A/N: Hello loves! Well, we didn't quite reach Christmas 1993 by Christmas 2016, which was my ambitious goal for this book, but we've come very close! I'll work hard on getting the holiday chapter out by next week; perhaps even for New Year. Of course, I refuse to sacrifice quality for quantity or speed, so I will not promise outright… but things are looking quite promising at the moment.

Enjoy 'The Innocent Prisoner' – and please read and review!

Happy Christmas!

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DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

Chapter 28: The Innocent Prisoner

'Harry…'

The soft voice echoed through Harry's restless half-sleep, jerking his eyes open at once.

Albus Dumbledore's face was inches from his own. The headmaster was smiling softly, but the gesture did not quite reach his eyes.

'Apologies,' the headmaster said quietly, straightening up as Harry pushed himself into a sitting position. 'I did not mean to disturb your rest, but you are due your next dose of potions.'

Harry grimaced, eying the phials on his bedside table. 'It's fine,' he muttered, wiping a hand over his face to wake himself a bit more.

Albus's smile faltered.

'It is not,' he assured him, seriously. 'What happened on the Quidditch pitch this afternoon was entirely unacceptable. And I fear I have only myself to blame for your convalescence this time – a fact which troubles me greatly.'

Harry frowned, staring at the headmaster.

'It wasn't your fault, sir,' he said in confusion. 'It was mine. If I'd only been able to master that stupid spell… if I wasn't so bloody weak in the first –'

'You are not weak, Harry,' Dumbledore cut across him firmly. 'I have told you before, but it bears repeating. The effect the Dementors have on you is not something you can help, nor is it a reflection on your strength as a wizard or as a person. And as to the patronus charm, you studied the spell only for a manner of weeks, at quite a young age. There are fully qualified wizards – most fully qualified wizards, in fact – who never manage to master it. That you can produce anything at all is a huge achievement, and I am sure you will succeed in casting a corporeal form in due course.' He paused, his eyes twinkling slightly for the first time since Harry had awoken. 'I ought to chastise your language,' he noted, stroking his beard thoughtfully. 'But I find I am not in the mood to dock house points this evening.'

Harry grinned a little in spite of himself. 'Sorry.'

Dumbledore reached toward Harry's bedside table, pulling a little tray of phials closer. 'You seem better,' he noted, appraising Harry's face as he uncorked the first dose. 'But it would be unwise to push our luck.'

He handed Harry the first phial, and Harry downed it obediently. Dumbledore passed him two additional potions, each more foul than the last. He was sputtering by the time the headmaster finally handed him a goblet of water to wash away the taste.

'Madam Pomfrey's threatened to keep me through the week-end,' he complained as he finished the water.

'It was very serious, what happened to you on the pitch,' Albus said heavily. 'I'm afraid I agree with Poppy's abundance of caution, in this case.'

'But you saved me,' Harry pointed out. 'I didn't break anything – she told me so.'

'That is true,' the headmaster acknowledged. 'But bones, unfortunately, are often more easily mendable than other injuries. There were over one hundred dementors in the grounds. Their powers took a toll on you, Harry. And Madam Pomfrey tells me you have been ill from the effects even with the potions. She is right to keep you.'

'I hate the hospital wing,' Harry whinged, not caring if he sounded petulant.

Albus smiled. 'You are very like your father, in that,' he said with amusement. 'He always detested being kept to bed too. I believe Madam Pomfrey once resorted to a toddler sticking charm, in his second year. You ought to ask her for the story.'

Harry laughed in spite of himself. It made him warm to think of his father… and that he was like him, even in this small way. Then he thought about what Ron and Hermione had said, and his smile faded. 'I heard you were really angry,' he said, looking curiously at Dumbledore. 'The others – they said they'd never seen you in such a temper before.'

Dumbledore's eyes hardened. 'Yes, I was angry,' he said quietly. 'At the Dementors, of course, as they have explicit orders from both the Ministry and myself not to enter the grounds… and at myself, for failing to recognise their presence on the pitch sooner than I did. You could have been seriously injured, or even killed. Any of the students might have been. It was a near miss as it was – and you are still not recovered.'

Harry shuddered a bit at the thought, and at the sudden aura of terrible power that still emanated slightly from the headmaster. 'But you dealt with them?' he clarified. 'They won't come back again?'

'Oh yes, I dealt with them,' Albus said darkly. 'They will not reappear at another match, I guarantee it.'

Harry nodded, breaking eye contact to fiddle with a stray thread from his bedclothes. He was tired, bored and immensely frustrated with himself again. 'I suppose the whole school will be talking about me again,' he said in annoyance. 'They all must have seen me fall.'

'I dare say most of the school has other concerns at the moment,' Albus reassured him. 'The Heads of House have been forcing chocolate down most of the students' throats at Poppy's insistence since the match ended, and now she's decided everyone ought to be dosed with Pepper-Up Potion as well. I believe Professor Snape is supervising the N.E.W.T. potions students in brewing several vats in the dungeons as we speak. It will be served with supper this evening in the Common Rooms.'

Harry gave a weak smile. 'She's diabolical,' he said seriously. Albus chuckled.

'I may be able to spring you,' the headmaster decided, the barest hint of a twinkle in his eye for the first time that evening.

Harry brightened at once, grinning broadly. 'I can go back to the Tower?' he asked, elated.

Dumbledore sighed. 'No,' he disagreed. 'I do not think Madam Pomfrey's good nature would stretch so far as to allow me to grant that request. But I do think she would consent to your spending the remainder of the week-end in your room in my own chambers, should you wish to do so.'

