"We didn't see anything," Harry insisted. "Taylor made us hide in a cave while she went out to face them alone."

What he wasn't saying was that I'd had them hiding under the expanded invisibility cloak, inside Draco's box turned on it's side. The inside had been large enough that they'd have cover, and they could blast away at anyone who found them.

It would have left them vulnerable to anyone who thought to just close the box, but if the Death eaters had gotten that far, I doubted that they would have had much of a chance of survival anyway.

"You're telling me that an eleven year old girl went out to face six Death Eaters by herself?" the auror asked him skeptically. I assumed that he'd been vetted by Moody himself, since he was allowed in the room alone with Harry.

All of us had been separated and were being questioned one after the other by the aurors.

"I don't know what happened," Harry said. "There were some screams, and the sounds of explosions, and then nothing. It didn't last very long."

I'd barely had time to transfigure the metal webs back into ordinary spiderwebs and have the spiders gather them up by the time the aurors had arrived.

"What did she do then?"

"Came back," he said. "Told us the Death Eaters had vanished."

"You didn't see the blood out in the forest?" the auror asked.

"She wouldn't let us out of the cave," Harry admitted. "Not until she was sure the people coming were on our side."

I'd been a little sloppy when I'd been doing cleanup, and I'd missed a man's decapitated head.

A fist slammed on the desk in front of me.

"What happened to the Death Eaters?" Moody was asking me. He stared at me with his artificial eye. It was probably supposed to intimidate me, but I'd known people in my old life who'd looked almost as bad as he did.

I shrugged.

"They're gone, and they aren't coming back. Isn't that good enough?"

We'd been having this discussion for what seemed like hours, and I could see that Hermione and Neville in the other rooms were flagging. Harry seemed to be filled with energy, though. It couldn't be adrenaline; I wasn't sure what was keeping him so chipper.

Maybe it was just because every minute that he was with the aurors was a minute he didn't have to go home.

"There's no way an eleven year old girl kills six Death Eaters on her own, without help," he said.

"I never admitted to killing anyone," I said coolly. We'd been over this multiple times. It was an old law enforcement technique; interrogate someone long enough, and eventually they'd break, and admit to anything just to get out of the room. "Except for one Death Eater on top of the train."

That one had been witnessed by the Trolley Witch and Harry; lying about it would get me nowhere.

"I've seen Potter's pensieve memories of that," he said. "You knew just where to cut him, didn't you?"

"Like I said, I came from a bad neighborhood."

"Which neighborhood was that again?" Moody asked suddenly. This was something he hadn't asked before, and I forced the alarm it roused in me into my bugs.

"I didn't say," I said. "It was a little place near Boston. You wouldn't have heard of it."

It was safe enough to name the region; a skilled linguist could have narrowed it down that much just by listening to me speak. It wasn't as thought I could pretend to be from Texas, not at this late date.

"Try me," he said. "I've been a few places."

"If you've seen Potter's memories, why are you still holding us?" I asked, changing the subject. I couldn't afford for him to take this line of inquiry.

"I haven't seen yours," he responded, challengingly.

"And you won't," I said. At his look, I explained. "Let's say for the sake of argument that an eleven year old did defeat five Death eaters. There's no way even a full grown adult wizard could do something like that, not unless he's had the kind of training and experience that someone like yourself or Dumbledore has."

He nodded slowly, staring at me. Could he do legilimency through his artificial eye.

"So she'd have to use every dirty trick she could think of, and then some," I said. "Your department is filled with people loyal to the current dark lord. Once they got hold of that, it would be easier for them to kill the girl the next time."

"So you want to keep your tricks a secret," he said. "Even how you managed somehow to decapitate a man when there wasn't a spell like that in your wand?"

I'd used Death Eater wands for some of the later spells I'd cast. I'd cast the transmutation spells on the webs with my second wand. I'd realized that I'd never be able to completely clean the forest floor in the time I had, and so I had used my primary wand for a few spells.

"You can do a lot with the right equipment," I said, shrugging.

Hopefully he'd think I was talking about magical tools. Given that he was a wizard, he'd probably think I'd used some sort of magical sword or something.

He was silent for a moment.

"You've killed more people than half the prisoners in Azkaban," Moody said. "And there are people who are calling for your head."

"For protecting Harry and the others?" I asked. "If I'd been alone, I'd have just ridden my broom into muggle Britain and vanished until next year."

"They'd have sent owls to you until they finally got you," he said. "If it turns out you can kill five Death Eaters, then next time he'll send ten."

