would put you under? I know that France doesn't look like it's going to buy into our war, but if they caught you, then we'd have zero chance to sway them. Your father wouldn't join our side if it jeopardizes your safety."

"Which is exactly why I'm the one who should be bait. Keeping France out of the war is probably a key priority for Voldemort's side. The last thing they'd wanted is for another army to join our side. They'd send a big fish, as Astoria put it, after me without a doubt. Outside of Harry, I'm diplomatically speaking the biggest bargaining chip you have." Claire's eyes hardened, "It has to be me."

"It's too risky. It's better if we brew some polyjuice potion. Then, I can stand in for you and-" Michael's voice fell silent at Claire's heated gaze.

"And how long will that take to brew? Merlin, I love you Michael but we need to think with our heads here!" Claire blushed hard for a moment before she forced it down. "Let me be bait. I haven't done anything of use since I got here and I can't keep sitting around waiting for things to get better. I need to do something, something that only I can do. So please, Michael, trust me."

Harry sat silently before he reached across the table to his friend, "I hate to say this, but she's making a good point. The deaters won't come for you or I, but they might for Claire. Our best bet for this could be a sting operation with Claire at its core." Harry's expression grew fierce, "I know that you'd do whatever you could to protect Daphne out there, Chipper, so I swear to you, I'd do the same for Claire. We'll be nearby and ready, I won't let them lay a finger on her. Trust me, if we play our cards right, this is going to work, and we will play our cards right."

"See this is also concerning to me. One minute you're all moody and depressed and suddenly you're back to your third year self." Michael sighed, "Did you hit your head or something?"

"Something like that," Harry said warmly, "A wise fourteen year old told me that it wouldn't kill me to try some optimism every now and then. I figure it's worth a shot. Wouldn't be much fun if I turned into Dumbledore 2.0. now would it?" Harry locked eyes with Michael, "We'll make our plan fool proof, and we'll follow it to the T. If things go according to it, we'll have a prisoner to interrogate and Claire back without harm. We can do this Michael, especially with you as the brains. You tell me where to aim my wand and I'll do it. I trust you completely."

"Fine, I'll work on a plan, but no going rouge this time. I'm telling the whole Order about this and Claire isn't going in there alone. I know I can't change her mind and she's willing to lay down her life for this cause if it comes to that, but I'm never going to let it come to that, clear?" Michael said sternly.

"Just tell me when you have it ready and we'll run it just like you say." Harry confirmed, "If anyone can figure this out man, it's you." He turned to Astoria and smiled, "I'll leave you and Claire to talk, Astoria and I are going to check in on Daphne." Michael nodded dully, and then, Harry left the room.

Astoria and Harry walked to the heir's bedroom in silence, though the bright smile on Astoria's faces sent tingles down the back of Harry's neck. The youngest member of the Order had done well not to gloat, but if Harry knew Astoria, and he did quite well now, the girl bubbled with excitement beneath her ever-changing eyes. Harry put his hand atop her hair and ruffled her hair, she'd done well and she deserved to hear it.

The young Gryffindor batted away Harry's compliment, though she still blushed furiously at the praise. Daphne had told him on many occasions all the ways that Astoria tried to emulate him. He was both honored and terrified, when it came to his life, he didn't want anyone to copy it, but there was no way to get around that his and Astoria's fates were almost divinely intertwined.

The black-haired girl stared impatiently at the door to the bedroom. Harry relented and knocked softly before he cracked the door open. The view was no surprise, it was just as Harry had predicted it. Daphne sat up in the bed, pillows between herself and the headboard with a stack of books so tall Harry thought it was two books shy of the ceiling. He rolled his eyes, Daphne really was his partner, she had the same intensity as him, and stubbornness that only he could rival. The girl didn't know how to take a break.

Daphne smiled at him and Harry returned it before Astoria hurried to her sister's side. By no means could Astoria ever be considered a medi-witch, but, Harry could only assume after a lifetime with Daphne, one would pick up on some habits. Harry listened to the barrage of questions, though only the question about Daphne's pain sparked his interest. He released a silent breath of relief at her negative response and nodded thankfully to Astoria who raced out to get some food.