Harry beamed. 'I'd love that,' he said earnestly. Dumbledore gave a conspiratorial wink, and jerked his head for Harry to climb out of the bed.

Harry followed eagerly. He was a little unsteady on his feet.

'We shall take the floo,' Albus decided, steadying Harry with one hand. 'Best not to push our luck on the stairs, I think.'

He led Harry toward Madam Pomfrey's office. The mediwitch was in attendance, and she glanced up from a pile of complicated-looking notes at their approach. Her gaze grew thunderous in an instant.

'Why have you got my patient out of his bed, Headmaster?' she demanded in what Harry could tell was a voice of very forced calm. He kept his own lips squeezed tight, allowing Dumbledore to take the lead.

'I have decided to take Harry back up to my quarters,' he informed her. His tone was friendly, but there was an understated authority in it that Harry knew Madam Pomfrey would not miss. She pursed her lips, looking highly miffed.

'He is on bedrest for the remainder of the week-end, Albus,' she told him primly. 'I would prefer he be monitored and –'

'And he will be,' Albus promised her. 'There is nothing I have on that is currently more pressing, I assure you. But I think Harry would be more comfortable in his own bed, and as there is no urgent medical need to keep him in hospital…'

Madam Pomfrey huffed, but she relented.

'You will send for me if something occurs?' she needled, giving the headmaster a beady-eyed stare. 'And I trust you know the potions regimen?'

'You have my word,' Dumbledore assured her, inclining his head. 'Might we trouble you for the use of your hearth?'

Madam Pomfrey brushed a hand toward the fireplace in impatient assent, still looking as though she were surrendering against her better judgment.

Albus squeezed Harry's shoulder once, and led him forward into the floo.

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Albus guided Harry directly up to his bedchamber, which was largely unchanged since the summer holidays. Harry traded his hospital-issue pyjamas gratefully for a set of the gold and scarlet he kept in his chest of drawers in the bedroom, and the headmaster helped him into the comfortable bed. The effort had clearly exhausted the child, and his eyes were heavy as Albus pulled the blankets up to his chin.

'I would suggest a game or two,' Albus said with a smile. 'But I dare say you'll be asleep before I've even set up a board. It is alright,' he added quickly, as Harry wrenched his eyes open again. 'You should sleep. It will help.'

Harry gave in, allowing his eyes to flicker shut. Albus was just pushing off the bed again when Harry spoke in a slurred, slow mutter. 'Saw th' Grim 'gain,' he said, turning his head slightly against the pillow for a more comfortable position.

Albus froze in his attitude above the candle he'd intended to dim.

'Pardon?' he asked, laying a hand on the boy's arm. 'What did you see, Harry?'

'Grim,' Harry grunted, shifting again. 'Like Trelawney said. Seen it 'fore. Las' time, Snape came. An' this time, 'twas you. Saved me, guess.'

Albus furrowed his brow, disconcerted. 'You've seen it before, Harry? A black dog?'

'Mmm,' Harry said, his eyes still shut. 'In 'Nolia Crescent. Night I ran from Durses.'

'I see,' the headmaster murmured, slightly troubled. He laid a hand on Harry's forehead, letting just a bit of magic seep through. 'You were likely imagining it today, Harry,' he soothed him. 'Dementors can play tricks on the mind, as you know. Most likely you conjured a vision of the dog out of fear.'

Harry did not answer, already lulled into sleep. Albus brushed his fringe lightly, and swept from the room.

Severus was waiting in the sitting room.

'You have Potter,' he accused, before Albus could even offer a greeting.

'Yes,' the headmaster agreed lightly, flicking his wand at a corner cabinet and sending a bottle of Firewhisky and two tumblers gliding onto a side table. 'Nightcap?'

'Why?' Severus demanded, not bothering to answer.

'Because Harry is my responsibility, and he needed familiarity tonight. How did you know he was here?' Albus asked. He uncorked the bottle and poured each of them a generous measure of drink.

'Poppy informed me, when I went to the hospital wing in search of you,' said Severus, taking the glass Albus offered him with a stiff nod of thanks.

'Excellent timing,' Albus observed. 'We have barely been here ten minutes. Would you care for something to eat?'

'No, thank you,' the Potions Master said impatiently. 'Albus, why not leave the child in hospital? He isn't your charge while Hogwarts is in session, and Poppy is more than capable of seeing to his recovery. There is an entire school of children in need of you right now.'

'There is a child upstairs who needs me more,' Albus insisted. 'And I am perfectly capable of seeing to both, Severus. I take it the Pepper-Up has been completed and distributed?'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'Obviously,' he said, though his voice was more sarcastic than rancorous now. 'The Houses are eating now, and we dosed every student. You can barely see through the steam in the Common Rooms.'

Albus's eyes danced with amusement. 'Poppy ought to be thrilled,' he noted.

'Undoubtedly,' Severus drawled. 'I suppose it matters little to her that I have completely depleted my stock of bicorn horn and had to watch over thirty incompetent fools through this ridiculous drama.'

'Peace, Severus,' said Albus soothingly. 'I shall place an owl order myself on the morrow. And I fail to see how the N.E.W.T. students could ever be called incompetent, given the high standards you impose for entry into your advanced lessons.'

'A necessary requirement, and yet they still manage to bungle half their assignments,' the Potions Master said unapologetically, waving a hand. He drank a sip of the whisky. 'Has anyone been to see Potter, since his latest brush with disaster?'