"Not until he figures out what I did," I said. "He can't risk something like that happening again. It's going to hurt his reputation as it is, and his morale. If he keeps sending people into the blender, eventually people are going to start deserting."

"Is that what you see yourself as?" he asked. He shook his head. He gestured at himself. "You won't be lucky forever. Nobody gets through things like this unscathed."

His entire body was a mass of scars, presumably from curses that couldn't be cured by Wizarding science. I wondered if plastic surgery might have helped; not that he seemed like the kind who would try something like that. His appearance made him more intimidating after all, and that probably made him a better interrogator.

He probably could have gotten a much better prosthetic leg though, even way back here in the early nineties. Meshing Wizarding Healing with muggle science would probably create some amazing results. It might even be possible to make a lifelike prosthetic that actually had feelings through magic, much like some of the best Tinkertech I'd seen.

"There are people who want you expelled for unauthorized use of magic," Moody said. "I'm sure you can guess who they are."

"Could I have a list?" I asked sweetly.

"It would not help your case for members of the Wizengamot to start ending up disappearing," Moody said. "As it is, Potter is going home, so are the others. You are going to be incarcerated until it can be decided what to do with you."

"Killed you mean," I said flatly.

I'd viewed as much of the Ministry as I could on our way here. I suspected that I could find my way out, although I wasn't sure what defenses I'd have to face. I cursed myself for not learning the disillusionment spell sooner. It had seemed useless when the human revealing spell was so easy.

However, if no one was looking for you they wouldn't bother with the spell.

Moody had taken my wand and my fanny pack this time. He wasn't taking any chances.

He was carrying a wand, though. I eyed his wand and I measured the distance between us. The desk would be an impediment, which was probably why it was here instead of a formless room as was usual.

I could use the desk as cover, though.

There were bugs in the vents; I wasn't sure if I would be able to get enough to him to work as a distraction long enough for me to get his wand though. He was reputed to be one of the best aurors, and while I hadn't seen him fight, I suspected I'd have a hard time getting the drop on him.

"You won't be killed," Moody said. "It'll be my people watching you."

I snorted.

"The Death Eaters are going to want vengeance on me. Leave me with no wand, and tied up in a room whose location they know, and I'll be dead by morning."

"We'll put you in a room under the Fidelius charm," he said. "Only I and Dumbledore will know its location."

"And if both of you die, then I'll starve to death?" I asked.

"Suspicious little thing aren't you?" he asked.

"You've got the Ministry to watch your back," I said. "I have no one. Even the Wizards who consider themselves on the side of muggleborns tend to look down on us."

"Crying racism?" he asked. "I'd have thought better of you."

"Says the person who's not a muggleborn," I said. "This society is sick and reforms are needed."

"That's what every dark lord always says," he said.

"Why do you think there's so many of them?" I asked. "People are unhappy, and when that happens, someone always rises up claiming to give them what they want."

Before I could say anything, Moody lifted his wand.

I woke up in a cell somewhere. I could hear water dripping, and yet it was dark. Presumably that was to demoralize me.

I still had my bugs, though, and many of them didn't need lights to get around. I could use their senses to get a measure of the room I was in. There was a toilet, and a sink, a bed and that was about it other than a single door. There were no windows, and while there were vents, there was nothing remotely small enough for me to get into even at my current size.

There were bugs outside, but while I could control them, it was as though when they got within a certain radius of the room they forgot where they were. That was going to make it difficult to use them to do much.

The best I could do was have them look for a key and possibly pass it as close to the door as possible.

I spent the next three days looking not just for a key, but for anything I could use as a key. I explored the Ministry with my powers; there were parts of it that were outside of my range, but not much, and I learned more than I would have ever thought.

They had rooms filled with magical devices, and I spied on Unspeakables doing secretive research into things the government didn't want the Wizarding public to know. There were secrets here; not many of them were spoken out loud, but some of them were, and I began making mental notes.

Blackmail didn't bother me; compared to what I'd done in the past blackmail was the kinder option. It was like the difference between assassinating a leader and going to war. One way would kill a single man, the other would kill millions.

Of course, sometimes killing that single man wouldn't change anything, and might even inflame the hearts of the masses into war, so it wasn't as simple a choice as it seemed.

Still I listened in to conversations, and I had my bugs write down names, people I thought were Death Eaters, who I thought were controlled, and who I thought were simply sympathizers. It was possible that I wasn't right; only in a couple of places did I hear actual damning speech. It still gave me something to investigate, assuming that I was released.

The arguments in the Wizengamot raged fiercely. There were people who believed that not only should I be expelled, but that I should spend my life in Azkaban. Many of them blamed me for the death in the duel.

