Madam Amelia Bones sat at her desk, rereading the missive for the fourth time. The parchment in her hands was a game changer on more than one level; one that was guaranteed to make some powerful people very unhappy. With a few words, Amelia was positive that a multitude of Lucius Malfoy's plans had been scuttled with the added benefit of the man hemorrhaging more than a little money in the process. Of course, that was going to be small potatoes compared to the backlash the Ministry could presume was coming. The implications were bad enough; however, if Black went through with everything written . . . well . . . that would get ugly.

Black was living up to his reputation in a manner that was, frankly, unanticipated. Granted he was already a headache, being the first ever to break out of Azkaban prison. That accomplishment had already put the kneazles among the chickens; her department was running ragged trying to track the man down with the only clue being 'He's at Hogwarts'. Crazed escaped convicts were expected to act in predictable, irrational ways. This particular escapee was not supposed to do an imitation of a Slytherin; succeeding in doing something horrifying. This man was not supposed to lawyer up. He was a Gryffindor for Merlin's sake! He wasn't allowed to employ solicitors to engineer an unimaginable perfect storm.

The first half of the letter alone was enough to make Amelia go through her entire stock of headache potions all by itself. Black had claimed headship of his house and the lordship to go with it, something he could not have done if he were a convicted criminal with an incomplete sentence. Magic would not allow that, not with the treaties and accords signed by all the families. This could only mean that the Ministry had managed a major malfeasance. Lord Black was now entitled to a trial by his peers, and not even the Minister could overturn that.

A Slytherin would have used the leverage to work out a backroom deal, guaranteeing both freedom and an apology, with equal odds on which direction the large sums of galleons would be flowing. Not, Lord Black, oh no. It was at this point he remembered he was a Gryffindor. He was promising to sue the Ministry of Magic for illegal detention, failure to provide a trial, kidnapping his godson, malicious slander, character assassination, and for being all around pricks. He had claimed to have more than enough evidence to back each and every one of these allegations, even though the last would certainly be laughed out of court. If the ICW did get involved . . . it wouldn't be pretty.

That said nothing about the second half of the letter. What was written there was most likely going to shake things up as well. It was the part that was most likely going to sink Fudge and a few other otherwise untouchable individuals.

As things stood now, Amelia was going to want the heads of two other departments to accompany her to Fudge's office. Technically, it would require only one other than herself to make it legitimate. However, with two others, she could concentrate on her role as chief law enforcement officer. The problem was that her first choice would have been Crouch; unfortunately, due to his involvement he was more culpable than Bagman. That left several others who could fill the role, but her top choice was utterly unspeakable.

As that thought was going through her head, a knock on her office door heralded the appearance of her secretary's head. "Ma'am, Director Croaker is here. He says to hurry; you need to pick up the third member of your little group in the lobby in a few minutes.

With a huff of annoyance, Madam Bones collected her paperwork into one pile. Then, exuding an air of confidence, she trooped out to meet her colleague. Noticing that the man had come dressed in full Unspeakable regalia, she offered her greeting. "Don't bother looking smug. I can't see your face right now, and I am well aware that the time turners are kept in your department."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Director Croaker said, his speech masked by the magic of his robes, making his voice unidentifiable.

"You could have waited until after I actually made up my mind to choose you," Amelia grumbled. "Digging you out of your hole is normally harder than this."

"I wouldn't miss this for the world," Director Croaker said. "It is a safe bet that many of our future projections are going to be impacted by this meeting."

Amelia was leading them to the lifts as they talked. "That's a given. They are going to be looking for scapegoats. I wouldn't place any bets that Crouch will still be employed by the end of the week."

"The Ministry is all he has left," Director Croaker said. "I may not have agreed with all of his decisions, but I must admit that he is principled. He is one of the few people I know of who has been truly unbribable."

"That's high praise," Amelia said as the door to the lift closed behind them. "Or do you just have such low expectations for the rest of us?"

"What a curious way of framing that question." Director Croaker hummed. "Considering you, yourself, are one of those few people that I have just mentioned."

Director Amelia Bones scrunched her nose at a thought. "So, you think he just made a mistake, that Black just slipped through the cracks?"

"I think that he did what he thought was the right thing to do in the circumstances given. He may be a stickler for the law, but he is not above bending the rules if he thinks it is necessary to protect those he loves or is responsible for."

"Still, this has been majorly mishandled. Lord Black claims that he was sent to prison without a trial despite being innocent of all of the charges levied against him. He went so far as to tell me how to do my job," Amelia said, exiting the lift

"He was so bold?"