The tone was careless, but Albus could sense something unsaid in the question. He gazed piercingly at Severus as he answered… but the professor was turning his drink in his hand, watching the flow of the amber liquid instead of the headmaster's face.

'His teammates and Ms Granger and Mr Weasley were with him when he awoke,' he said slowly. 'But Poppy kept all other visitors out until I arrived this evening. Why do you ask?'

'No reason, particularly,' Severus said silkily. 'I did wonder if the wolf –'

'Remus,' Albus corrected sternly. 'Or Lupin. But show him at least courtesy, Severus, if you cannot bring yourself to reach civility.'

'Lupin, then,' the Potions Master amended through gritted teeth. 'He hasn't been by to see his precious Golden Boy?'

'Not yet,' Albus answered, still trying to study Severus' face through his curtain of greasy hair. 'I believe he is still recovering from the cycle, though I expect he will come by tomorrow once he hears what occurred today.'

'Very well,' Severus said curtly. He drained the rest of the drink in one gulp, and placed the empty tumbler on the table. He started toward the office door.

'Was there nothing else, Severus?' Albus asked, curious at the lack of purposeful visit.

Severus paused in his exit, crossing his arms. 'No, headmaster,' he said. 'I just wished to inform you that the potion had been taken care of.'

'Hmm,' Albus said. He fixed Severus with his ice blue stare. The Potions Master gazed back, impassive and expressionless. But behind the apathy he was a steel wall… and Albus did not wish to start an argument by pushing tonight.

So he pursued a different line.

'Harry tells me that he saw a Grim today, before he fell from his broom,' he confided.

Snape's expression hardened, and Albus saw his knuckles whiten against the black of his robes. 'I thought you'd spoken with the Seer on that score,' he accused.

'And so I have,' Albus said with a nod. 'But he says he saw it all the same. It was difficult to make out – he was so exhausted when he mentioned it. He claims, however, to have seen the omen before. On Magnolia Crescent, the night he ran from his aunt and uncle's home.'

Snape's expression relaxed. 'Potter is overdramatic, as ever,' he said dismissively. 'There was a dog in the street. It attacked us both, as you will recall. But it was alive, and vicious. Omens do not intermingle with the physical world.'

'No,' Albus agreed, stroking his beard thoughtfully. 'Nor can they be seen by any but the one they are meant for, for that matter. The fact that you witnessed the dog in and of itself seems to rule out any precognitive purpose. Yet Harry seemed certain that the dog he saw today was the same animal, the same Grim.'

Severus scoffed. 'The boy is delirious,' he said impatiently. 'Fevered or exhausted, or both. There is no such thing as a Grim, Albus, you know that.'

'Perhaps,' said Albus carefully. 'But dogs are decidedly real, Severus. And I find it curious that Harry should think the same animal that attacked you in Surrey was in the Hogwarts grounds this afternoon.'

'A figment of Potter's imagination,' Severus insisted again, though he too looked slightly unnerved. 'If there had been a dog in the stadium today, someone would have noticed. We do not allow them as pets at the school; its presence would have created some stir.'

'Perhaps…' said Albus, still stroking his long beard contemplatively. 'Perhaps.'

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Harry awoke on Sunday feeling decidedly better. Albus, to his consternation, would not allow him out of bed, but he did spend most of the day up in Harry's room: playing exploding snap (as Minerva was seeing to the school in the headmaster's absence), eating their way through the boxes of sweets that Harry's friends had sent to cheer him up and, when Harry grew tired again midmorning, composing a series of letters from his armchair while Harry slept. He even let Harry peruse one of the few remaining memories of his parents that he'd not yet had a chance to see from his birthday parcel, and they spent a highly amusing half-hour around midday watching James, Lily and Remus trying to construct what would become Harry's changing table – a process that even magic seemed hopelessly unable to assist with. James' and Remus' language grew increasingly more colourful with every failed attempt, until Lily finally snapped and hexed both their tongues to the roofs of their mouths. Harry rolled with laughter, wondering if this was where Remus had learned the Langlock spell he'd used on Peeves a few weeks ago. The thought made him a bit depressed, as he contemplated Remus' continued silence and Snape's bitter warnings against him.

Dumbledore seemed to notice Harry's depression, as he picked at his lunch an hour or so after their trip into the Pensieve.

'Are you feeling alright?' the headmaster asked in concern, reaching out to test his forehead as Harry laid the fork aside.

'I'm fine,' lied Harry. 'Just… I was wondering, is Remus still ill?'

Dumbledore drew his hand back. He was still frowning slightly, but Harry figured the lack of immediate potions meant his temperature must still be normal.

'I believe he is doing better,' the headmaster said carefully. 'The illness usually only affects him a day or two at most, though it can vary.'

'Right,' said Harry, looking down again. He began tapping the end of his fork against the edge of the tray, banging out a tuneless pattern. Dumbledore's hand stayed his fidgeting.

'Do you want me to call for him?' he asked, studying Harry's face. 'I am sure he would come –'

'No – that's alright,' said Harry quickly. He would not force Dumbledore to break this odd tension… Remus would think he'd gone crying to the headmaster instead of coming to him himself. 'I was just wondering whether he'd be in lessons tomorrow… Snape's not exactly the easiest stand-in.'

Albus's eyes twinkled in understanding. 'No, I expect not,' he allowed, though he was smiling. 'But Professor Snape is quite knowledgeable about Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry. You'll learn from him, if nothing else. And it will not be often he shall need to cover Remus' lessons.'