Others wanted me Kissed. I wasn't going to put up with that, if I had to call every insect in the place to rain hell and havoc down on the entire Ministry.

I had my supporters too. There were people saying that I should be awarded the Order of Merlin for saving the Boy Who lLived, saying that I was a hero.

The lines were closer than I would have liked.

Finally the decision was made. I was to be released, but no mention of my role in the killings was to be made to the press. The attack on the train was to be blamed on werewolf terrorists, and the official story would be that Harry Potter had been carried away by his protective detail.

The Ministry would look good, and I would be forced into anonymity. The consensus was that I was becoming too famous, and that giving me more attention was a terrible thing.

However, Travers was going to lose his position for not controlling me, and Dumbledore was going to be censured. It didn't seem to be anything that would have any binding power, though.

By the time the door finally opened, it had been four days, and my legs felt weak; I'd been spending so much time in my swarm that I'd hardly moved the entire time.

Dumbledore and Moody were on the other side of the door.

"Give me my wand and my fan...er...bum bag," I said.

"You don't want to know how the trial went?" Moody asked.

"I know how it went," I said. "The only question is what happens to me now?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I had a perfectly acceptable family lined up for you. They had children, and there was a possibility that you might be able to enjoy a normal life. After what has happened, they were understandably reluctant to accept you."

"Because I protected Harry Potter?"

"Because you are an unrepentant mass murderer," Moody growled out. "If I had children, I wouldn't want them within a continent of you.

"So what are you going to have me do?" I asked. "Intern at Azkaban or Gringotts?"

If I could do to either of those places what I'd done at the Ministry, I'd be even farther ahead of the game.

"No," Dumbledore said. "I had to call for help from someone who is otherwise unsuitable."

"Who?" I asked.

"Remus Lupin," he said.

"Oh...it's because he's a werewolf, right?" I asked. I'd seen his name on a list in Werewolf Support Services, which was a division of the Being Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

"How did you know that?" Moody asked. He stepped toward me angrilly.

"His name is a little on the nose, don't you think?" I asked. At Moody's look of confusion, I said, "Remus was one of the brothers, Romulus and Remus who fought over the control of Rome. They were raised by wolves. Lupin literally means wolf. Is his name a pseudonym?"

It was like a Cape name, intended to broadcast to the world his true nature. Was calling yourself Remus Lupin any different than me calling myself Skitter, or Weaver?

"I assure you that Remus Lupin is his birth name," Dumbledore said.

I stared at them both. His name wasn't a pseudonym?

"So is werewolfism hereditary?" I asked, confused.

"No. He was bitten."

"Weird." I said.

Of course, it was strange that we had a Professor Sprout teaching herbology, but I'd just assumed that was a pseudonym too. Maybe her family had been farmers or something.

Maybe her name had inspired her to go into herbology.

Or maybe no one would have taken a Professor Sprout seriously if she was trying to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"It does not bother you that he is a werewolf?" Dumbledore asked carefully.

"If I understand right, that means he's only got a problem a few nights a month, right?" I asked. "My bigger concern is whether or not he's working for the Death Eaters."

"You don't know?" Moody asked.

"My abilities can be spotty sometimes," I said. "Which means I have to stay on my toes."

"I assure you that he is not," Dumbledore said. "I have used every means at my disposal to determine that he will be safe for you to stay with."

"All right," I said. "But I still want my wand."

Moody scowled and tossed my wand and fanny pack onto the floor in front of me. Was he afraid of my taking it directly from his hands? It wasn't like I ever intentionally hurt my allies, at least not if it wasn't absolutely necessary.

I crouched down, keeping an eye on both of them. Grabbing my fanny pack, I flipped through it. I had a few remaining pieces of Peruvian Darkness Powder, but my knives were gone.

I'd slipped my extra wand down the back of Hermione's shirt before the aurors had stormed into the cave. Fortunately, Moody hadn't seen her; he'd been focused on me.

"Where are my knives?" I asked.

"They have been confiscated for the good of Greater Britain," Moody said. "As evidence. You aren't getting them back."

I scowled.

"Fine. Take me to see this Wolfie McWolf-face, or whatever his name is."

If the man was any kind of Wizard, I might be able to wrangle some training out of him over the summer.

If he was enemy, I'd have to be on my guard.

"He was a friend of Harry's father," Dumbledore said quietly. "And I would take it as a personal favor if you do not stab him."

"I'll try," I said.

If my bugs had had fingers, they would have been crossed behind their backs.