"He told me to wait until someone came back from vacation to act against them." Amelia frowned. "As if I'm that nice. An ICW member state is an ICW member state."

"Something I should be made aware of?"

"Only that it's going to make us look worse than we already are." Amelia sighed.

"Speaking of the ICW, there's our third," Director Croaker said, leading Madam Bones up to a mousey looking brown-haired woman who had just finished having her wand weighed.

The woman looked up at their approach and let a scowl bloom on her face as her body tensed for the oncoming verbal battle.

"Good morning, Miss Boucher," Director Croaker said with his emotionless voice. "Please be at ease. It would appear we have similar tasks; we are just approaching it from a different angle."

The newcomer looked at the expectant pair before saying, "You Brits; c'est craignos de chez craignos. You have put your foots into it, have you not?"

"If you are here for the reason I think you are, then yes, we are in for an unpleasant morning," Madam Bones said, holding out her hand in greeting. "Director Amelia Bones of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"How fortunate," Miss Boucher said. "I can think of no one I would want more to be present for the coming conversation with your Minister."

"Funny," Director Croaker said. "We were thinking the same thing about you."


The family of redheads was gathered in the main dining room of the restaurant. Another day of touring ancient tombs was planned, but first they needed to fuel their bodies, a task the youngest male of the group took very seriously, and he proved it by piling food on his plate.

"I find it amazing that just yesterday you were complaining that there was no proper cooking being done around here," said one of his twin brothers sitting across from him.

"Your complaining doesn't stop you from inhaling half the food on the table, though." The other twin finished.

"Don't take more than half the eggs, Ronald," Percy said, getting his two knuts in.

Without slowing down his consumption of foreign foods, Ron Weasley just nodded his head, not daring to talk with his mouth full when his mother was sitting at the table with them.

Ginny Weasley just ignored the byplay as she watched a half dozen people walk into the restaurant. They weren't hard to notice since they were all wearing the distinct robes that the Egyptian equivalent of aurors wore. What were they called again? Well, whatever they were called, "subtle" wasn't it. Next to Ginny, her older brother Bill had also noted the arrival of the local law enforcement, as did their father. It took another couple of seconds before the twins were aware of the change in circumstance.

When the officers fanned out, seemingly with the Weasley family at the center of their attention, Arthur Weasley said, loud enough to be overheard, yet in a calm and unthreatening voice, "No one go for your wands. I'll take care of this."

"Whupf?" Ron asked, pulling his rat out of his pocket and placing it on his shoulder, where he could easily feed it.

"Ron, stop stuffing your face and look around," George said.

"Whupf?" Ron sprayed some more, holding a piece of bread up for Scabbers; he raised his own attention away from his food just in time to see several bolts of red magic headed his way. There was a gulp emitted from the youngest male Weasley just before the body hit the floor.

In the meantime, the rest of the family weren't being idle. In direct defiance to his father's words, Bill had whipped out his wand and had produced a domed shaped shield around the Weasley clan. George and Fred upended the table for cover, as Percy sent several stunners back at the attackers. Caught off guard, Molly Weasley still reacted faster than expected, pulling Ginny in between herself and her husband with her off hand as she brandished her wand with the other.

"Hold your fire!" One of the robed officers called out. "Everyone calm down!"

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

*Wack!*

*Ack!*

"Ron! Hold your fire!" Arthur snapped.

"He shot Scabbers!"

"I don't care; hold your fire."

"If you all would please step over here, we can sort this out." The officer who had called for the cease-fire spoke again.

"What is the meaning of this?" Molly demanded, still shielding her only daughter.

"All shall be explained," the officer said' lowering his wand to pacify the woman. "Leave the rat," he commanded when Ron started to bend down to retrieve the rodent.

"He's my pet," Ron said stubbornly.

"Leave him," the officer repeated. "Over here now; we are trying to protect you."

"I'm not leav . . ."

"Ron! Listen to the man!" Arthur said, herding the rest of his family over to the indicated spot, not one of the redheads putting their wands away.

"But!"

"Now, Ron!" Arthur commanded.

Giving his pet one more mournful look, Ron hurried over to join his brothers.

"Altahaquq min," said the officer, who was obviously in charge. He then turned his smile upon Arthur. "We are sorry for disturbing your meal. I am sure we can resolve this shortly."