"She really is one of a kind," Daphne said softly.

"How do you figure?" Harry asked.

"She has this innate positivity to her. She's like a light that no matter how ominous the darkness gets, will never be extinguished. Granted, our lives haven't been all that long, but I've never met anybody that shines that bright. Except maybe you?" Daphne said.

Harry took a seat at Daphne's bedside and held her hand tenderly. He shook his head at the door that Astoria had closed behind her. "No, even I can get lost in the darkness sometimes. Astoria, she has a willpower that even I don't possess. You're right, she really is one of a kind." Harry's eyes shifted towards the stack of books, "You, on the other hand, seem to have picked up a rather bad habit of mine in obsession. Would it kill you to actually take a break?"

"Trust me, I was an obsessed psycho before we met." Daphne laughed and ran her fingers down the spines of the books, "Plus, it's just reading. It's not like I'm straining myself. You're out there being a hero and planning all day so I get bored."

"Maybe I need to be here more to keep you entertained," Harry said and leaned closer into Daphne's face.

"Maybe you do," She replied then caught his lips with hers. Harry reveled in the taste of her vanilla balm, and a smile grew across his face when they'd broken away. He'd kissed Daphne more times than he could count now, but the electricity that raced through his body whenever they came together, it hadn't faded in the slightest.

Daphne's lip flattened and a steel-filled gaze filled her icy-blue pools. Harry recognized the look well, it was almost a trademark of the Ice Queen's persona, her we need to be serious but I really don''t want to be look. Harry sighed but relented and Harry's hand left hers.

"So, have you come up with a plan?" She asked.

"Michael's working on one. We need to capture a high-ranking member of Voldemort's gang and figure out why the snake-faced bastard hasn't returned. Michael's not to happy about the whole thing because Claire volunteered to be bait, but we couldn't think of a better option that we could quickly put into place." Harry scratched his forehead then forced a smile to his face, "But don't stress too much about it. It would be a shame if that pretty face got all wrinkled at such a young age."

Daphne's coldness melted for a moment before she grew cold once more, "How about Carmilla? Have you figured out a way to deal with her blood-shifting? I've been looking for solutions myself but I haven't been able to-"

"Hey, I promised you that I'd handle it, right?" Harry asked his voice soft as a blanket. Daphne nodded and Harry smiled, "Then I'll handle it okay? Don't worry about it. Right now, all I want you to focus on is getting better. Once you're back to a hundred percent, then you can worry about helping out again."

Daphne's head dipped and her frame shook like a leaf in a strong breeze. She reached for Harry and the sudden icy touch of her palm made his body shiver. "I'm sorry," She muttered, "I feel like I've just dropped another thing for you to worry about and I fucked up with Hufflepuff's cup and-"

"Hey, self-guilt is my thing," Harry said, his voice bright like the sun. He held Daphne's chin between his fingers and tilted her face up to his, "What happened wasn't your fault. So don't beat yourself up. We're going to win this war, I swear it, and when it's done, I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure that you, and Astoria, and our family never have to feel this kind of pressure ever again. But to do all of that, I'm going to need you by my side, so please, stop all of this nonsense and just focus on recovering. I love you Daphne, and I'll carry all your burdens, just as you carry mine, that is what our relationship is."

A watery smile filled Daphne's face. It was rare to ever see Daphne weak, it was one of the things he loved the most about her. But Harry couldn't exactly blame her, the war took a toll on everyone, whether they knew it or not. Harry meant what he said, Daphne had gone through so much because of him, and he would show her his gratitude for the rest of his life. But first, they needed to win the war. Harry's chest flickered with determined flames, they would win the war, no matter what.

Michael poked his head through the doorway, his brown eyes calm yet distant. Harry waved off the boy's apology for his intrusion and welcomed him in but Michael stayed in the doorway. A greenish tinge filled his face and he cleared his throat unconfidently, "Come down to the kitchen when you're done here. I think I have a plan."