Harry gave a half-smile. 'Maybe not,' he said. 'But he does enough in one to last the month or so between. You know he's set us two whole rolls on werewolves as homework? To be handed in to him, and he doesn't even –'

'You do not have to write the essay,' said Albus, cutting across him in a suddenly sharp tone.

Harry stared. Even when he was complaining, it was not like Dumbledore to get cross with him like this. The headmaster's eyes were glittering, and not in the way that signalled any kind of amusement. Harry shivered slightly.

'It's fine, sir,' he amended quickly. 'I mean, it's not that much extra –'

'I am not angry with you, Harry,' the headmaster assured him, his expression softening again. 'I apologise, I must be a bit overtired myself.'

Harry was sure there was something the headmaster wasn't telling him, as he scrutinised Albus's face. But he knew better than to press the point.

'I'm a bit tired, actually,' said Harry, not entirely truthfully. 'I might lie down for a while.'

'You are sure you do not feel ill?' Dumbledore asked, adjusting the pillows as Harry settled. 'It is not yet time for your next dose of potions, but I could get you something to help you sleep if you need it.'

'No, I'm fine,' Harry assured him. 'But thank you.'

Dumbledore nodded, flicking his wand at the curtains to dim the daylight in the room. 'I need to go down to the study for a bit,' he told Harry, standing from the chair. 'But I will hear you, if you need me.'

'OK,' Harry agreed, pressing his eyes shut.

'Sleep well,' the headmaster said, closing the door quietly behind him as he left the bedchamber.

But once he had gone, Harry rolled over again, staring up at the ceiling fully awake. And he wondered… at Remus' distance, at Snape's rancour, and at the headmaster's sudden anger.

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'Severus.'

The voice was thunderous in the hearth, and green sparks danced dangerously around Severus's quarters as the headmaster's face appeared in the flames. Severus raised an eyebrow at the tone, but he set aside the journal he'd been perusing and stood to answer the call.

'Headmaster?' he asked, approaching the fire. Even in the embers, he could read anger in Albus's expression. 'What is it?' he asked, when Dumbledore did not immediately answer.

'Come through,' the headmaster said curtly. And the face was gone before Severus could reply.

Grumbling a bit at the interruption, he tossed a handful of powder into the grate and shot through the floo to the headmaster's study, brushing a stray bit of ash off his sleeve as he alighted on the hearthrug.

'What is it, headmaster?' he asked again, raising an eyebrow as Albus shot a one-way silencing charm at the foot of the stairs. He supposed Potter must be sleeping above.

Dumbledore's face was impassive, but his eyes sang with fury. 'How many times,' he said in a soft voice, 'Must I ask you to curtail your grudge against Remus Lupin?'

Severus felt his own blood begin to boil in response, despite the danger he sensed in this conversation. 'My feelings for Lupin cannot be dissuaded, headmaster,' he spat stubbornly. 'The man tried to kill me –'

'He did not,' the headmaster cut across him firmly. 'Remus had no idea of what Sirius Black had plotted all those years ago, and the realisation cost him nearly as much as it cost you, Severus. We have had this conversation several times before.'

'Regardless,' Severus insisted, 'He certainly participated with Black and Potter in all their nasty little tricks at school, and –'

'Petty feuds of childhood, which you all ought to have left behind in your maturity,' Albus said pointedly. 'Clinging to the past will not aid you in creating a future, Severus, as I keep imploring you to see. And you were not innocent yourself in that imprudent rivalry.'

'He is a werewolf!' Severus all but bellowed, vaguely grateful that Albus had had the foresight to place the charm on the room. 'A werewolf, Albus! He cannot be trusted. And that without the fact that he was inseparable from the man who now hunts your precious Potter brat like a bloodhound, and sent both his parents to their graves with his duplicity! I cannot stand by while you –'

'Enough,' said Albus. And though the word was not shouted, it drowned Severus' rant all the same. 'We have been over this many, many times Severus. Remus is not in league with Black. And I will not have you taking advantage of his affliction to set assignments that are designed to out his secret to the students. You are perfectly aware what such a revelation would result in, and it is vindictive to a level that is quite unbecoming.'

Severus crossed his arms, glaring. 'I set the brats a reasonable assignment on a dark creature they had not yet studied,' he countered. 'That was not intended as a –'

'It was intended as bait, Severus, and you know it,' the headmaster declared, exasperation evident in his tone. 'I will not have it. You are to tell the students they need not complete the assignment. Or I will. Remus is here at my invitation. As are you, Severus. You would do well to remember that.'

Severus felt suddenly as if the old man had slapped him, though Dumbledore's voice was still calm… perhaps even disappointed. It stung worse than if he'd been shouting.

'I am here,' he said icily, through gritted teeth, 'For her, Albus. To ensure that her foolish whelp of a son manages to make it, somehow, to adulthood intact and does not squander the gift She gave him.'

He snatched a handful of powder out of the jar on the headmaster's mantle, not caring whether Dumbledore wanted to stop him anymore.

'And if it turns out that wolf had any part in assisting the filthy bit of vermin who gave her to the Dark Lord,' he continued, throwing the powder into the flames, 'I swear to Merlin there is nothing, and nobody, who will be able to stop me exacting my vengeance.'

And he stepped into the sparking, crackling emerald flames – exactly the same shade as Her eyes.

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Albus decided to fly by thestral.

Apparition wasn't an option, of course – not to this forsaken island. And the weather had truly turned toward winter now: broom travel would be highly unpleasant. He supposed he could have tried to work a way around the ward, but it seemed a lot of effort for a result that may create more notice of his presence today than he was keen to have. A week had passed since that fateful Quidditch match; a fortnight since his visit from Alastor… and he knew he could delay the journey no longer.