Arthur nodded stiffly as two of the men approached the rodent with their wands drawn. One of them uttered a spell and the rat started to glow. This caused a gasp to be released from Arthur's lips.

"Good, you recognized the spell," the officer in charge said. "That will make things easier."

Arthur nodded at the man again, this time not so stiffly.

"By the way, your son just knocked out one of my men with a beginner's spell. I am impressed."

"It worked on the troll." Ron huffed. "What are they doing to Scabbers?"

"He will be delivered to your Ministry," the officer said dismissively. "Which troll is this?"

"Little Ronny knocked out a troll in his first year," offered Fred.

"Of course, he was only in that situation because he made Hermione cry," George continued.

"Him and Harry had to go rescue her when everyone found out there was a troll loose in the castle," Fred finished.

The officer studied Ron for a second before giving an approving nod. Turning to Arthur he asked. "You Brits still do arranged marriages, do you not? I have twin daughters about his age, if you'd be interested."


The suite came with a terrace overlooking the city of Paris. This was where the three Grangers decided to break their fast, basking in the early morning sunlight as the adults enjoyed a lighter fare than what was traditionally served in their homeland. It was an idle conversation over their planned itinerary for the day that was interrupted by the arrival of the first owl. There were four chairs sitting around the table, and the avian elected to land on the back of the unoccupied one, right across from the young lass who was his target.

"I still can't get over the fact that magicals use owls to deliver letters," Emma Granger said, eyeing the dark-feathered owl who was staring at her daughter intensely.

Hermione got up from her seat to walk around the table. "It works surprisingly well. Though, it's not Hedwig, so it's not from Harry," she noted with a hint of disappointment. "This crest means it's from Gringotts."

"The bank?" Dan Granger took a sip from his orange juice. "Why would they be contacting you?"

Hermione held out a piece of bacon to the bird, only to have it turn its head away from the offering. Unperturbed, she tried a bit of sausage next, which the bird greedily accepted. She then retrieved the letter and the small pouch it had been carrying. Not waiting for a reply, the bird took off as soon as it was relieved of its burden.

"This has to be a mistake," Hermione said as she retook her seat, examining the envelope. "The letter is addressed to Mrs. Hermione Potter. I probably shouldn't open it."

"That is odd," Emma said with a smile. "Did you elope when we weren't looking? Is Harry more than just a friend?" She waggled her eyebrows at her daughter.

"Mum!" Hermione said. "He's just a good friend."

"A good friend you've been fretting about the entire vacation," Dan added. "Though it is funny that there is a Hermione Potter out there and you got her mail. Maybe, that's a subtle hint from fate."

"Daddy!" Hermione blushed.

"Me thinks thou dost protest too much." Emma Granger smiled.

"Mum!" Hermione ping ponged.

"We're just saying, 'Don't dismiss him out of hand.'" Dan Granger chuckled. "Maybe someday you will be receiving letters addressed to Hermione Potter that aren't obvious errors."

"Harry doesn't see me that way." Hermione huffed. "I'm just his bossy friend."

"Give it time, dear," Emma said. "Give it some time. Boys don't notice girls as early as we notice them."

Hermione blushed more, turning the pouch over in her hand. "I think there is a key in here. This needs to go back to Gringotts."

"Here comes another owl," Dan said, taking another sip of his orange juice. "Maybe they've already acknowledged their mistake."

Hermione quickly walked around the table for a second time as this owl picked the same roost as the last. She gasped when she saw what the bird was delivering.

"What is it dear?" Emma asked.

"It's from the Ministry," Hermione said. "This one is addressed to Mrs. Hermione Potter nee' Granger."


Cornelius Fudge scowled as three individuals filed into his office. He had been in a private meeting with both his undersecretary and Lucius Malfoy; this disruption had better be important.

"Director Bones," Fudge said, barely hiding his ire, "Director Croaker. And I don't believe we've met."

"I am Chargé d'Affaires Boucher representing the International Confederation of Wizards," the mousey woman said. "I require a moment of your time, Monsieur Fudge."

Minister Fudge was aware that she had not graced him with his title, so the scowl didn't leave his face when he replied. He did, however, rise to his feet to formally greet the newcomer. "Ah yes, a delegate from the ICW. How may the Ministry of Magic help you today?"

"There are several important issues we must discuss. I am afraid they cannot wait, so perhaps you should reschedule the meeting we have just interrupted." Chargé Boucher sent a meaningful glance at Lucius Malfoy.