(Claire P.O.V)

Claire's chest felt tight, she'd never been in a position like the one she'd just entered, but the plan had been solid enough. She trusted Michael, yes, as her boyfriend, of course, but maybe even more so as a tactician. The plan would work because Michael had made it; that was all she needed to know. Her hands sunk deep into her peacoat's pockets; the winter air in England was far from enjoyable. Harry had told her not to look too suspicious from afar, but Claire literally couldn't help the way her eyes feverishly scanned the area.

Claire entered the bar with a deep breath and found tall, well-built man with even dark skin behind the bar. He nodded politely to her, and after a hesitation moment of surveillance, she nodded back with a smile. The runic tattoos on his knuckles confirmed the man's identity as Moody's contact; the plan was officially in motion.

It was a simple sting operation. Birmingham had fallen under enemy control not to long ago, and the suspicion was that many who lived there were desperate for a way to secure their family's safety. That desperation was to be there tool. Claire wasn't a hundred percent sure how Moody did it, but then again, no one, not even Harry was one hundred percent sure about anything Moody did, that didn't exactly matter now though. Moody had sent whispers of the plan to one of his old contacts from his days as an auror, a man by the name of Tobias Greene. Greene had taken up bartending in his retirement and was a barkeep at none other than a small wizarding section of Birmingham.

Tobias, apparently took to his part of the mission gingerly. It was a simple task, and when Claire considered her role in the operation, she was almost jealous. Greene was to simply spread rumors of Claire's arrival and how secret contacts of his in the French Ministry daughter hoped to negotiate peace terms for her nation. They were the actions of a desperate and frightened girl, and Claire could play that role well. They'd arranged the first of February as the date, of her fake negotiations, and with that, the rumors flew.

Now, all Claire had to do was wait and see. Her fingers coiled around her wand buried deep in her pocket. The thought that Harry, Mad-Eye, and Michael weren't too far out of reach brought her some comfort, but it didn't change that outside of Greene whom she knew nothing about, she was alone inside the bar's walls. Claire took her seat at the bar and ordered a butterbeer that Greene quickly delivered to her with a smile.

"You sure someone will come?" Claire asked the bartender.

"Certainty is akin to idiocy in my line of work, but I am confident. Unaligned wizarding families have had I hard since the take over, I'm sure someone turned over some information to somebody for the sake of protection." Greene polished a glass as he worked, "As for who they'll send to collect you, it could be anyone. You'll just have to trust your gut now, won't you?"

Claire didn't find much comfort in the answer. She was a Ravenclaw by nature, to act on a gut sensation was a trait normally reserved for Gryffindors or overly-loyal Hufflepuffs. She liked data, security, and undeniable proof. Beggars couldn't be choosy though, and the Order needed information bad. The only way to go now was forward. Claire sipped her butterbeer softly and thought of her stepmother's smile, and her father's warm hugs. She rested on the taste of Michael's salty lips and the warmth of their shared bed. It provided comfort, and that was better than worry.

Ring, Claire jumped at the bells that dangled from the door. Her daydream sank back into cold reality and subtly, her eyes shifted to the entry hall of the bar. The man removed his coat and walked across the wooden floorboards patiently. The man had charcoal black eyes and deep, dark brown hair slicked back by a mountain of grease. Claire even feared for the man when he warmed his hands by the fire as a single free cinder would have ignited the man like a candlewick. He had pale skin, but it wasn't the color of porcelain like many other vampires, if the man was the contact she'd awaited, there was solace in that fact at least.

The chair to Claire's left slipped back and the man sat next to her. He smelled musky from an overused cologne and the yellowness of his teeth when he smiled at her made her stomach churn. "Well aren't you the pretty bird, fancy a drink a bit stronger than that?"

Pretty bird, Claire doubted the man new her nickname, but her skin crawled at the sound of it. Butterflies fluttered inside her when Michael whispered it to her, but from this man, it only made her want to puke. All the same, she forced a smile to her lips. "Sorry, I'm not looking to drink with strangers, I'm waiting on someone."