There were Aurors waiting when he landed, their wary stances relaxing as they saw the rider alight. Albus patted the beast in thanks, giving it a morsel of raw liver before turning to address the welcoming party.

'Good morning,' he greeted the duo with a relaxed smile.

He was unsurprised at their presence. After Black's escape, he'd expected that Fudge would instigate the twenty-four hour Auror presence that had been common before Lord Voldemort fell. He scanned their faces quickly to make his choice. John Dawlish and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Pity. Neither had been a part of the Order before – although, admittedly, many of the Order members who had been Aurors in the previous war had died for one cause or another.

Dawlish he knew better. He was more senior than Shacklebolt, and was one of Cornelius's personal favourites. He'd fought in the war, for the Ministry. Dawlish was reasonably talented in combat and particularly talented on paper. But his loyalty was first, foremost and unquestionably to the Ministry. He was not a bad man, but he had little mind of his own. He was a Ministry creature entirely.

Shacklebolt… Albus did not know him as well. He'd gone the roundabout way into the Auror Corps, serving abroad in a diplomatic post after Hogwarts through the final few years of the War and then as a Hit Wizard for the MLE before Alastor had recruited him laterally. Albus knew Alastor had liked Kingsley, as far as Alastor expressed his approval of anyone; and that Arthur Weasley was friendly with him. And, just now, that was enough.

'Headmaster,' Dawlish greeted him curtly, inclining his head. Albus returned the nod. Dawlish looked awkward. 'There's no unauthorised visitors, Sir,' he said regretfully, sharing a look with Shacklebolt. 'Apologies, but it's only Ministry personnel and escorted family members who are allowed to enter the fortress until the situation is resolved. Minster's orders.'

Albus smiled benignly. 'Understood,' he said. 'In fact, I had suggested as much to Cornelius myself. Unfortunately, my business is rather urgent. I would have owled ahead had there been time, of course.'

Dawlish appeared rather cowed. 'Er – I suppose we could accompany you inside,' he started, uncertain. 'What is it you need?'

'I must see to something at the fortress,' Albus replied vaguely. 'I should hate to take you both away from your post in these dangerous times… but perhaps –' he paused, pretending to ponder the matter – 'Mr Shacklebolt, would you mind accompanying me into the prison?'

Dawlish and Shacklebolt exchanged looks again. The latter nodded.

'Very well,' he agreed, turning to lead the way. Albus fell into step beside him.

The cold of the Dementors' magic greeted them the moment Kingsley opened the doors, much harsher than the wintry sea winds outside. Albus raised his wand, giving the Auror a sideways glance.

'Do you mind?' he asked courteously.

'Not at all,' Kingsley assured him, drawing his own wand.

They cast together, and Albus was pleased to see a bright lynx join his own silver phoenix. The worst of the chill dissipated as they began their descent. Kingsley did not question the headmaster's purposeful direction, and Albus was grateful for it.

'I heard you had some trouble with those stationed at the school,' Kingsley offered conversationally as they rounded a torchlit corner.

Albus' mood darkened considerably in remembrance. 'Indeed,' he said, trying to keep his voice friendly. 'I must admit I detest Dementors. It is no secret that I advocated against their use at the fortress for many years. Even with the particular gravity of the current situation, I wonder at times whether their shadow at the castle hurts more than it helps. They have not, after all, stopped Black from crossing the boundaries twice now.'

Shacklebolt frowned. 'Fair point,' he said, slowly. 'I'm not overly fond of Dementors myself. They make highly effective guards, of course, but to trust in those with no conscience or moral compass… it is a bit like dancing with fire.'

'Precisely,' Albus agreed darkly. 'Just here, I think.'

He turned them into a long, narrow passage, about halfway down the bowels of the dungeons.

'A murderer,' Kingsley said. It was a statement, not a question, and Albus did not comment.

This row of cells was reserved to those who had slain Muggles. The prison was organised in levels: like Dante's seven-circle Hell. Wizard-killers were kept farther down. Positioning that irked the headmaster… to suggest that magical lives were worth more than their Muggle counterparts.

Death Eaters were jailed at the very bottom.

Albus found the correct cell at last, ten doors down the corridor. He glanced through the little window to confirm its tenant, then turned to Kingsley.

'I wonder, Mr Shacklebolt, if you might give me a moment alone with this man.'

Kingsley studied him, his face quite impassive. Then he gave a curt nod. 'I shall wait here, headmaster,' he said, indicating the passage around them. 'Shout if you need anything.'

Albus smiled graciously, and slipped through the cell door. He threw up a silencing charm as he clicked it shut behind him.

The cell's occupant was very tall, and broad-shouldered in a way that suggested he might once have been burly and strong. Now, however, years of confinement had shrunken his frame. He was emaciated. Loose skin hung off his bones, mottled and paper-thin in appearance. His shoulders were stooped, his hair mere scant wisps over an age-spotted skull. As he raised his head upon Albus's entry, the headmaster saw that his eyes were clouded with cataracts. If this man had borne any resemblance to the wizard Albus suspected was his nephew, it had long since faded with age.

'You are Morfin Gaunt?' Albus asked, conjuring himself a chair so prisoner and visitor were on eyelevel.

The man squinted back, but did not speak.

'I am Albus,' the headmaster continued after a short pause. 'Albus Dumbledore.'

Still, the man kept silent. It was difficult to tell from the shrouded eyes whether Morfin Gaunt had recognised the name.