Following her gaze, Fudge said, "Lucius here is one of my more important advisors. He is welcome to stay and hear whatever business we may have."

"Very well." Chargé Boucher took a seat on an unoccupied couch without asking leave. "Sit, stay," she commanded. "We have unpleasantries to discuss, and I had to rush here as it is."

Fudge actually thought better of reprimanding her for her rudeness, retaking his seat instead.

"Here, now, you cannot treat our Minister in such a manner," Deloris Umbridge reproached with a saccharine voice. "Treat him with the respect he deserves."

"A man accused of assisting in line theft deserves no respect." Chargé Boucher waved a dismissive hand.

"Line theft!" Minister Fudge squeaked. "I would never . . ."

"And yet you conspire to unleash dementors on your populace in an effort to end the life of a rightful lord of one of your noble houses."

"Wha . . . wha . . ." Fudge sputtered. "No, the dementors will be there to protect the children from a deranged escaped criminal."

"I can see you have been misinformed," Lucius Malfoy interjected, leaning forward in his seat. "Sirius Black has been disowned from the Black family, thus has no claim toward the lordship. Your unfounded accusation against our fair Minister must be immediately revoked."

Chargé Boucher held her hand up, palm out toward the Malfoy head, but otherwise ignored him. She didn't offer Umbridge that much recognition. "You will immediately cease all arrangements to hunt Lord Black with the dementors. The treaties your country has signed forbade their use in such a manner."

"The treaties allow for the use of dementors to hunt down dangerous criminals!" Undersecretary Umbridge snapped as her boss sat there gasping like a fish.

"They only allow for the pursuit of convicted criminals who have demonstrated a significant danger to the masses." Chargé Boucher sneered.

"A category that Black clearly falls in," Lucius said smoothly.

"Sirius Black never had a trial." Madam Bones spoke up from where she still stood. "Therefore, he does not meet the requirements."

"You must be mistaken." Madam Umbridge sneered. "Everyone knows he was you-know-who's right hand man. A trial would be superfluous, even if it were skipped, which it most assuredly was not."

"Is it proper for this man in particular to be here right now?" Chargé Boucher glared at Lucius Malfoy.

"I should think not," Director Croaker said. "Minister, in case it slipped your notice, Miss Boucher here has just referred to Sirius Black as Lord Black, a status he could not have achieved if he were properly convicted. That alone should tell you to take this seriously. Please send your advisor away."

Minister Fudge shot a look at Amelia, then looked into the empty-seeming hood of Director Croaker. "Of course," he said, getting to his feet. "Lucius, I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut our meeting short. It would seem I have a misunderstanding to work out, and as much as I value your council, now may not be the time."

Lucius also glanced at the other people in the room before saying, "I understand, Cornelius," he said smoothly. "I can see I am not wanted here."

"Before you go," Madam Bones said, "I think I should let you know that Draco has been removed from the succession line for House Black."

"He cannot do that!" Lucius snapped, showing his pearly white teeth. "He has no other choice for heir. Lord of the house or not, he cannot do that."

"You are once again mistaken." Chargé Boucher sneered. "I am not a member of your country, and yet even I know that Lord Black has more than one cousin. The daughter of one has as much claim as your own son. With her husband having Black blood, no matter how thin, their children will be Blacks without the Malfoy taint."

"How dare you!" Madam Umbridge snarled. "The Malfoys are a respected upstanding family."

"Upstanding?" Chargé Boucher sneered again. "Their very name is an insult. Their ancestors fled civilization to escape reprisal. I see they live up to their name even here." Lucius didn't wait around to contest the allegations as he stormed out of the Minister's office, rage rolling off his face.

"Perhaps now is not the time for name calling," Minister Fudge said. "Like I said, there is some mistake. I would never aid in line theft."

"That remains to be seen." Chargé Boucher sounded less cold, now that Lucius had left the room. She was by no means warm and friendly, just less cold. "I have here a long list of complaints from Lord Black, things that he has already set into motion to sue your government over. Not the least of which being his illegal imprisonment over crimes he did not commit."

"Everyone knows he's guilty," claimed Dolores Umbridge. "You are wasting our time."

"He has sent goblin-certified copies of his memories of the incidents in question. They came in late last night . . . early morning really. I, for one, look forward to observing how you Brits handle the scandal."