"Aye, you are," the man said, "and that so happens to be me." Claire had thought so, everything about the man screamed creep, but she shook the man's outreached hand anyway. "Name's Jugson, suppose you're the French Minister's girl, Belmont, right?"

"How do I know you're the person I'm looking for?" Claire questioned.

The man smirked and rolled up his sleeve. The dark mark slithered weakly on his forearm. It moved certainly, but not the way she'd been told it would had Voldemort truly been revived. The fact the man even wore the mark though was good enough, this Jugson character, he'd at least have some information to probe.

"Good enough, lass?" Jugson asked and Claire nodded. She'd been just about ready to recite her practiced speech but Jugson stopped her midway. "I don't do business without a glass in my hand and I don't like to deal with those who can't handle their liquor. Two shots of fire whisky, Greene! On the double!"

The shot glasses rattled on the wooden bar table when Greene pounded them down. Jugson smirked and lifted the drink into his hand and gave a toast to peace. The maliciousness behind his eyes so poorly hidden a blind man could have seen it. Claire clinked her glass to his before together they drank. The fire whisky burned her throat and Claire resisted her urge to gag, she hated the taste of alcohol, but it was hardly the only sacrifice she'd give for the sake of the mission.

Claire cleared her throat and gave her terms. France was to remain completely untouched by the Dark Lord's army, and in turn, France wouldn't join England's efforts to resist the Dark Lord's control. Furthermore, France would supply the Dark Lord's forces with resources both financial and diplomatic to secure their victory. The only stipulation, the only thing that mattered, was that France was to remain untouched. Claire had practiced the speech, but stumbled over her words as Jugson forced more and more fire whisky into her belly.

Her vision clouded and shifted, heat filled her face and a fog overcame her mind. Distantly, Jugson's hand rested on her thigh and the sensation of his fingers that crawled higher up her body felt as if she'd been covered with spiders. Claire might have even found the spiders more pleasant. "Well, I think I can say on behalf of the Dark Lord and Lady Carmilla that we can agree to those terms. Come now, let's toast once more to our agreement."

Claire nodded dully, it was her sixth shot, and each seemed to leave her less and less in control. She couldn't even hold the cup and the shattered glass coated the floor after it slipped from her hand, "P-pardon," She hiccuped. Her English faded completely in her drunken haze, "Je suis si soûl."

"I have no idea what you said, but it better have been I'm so drunk because you look a mess." Jugson guided Claire from her seat and wrapped his arm around her waist. His fingers traced her rear end through the fabric of her blue dress, Claire tried to swat at his hand but couldn't even tell up from down. "Don't fret love, you can come rest up at my place. Let's get out of here, shall we?"
Claire swayed from side to side. Her hip clashed against Jugson as the man shuttled her to the bar's front door. Claire fell to her knees when the man released her to grab his coat, and even through the double vision a sick, lust-filled grin laced the man's eyes. She tried to release some of her allure, but her magic wouldn't flow properly. She wasn't sure what she expected, to her it looked like there were three doors in front of her, magic of any kind seemed incredibly out of the picture.

Jugson pulled her to her feet and the cold blast of February air from the outside gave her the briefest moment of sobriety. She wasn't sure if a god existed but she prayed regardless, she prayed for her Slacker-Clown to come to her side. Snow crushed beneath her shoes and the winds' chill-filled howl rang in her ears. "Come along now girl, I'm sure that Lady Carmilla will have great plans for you back at our base. Maybe since I caught you I'll even get a chance to explore that tight little body of-"

"Release her," A voice from nowhere hissed, "Now, or I'll blow your brains out right here." In the blink of an eye, the blue hue of Michael's hair popped out from beneath a rather ragged cloak with Harry right behind him.

Michael's wand pressed firmly into the man's temple, and Claire stepped forward only to fumble into Harry's arm. Harry smiled at her warmly, "You did great, your first mission was a complete success."