'We have not met,' Albus tried instead. 'As you and your sister were not, of course, educated at Hogwarts. Had you come to the castle, I might have been your Transfiguration teacher.'

Still nothing. Albus sighed.

'Perhaps enough small talk,' he acknowledged, shifting forward in his chair. 'I wish to ask you, Morfin, about the night the Riddles were killed.'

And now, Morfin showed his first signs of life since Albus had entered the room. His ancient eyes widened slightly, and he spoke at last.

'The ring!' he growled, in a voice that cracked and croaked with decades of disuse. 'He'll kill me. He'll kill me for losing that ring!'

Albus frowned. He'd read about this, in the report that Alastor had managed to get to him. According to the Ministry, this was all Morfin Gaunt had ever said, after they'd heard his confession.

'What ring is that, Morfin?' he asked kindly.

'Marvolo's ring,' Morfin insisted, as though Albus were mad. 'He'll kill me. He'll kill me for losing it.'

'How did you lose it, Morfin?' Albus pressed.

'He'll kill me,' the wizard repeated. 'He'll kill me for losing his ring.'

Albus considered the man's dull eyes. Morfin was looking straight at him, the plea evident even through the cataracts. The headmaster locked the gaze. He felt a bit ill, considering what he was about to do. Taking advantage of weak-minded, beaten men was not a thought he relished. But it had to be done. For Morfin… and for Harry.

Feeling a deep sense of foreboding, Albus whispered the incantation.

'Legilimens.'

The old wizard's mind was faded and dimmed, memories and bits of thought moving slowly past… clouded with age and the Dementors' drain. There were great, gaping holes of blackness, where Albus knew the creatures had taken the hope and happiness that once resided there. He found the memory he sought almost at once – Morfin had clearly been conjuring it himself at Albus's prompting.

Except… it was not a memory at all. It was mere adaptation – conjecture. A spelled recollection, implanted in this poor man's mind to give him the memory of killing the Muggle family. It might have served for an oral account, but even a poorly skilled Legilimens would have been able to recognise this travesty for what it was, had anyone bothered to investigate further on the night the Ministry had arrested Morfin Gaunt.

So Albus navigated himself farther back, looking for the connection… murmuring under his breath to dispel the false memories… to unlock the cursed portion of the damaged mind… and he paused at last as a young, handsome and familiar wizard materialised in Morfin's recollections.

A teenage Tom Riddle.

Albus pressed carefully forward, feeling for the boundaries of the memory… and he watched the scene.

It appeared as though they were standing in a filthy, tumbledown shack. The Gaunts' home, Albus supposed. Morfin seemed to be its only resident now. Unsurprising, as Voldemort's presence meant of course that Morfin's sister was long since dead and Albus knew Marvolo had died shortly after. The cottage was covered in muck and grime, its ceilings draped with cobwebs. It seemed a wonder anyone could live in such permanent filth.

Morfin was in a patched armchair, a rusty knife clenched in his left hand and his wand held loosely in his right. Though Albus could not smell anything while viewing the memory, the man had the aura of stale drink and many weeks without a bath. He might have been dozing just moments before, but he clamoured to his feet as Tom Riddle came sweeping through a low door into the room.

This was a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle, with the sharp cheekbones and dark eyes that had sent so many to tittering in his years at the castle. He appeared unimpressed with the state of the Gaunt home, gazing around the room with distain evident in his expression. His eyes found his uncle as Morfin gained his feet. Several empty bottles of drink rolled away across the floor.

Morfin spoke first.

'YOU!' the man bellowed, brandishing both wand and knife as he stumbled toward his nephew. 'YOU!'

'Stop.'

Tom's command was a hiss, but Albus understood the language. He could not speak Parseltongue, but he had studied it extensively since the events of the previous term. Having rather a great gift for extraordinary languages, he had become proficient enough by now to understand the odd conversation now taking place before him.

He watched as the drunken Morfin Gaunt and Tom Riddle sized each other up… as Morfin confused Tom Riddle with the Muggle who was his father… as Riddle made the connection in his own mind. Riddle was looking for Marvolo, it seemed. Albus could read his disappointment as he learned his grandfather was dead, and his disgust when Morfin connected this young wizard with Tom Riddle Snr.

And there was a ring… black-stoned and crudely wrought, set in a band of gold. Albus had caught only a flash of it as Morfin raised a hand to push aside his dirty hair. It did not appear, in his quick glance, particularly distinctive. But this must be the ring that Morfin lamented.

'He come back, see,' Morfin was hissing at Tom.

Tom's eyes sharpened as he stepped closer to his uncle. 'Riddle came back?'

'Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marring filth!' Morfin replied, spitting derisively on the dirty floor. 'Robbed us, mind, before she ran off… Where's the locket, eh? Where's Slytherin's locket?'

Albus felt his heart begin to pound.

Slytherin's locket… What had the woman done with it, when she'd fled the cottage? Had Voldemort discovered it? He would have searched it out, Albus knew, if it could be found… would have hunted the artefact. He knew by now of the Slytherin line… knew of the connection. This was summer 1943 – Tom had already opened the Chamber; had already got Hagrid expelled.

Was already a murderer.

Albus did not see the diary on Tom Riddle's person. But that meant little, of course.

Riddle was still watching his uncle rant in Parseltongue, a gleam of contemplation in his dark eyes. He did not break the man's stride.

'… Little slut!' Morfin roared. 'And who're you, coming here and asking questions bout all that? It's over, innit… it's over…'

He staggered, and Tom Riddle smiled. A cold, cruel smile that Albus recognised. He drew his wand from the folds of his cloak, coming slowly toward Morfin Gaunt. The flickering candle on the floor and Voldemort's own lamp both extinguished themselves as he advanced. And the memory faded to black – to nothingness.