Harry was out of his depth. That was putting it mildly. He had no point of reference to judge his current circumstance. The few times Hermione had gone to tears were the closest he came to this, and honestly, he still wasn't sure what to do when that happened. Without a word, the woman, Andi, had sat down on the bed and started leaking fat tears from her eyes; initiating a sense of helpless panic in the boy whose pinnacle of social interaction had been hugs from his female best friend.

For a good minute he stood there, silently wondering what he should do when she had looked up and gestured for him to come closer. He did so cautiously, only to be caught up in a hug and dragged onto the bed. It couldn't have been less than twenty minutes time that he sat there with her as she clutched him, wetting his shirt with her tears. Throughout it all he kept his hands in his lap, unsure what to do with them.

The sniffles only began to subside when she finally informed him, "I've been looking for you for a very long time."

"Huh?"

"I've been trying to get a hold of you ever since that night," Andi repeated. "I promised Sirius that I would keep an eye on you if he couldn't, but Dumbledore wouldn't let me anywhere near you."

"Dumbledore kept you away?" Harry asked.

"He kept everyone away." Andi nodded. "He said it was for your protection. Being related to the one suspected of betraying your parents left me with no ground to stand on."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Harry apologized.

"I can't blame you." Andi sniffed. "Still, it would have been nice to have gotten at least one reply to the owls I've sent over all these years."

"I never received any owls." Harry frowned.

"Really?" Andi did not sound happy… err, she sounded less happy than just a few seconds earlier. "He blocked my owls, did he?"

"I never received any owls," Harry said again. "I never received any until my Hogwarts letter came."

"That can't be right," Andi said. "I know at the very least Nymphadora and her friends used to send you a birthday card every year."

"I never received any," Harry said, anger building in his voice.

"That can't be right. You should be getting a steady stream of correspondence." Andi frowned. "Are you getting it at Hogwarts?"

"I rarely receive mail," Harry said.

"It sounds like someone is intercepting your owls. If it is Dumbledore, I'll be pulling out his beard one hair at a time."

"You don't sound like you like him very much," Harry noted.

"I've never been a big supporter. Now that I've received a message from a future version of myself, I am even less so."

"Dudley kept repeating that I shouldn't trust him," Harry said. "Do you think he's been stealing my mail?"

"Someone has," Andi said. "Did you think someone as famous as you would receive no mail?"

Harry scrunched his nose. "Now that you mention it, Lockhart was getting letters by the bucketful. I suppose I should have gotten one or two by now."

"Harry." Andi ran her hand through the boy's hair. "You are far more famous than Lockhart has ever been."

"I don't want to be," Harry griped. "I want to be just Harry."

"I'm sorry, you won't ever be able to be just Harry." Andi continued to muss his hair.

"Wait a minute." Harry started to turn as a thought struck him, but he halted the motion when he realized he was being held tight. "You've been trying to find me? Are you saying I should have been living with you?"

"I didn't have such a claim." Andi shook her head. "Not that Ted and I wouldn't have welcomed you into our house given half a chance, but we had no legal claim to you."

"What legal claim does Dumbledore have on me?" Harry asked.

"I do not know," Andi said. "I have not been privy to your parents' wills. I would assume that they appointed him your guardian after both Sirius and Alice were unable to take care of you."

"Who's Alice?" Harry queried. "Dudley mentioned Sirius more than once, but never said anything about an Alice."

"Alice Longbottom, I happen to know she is your godmother."

"Longbottom? Like Neville?" Harry said. "Where is she? Why haven't I met her before? Is she in prison like Sirius used to be?"

"She's in St. Mungo's." Andi patted him on the back. "I'm sorry to say, she won't be getting out anytime soon. Her or her husband, they were . . . they were hurt badly soon after you-know-who was removed from the picture. They aren't responsive at this point."

"That's awful," Harry said. "So, are they related to Neville? Neville Longbottom, a mate in my year."

Andi returned her hands to Harry's hair. "Yes, they are your godbrother's parents."

"Neville is my godbrother?"

"He is."

"Why has no one told me?"

"I told myself that a lot of important things were hidden from you," Andi said. "I am only now beginning to get a grasp of the scope of the deceit."

"What am I going to do?" Harry asked despondently.

"You mean, what are we going to do," Andi corrected. "If you think that I am going to let my son-in-law flounder along without raising my wand to aid him, then you are sadly mistaken."

Harry shuddered at the intensity of the emotions swirling off Andi. "Th . . . Thank you. I just. Thank you. No one . . . no adult has ever offered to help before . . . Well, they offer, but they never follow up. If you really mean it then . . . Wait a minute! Son-in-law?"