"Harry," She hiccuped again, "Je suis bourré"

"Yeah," Harry said with a chuckle, "If you said what I thought you said, I have to say I agree." Claire leaned up against Harry's much more appropriate hold and watched the way Jugson fell to the ground bound in conjured chain. Claire forced a wad of spit from her throat and shot it at him. She wasn't sure if it hit its mark, but from the smile of Michael's face, it clearly didn't disappoint.

Claire felt her support switch to Michael as Harry climbed atop Jugson's back and pinned him. "J'ai fait bien?"

"Oui, Pretty Bird," Michael whispered softly. The butterflies in her stomach sprang to life once more as Michael pressed his lips to her cheek, "Tu l'as bien fait."

"Je t'aime, Michael," Claire whispered softly.

"Je t'aime aussi," Michael returned with a bright grin.

(Michael P.O.V)

Michael had developed the eyes of his house's insignia with the way he watched Jugson. The chains that trapped the Death Eater made him hang loosely from a chair in the attic of 12 Grimmuald Place. A black blindfold covered his eyes, and his ears had been plugged with rubber fill-ins. Moody had told him that if you wanted a man to talk, you wanted him angry or disoriented, Harry had opted for the second, but he doubted his friend had any desire to talk.

Jugson disgusted Michael. It was bad enough that the man was a Death Eater, but the way he touched Claire placed him at he top of Ravenclaw's shit list. If the greasy-haired bastard made even the slightest effort to escape, Michael wouldn't hesitate to teach him a lesson, a twisted bit of him even wished Jugson would try.

The door creaked behind him and Harry entered. The once-Gryffindor stood at his side and glanced at him. Michael shook his head and Harry nodded, the two hardly needed words to communicate anymore, but they still made an effort to use them. "Claire's sobering up in your room. You should go and be with her. I'm sure she'd appreciate that."

"That's true, but I can't leave yet, not until we know the truth about what's going on," Michael said firmly, "When I see Claire again, I don't want to tell her she got hungover for nothing."

"I'm not going to bother talking to him, Chipper. I'm not going to let this chance slip away. You should go before you see me do something you might not want to see." Harry voice held the slightest quiver.

"You're going to torture him?" Michael asked.

"If it comes to that," Harry nodded. "I'll even break his mind if I need to. That's the honest truth and you shouldn't have to see it."

"I always hated when you'd try to protect me. I'm staying, Rook, I need answers, and I won't let you do something you'll regret either." Michael's hand rested atop Harry's shoulder, "That's what brothers do, we keep each other sane, after all."

"You're so stubborn," Harry chuckled.

"Hi kettle, meet pot," Michael teased.

Harry marched forward toward's the death eater. Gently, at first, he tapped the man's faces but got no reaction. Michael's fist clenched in tandem with Harry's before, with the echo of a thunderclap the Boy-Who-Lived rammed his fist across Jugson's face. The impact radiated through Michael's bones and it was only the soundproofed attic walls that stopped the arrival of the entirety of Grimmauld Place. "Rise and shine," Harry hissed.

A groan broke from Jugson lips, "What the fuck? Oy! Where the hell am I?"

Harry pulled the ear plugs from Jugson ears and knelt beside his right one, "Listen to me a listen closely you Death Eater filth. I'm going to ask you a couple questions, you will answer them honestly. If you do so, I'll ensure you get to live the rest of your miserable life in auror custody, lie to me, and I'll break your mind and leave you in a state worst then death plagued by constant nightmares, clear?"

"Wait," Jugson grumbled, "I know that voice? You're Potter ain't you?" A thin smirked grew across Jugson's lips, "Dumbledore's little golden boy, you wouldn't actually make good on your threats, good boys like you are so predictable, I mean really you-"

Michael jumped at the python-like strike to the man's chest. Blood spew from his spit up and splattered on the hardwood floor. "Listen carefully, Albus Dumbledore and I are nothing alike, but I agree with you Jugson, good boys are predictable, unfortunately, that good boy image died along with my sister last year. If you want to know the truth, I'm just itching to kill you."