Albus pushed past the false implantation this time, already knowing what he would see as the scene began to focus again. Tom Riddle Snr and his parents flopped lifeless in fast-forward, but Albus continued through to the odd blackness once more… searching for the reformation of conscious thought. He watched as the Ministry wizards arrived, as Morfin Gaunt gave a full confession that nobody bothered to question.

And they carted him off, unresisting, howling about the ring that had been lost.

Albus pulled himself backward through the churning sea of thought and consciousness. It was a slow, arduous exit. He did not dare move too quickly, afraid that the poor man's body would give out entirely from the long minutes of abuse and repair.

At long last, he found himself back in front of Morfin Gaunt in the physical realm. The man was a bit paler than he'd been before Albus's attack on his mind, but otherwise had hardly moved a fraction. There was a little black spider scaling Morfin's thin arm, winding itself between the folds of his tattered robe. Albus reached out to brush it away.

'Where's the ring?' Morfin spat suddenly. It was Parseltongue, this time. Perhaps a holdover from the memory. He seized Albus's arm as the latter made to swat the spider away, clinging to his wrist with surprising strength. The little arachnid took the opportunity to scuttle out of sight.

'Mr Gaunt,' Albus said sadly, bringing his gaze back to the man's face. 'I am afraid I do not –'

'He'll kill me,' Morfin repeated in his harsh, low hiss. 'He'll kill me for losing the Peverell ring.'

Albus froze in his attempt to free his arm, his gaze sharpening as he considered Morfin Gaunt. 'The what?' Albus replied, barely noticing that his own voice too was low and urgent now. 'The Peverell ring? Why do you call it that, Morfin? What have the Peverells to do with it?'

'He'll kill me,' Morfin repeated yet again. 'He'll kill me for losing the ring.'

The Ring… the crudely hewn stone…

But, it was not possible… was it? Passed down for centuries, in the little Gaunt hovel? One of the Three he had sought, the Three that could make one Master…

No. He cut into his own racing thoughts, forcing himself to clamp down on the sudden rush of long-dead desires.

And yet… Albus had not got a good look at it, in the brief memory scene. He wished he could go back, probe further… but to do so would be dangerous. To himself, as well as the crumpled man before him. Already he could feel the beginnings of exhaustion from the powerful bit of magic it had taken to undo Voldemort's curses in Morfin's mind and search it so thoroughly.

The only time the stone had been visible was that millisecond where Morfin had pushed back his hair… if there had been an indication that the stone was a Hallow, it had been impossible to tell.

Set into a ring, though? It could not be used that way… could not be turned.

But of course, it made perfect sense. Cadmus, if the old rumours were true, had not wanted the stone to be used. It did not deliver true life; only shadows. Perhaps he had bound it himself – to stop future generations making his own mistake. But it would of course be possible to –

NO. He could not, would not allow himself this line of thought. And it did not matter, did it? It did not matter whether the Ring was the Stone or just some old family heirloom. Perhaps the Peverells were ancestors of the Gaunts… and perhaps they were not. But the ring, whatever it held, had gone. Which meant Voldemort had taken it.

And… done what? Not used it, surely, if indeed it was what Albus suspected it might be. He doubted Tom Riddle would have ever recognised it in any case. And if he had… Albus was sure that Voldemort wielding the power of a Hallow was not something he would have missed. Nor could Tom have been hunting the power of the Three, as he and Gellert had once imagined. For Harry's father had owned the cloak, and there were never whispers of its desire… and, of course, he had had the wand. He'd had it before Riddle had left Hogwarts, in fact, and after he'd apparently acquired the ring.

Had he worn it? Perhaps… Albus could not remember if he'd seen Riddle wear a ring at school. But of course, closely as he'd tried to watch him, he had not been the boy's Head of House or a particular confidant by any stretch. Certainly, he had never worn one when he had emerged reimagined as Lord Voldemort.

So he'd done… what?

Created it a Horcrux, perhaps, as he had the diary? An old and magical object, passed down from a reputable wizarding line… that Tom had stolen for himself… a link to his ancestral prowess…

Had he turned the Stone into a Horcrux, if in fact the Ring contained it?

Albus felt sick at the very thought.

'He'll kill me,' the old man was still muttering, though his grip on Albus' arm was weakening now. 'He'll kill me for losing that ring.'

Albus prised his wrist free gently and reached into a pocket for his watch, still trying to organise his rapidly firing thoughts. He gave the timepiece a cursory glance. He'd been here far longer than he ought… Kingsley would be curious.

'Look at me, Mr Gaunt,' he said quietly to the murmuring prisoner, tilting his chin with one long-fingered hand to encourage him.

He caught the man's gaze again, and pressed the tip of the Elder Wand to his temple, chanting in a low thrum as he drew the memories to the surface. He conjured an empty glass phial in his free hand, and guided the silvery threads inside until the glass was nearly full. Morfin's eyes flickered shut as he finished, and the headmaster eased the emaciated form back onto the threadbare blanket on the floor.

'I shall try,' he promised the sleeping man.

And he swept from the cell.

'Everything alright, headmaster?' Kingsley asked curiously, as Dumbledore re-entered the passageway.

'In a manner of speaking,' the headmaster said. He held out the little phial of memories he'd taken from the prisoner. 'Gemino,' he muttered tapping the cork with his wand. A second phial popped instantly into existence. Not a perfect replication, but it would suit for this purpose. He held out the copied phial for the Auror, who took it with a puzzled expression.