Jugson shivered from Harry's words. A coldness radiated from the magic that pulsed around Harry. Michael had felt that cold presence before, it was similar to the one that Voldemort himself possessed. When Michael learned about the shard of Voldemort's magic that had assimilated into Harry, he'd been able to understand the different sensation of Harry's magic, but this was different from his normal signature, this magic was cold as ice.

"I'm going to give you one more shot, Jugson. Remember, talk to me and I can make sure you actually get to keep your life. I don't think the Dark Lord will be so generous." Harry tugged at the man's hair and brought his face to level with his own, "First question is a yes or no question. If I even sense that you're lying to me, you'll pay dearly for it, so think carefully before you respond."

Jugson swallowed hard and a twisted grin grew across Harry's lips, "Yes or no, is Voldemort back?" The death eaters body shivered as if he was a victim of hypothermia, but he remained silent. Harry jabbed his wand into Jugson's thigh and whispered an incantation that Michael couldn't quite discern before he growled once more, "Is Voldemort back? Yes or No?"

"If I saw anything, t-they'll kill me," Jugson stuttered.

"I really don't care," Harry said flatly, "just answer my question."

"Please," Jugson sobbed, "Don't do this! Don't hurt me!"

Harry shook his head, "Say Jugson, do you know what my first memory is? The first thing that I can remember in my entire life. It was the sound of my mother's screams, the screams as she begged for mercy from the Dark Lord, begged for him to spare me. Do you know what he did when he heard those desperate pleas?"

Jugson stayed silent before Harry made the man convulse like an electrical current raced through him, "I said do you remember what he did!? No," Harry voiced became frightfully calm, "No, maybe you don't. Maybe you don't remember or won't around then. But I'm sure that to have earned that mark you wear so proudly on your arm, you were around when my older sister was killed. Tell me, did she beg for you death eater scum to stop? Did she beg for mercy? If she did, did you show her any?"

"No," Harry said, with zen-like calm, "No you didn't. So don't expect any mercy from me. I'm not a forgiving fool like Dumbledore. I offered you a chance to keep your life and yet, even at that mercy you won't cooperate." Michael watched Harry place his hand atop Jugson's forehead, "Answer me, you worthless piece of garbage, or I'll break your mind right now. Is Voldemort back?"

"I-I can't." Jugson mumbled.

"Shame," Harry said, a sadness etched into his face, "Legilimens."

Jugson's body went limp in an instant, and Michael only studied in stunned silence the way that Harry had effortless broken into the Death Eater's mind. A tired smirk stretched faintly across his lips and he shook his head, Yet they call me the genius. You really are something else Rook. He'd no sooner finished his thought before Harry lowered his hand from Jugson's forehead.

Drool dripped down Jugson's lip, but the man made no effort to wipe away at it. Michael wasn't sure what he expected Harry's reaction to be. Joy, anger, fear, all of those might have made sense, but Harry didn't move, he didn't emote, he didn't even speak. Michael took a step forward and suddenly Harry sparked back to life. He looked up, almost as if he could see through the roof and chuckled, "Not bad, Professor, that was a stunt worthy of the marauders."

"Harry, everything alright?" Michael asked.

"I'll tell you all everything I learned," Harry said, "Gather the Order, I need to drop this man off somewhere. I'll meet you down in the kitchen when I get back."

Michael nodded swiftly, but he'd hoped for a more immediate answer. Harry had called Dobby to his side quickly before he vanished with Jugson's body to the sound of a distant pot. Michael only shrugged, he'd been taught the lesson many times, yet today was an extremely potent example, you don't always get what you want.

A/N: Well Claire, Nicely Done On Your First Mission! This chapter was filled with excitement and I'm glad it gave Claire a chance to shine like Daphne had hers in Gringotts. Personally, I really enjoyed writing Harry's reaction to the truth about Snape and I thought his response was fitting. But enough about me, I'd love to hear from you! So please leave me a Review! Drop this story a Follow or a Favorite while you're at it! I try my best to write the best I can and all your support means the world to me! With that, Until Next Time, Peace!