'That prisoner is innocent of the crime he has been accused,' Albus explained, pocketing the original phial.

'I – pardon?' Shacklebolt stuttered, looking both incredulous and concerned.

'I had reason to believe so prior to my visit,' Albus explained, already heading down the passage, 'And my conversation with Mr Gaunt has confirmed those suspicions. I believe that memory should assist in clearing any confusion with the Ministry. I would ask, please, that you ensure it makes its way through the proper channels. The poor man is nearing the end of his days as it is, and it would be a terrible tragedy should he never see the sunlight again before he passes.'

Kingsley stowed the phial, still frowning. 'You are certain?' he asked, his deep eyes searching the headmaster as they walked back toward the staircase.

'Quite,' Albus said curtly. 'The murders of the Riddle family were committed by Lord Voldemort.'

Kingsley, to Albus's slight surprise and great satisfaction, hardly flinched at the name. But his gaze intensified.

'And how did you come by that information, headmaster?' he asked slowly.

Albus turned onto the steps before answering. 'I was recently on business in the village where the crime occurred,' he said evasively. 'Something I heard from one of the townsfolk made me question the conviction of Morfin Gaunt. He is hardly the first to take the fall where Lord Voldemort has committed the act. And, I fear, he is unlikely to be the last.'

Kingsley paused on the climb, and Albus turned to face him.

'You do not think You Know Who has gone for good?' Kingsley asked, his eyes hard as he considered the headmaster.

'Do you?' Albus challenged instead, surveying Kingsley over his half-moon spectacles.

Kingsley hesitated, darting a glance around the deserted staircase. 'I do not,' he admitted. 'But I fear I am in the minority on that score, even among the Ministry. The business up at the school, the restlessness in London, Sirius Black's escape… I have been an Auror long enough to recognise that these are ominous signs. I fear we will be caught unaware, should the worst happen while so many are blind to the truth.'

Albus smiled slightly, turning back for his climb. 'There is always a place for the minority view, Mr Shacklebolt,' he told him lightly as they continued on their way. 'And I shall show it to you, if the time comes.'

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Bill fingered the letter in his pocket purposefully as he apparated outside the familiar wrought iron gates, with their winged boars atop. He still was unsure what this meeting was all about, but he had neither the nerve nor the inclination to refuse the headmaster's request.

He conjured his patronus almost immediately upon appearing, grateful that Arthur had had the foresight to teach both him and Charlie the spell last Christmas. The osprey kept guard for him, keeping the chill at bay while the gates opened at his touch.

It was quite late already – well past eleven – and the grounds were silent and dark as most of the castle on the hill. Bill made his way up the path he knew so well, though he hadn't been here in more than four years. It felt odd to arrive now, as he opened the great front doors and stepped into the entrance hall. He felt half as though he ought to be skirting the corners, expecting McGonagall or Snape to come billowing down the corridor toward him, set to throw him in detention for breaking curfew.

The sensation was odd.

Shifting his holdall higher in his grip, Bill mounted the winding grand staircase and made his way slowly for the gargoyle on the seventh floor.

'Sugar quill,' he said softly to it.

The gargoyle sprang aside, and Bill stepped onto the moving staircase beyond – spiralling up to the headmaster's quarters. Dumbledore answered on the first knock.

'Enter,' the old man's voice called out.

Bill sidled into the circular office, shutting the door softly behind him.

'Headmaster,' he greeted.

'Ah, Bill,' Dumbledore acknowledged with a smile. 'I thank you so much for making the journey. I do hope it was not too taxing.'

'No, sir, not at all,' Bill assured him. 'I took an international portkey from Cairo to Calais, and a connection from there into Hogsmeade. It was not a long journey. I apparated to the gates from the village. Thank you for the advisory on the Dementors, incidentally. Anyone looking at the records will simply assume I've come to sees family. I told my mother I'd be paying a visit to the Burrow, as I won't be free to do so at Christmas this year. She's beyond thrilled. It won't be suspicious.'

'Excellent,' said Dumbledore with another smile. 'And what of your work colleagues? Will they be concerned, should they call for you at the Burrow before you arrive?'

Bill shook his head, his own smile growing rather roguish. 'I doubt it,' he admitted. 'There is a… er, friend – from Hogwarts – that I sometimes call upon when I visit the UK,' he explained somewhat slyly. 'I expect they'll think I've gone to pay her a visit, if they fail to find me at my parents'.'

'Ah,' said Dumbledore, nodding. His eyes were twinkling now. 'Young love… covers all manner of sins, I suppose.'

Bill laughed. It was odd – again – having such an easy conversation with Albus Dumbledore. The headmaster had always been a presence, of course, while he'd been at Hogwarts; a mentor for them all… someone whose wisdom and guidance could always be counted on. But he was ethereal; out of reach. And Bill could count the number of times he'd been alone with the Dumbledore on less than one hand.

'What did you wish to see me about, sir?' he asked, when the laughter had died down.

Dumbledore's countenance grew more serious. 'Please, sit down,' he invited, gesturing at the comfortable sitting area around the fire as he himself swept out from behind his desk.

Bill frowned slightly, wondering at the sudden change in atmosphere. But he followed Dumbledore's request and perched on the end of one of the long sofas. He set his leather holdall at his feet.

'There is a matter on which I require some assistance,' Dumbledore began, still pinning Bill with his bright blue eyes. 'I apologise for the cryptic missive… but some things are better not said in a letter, even in relatively peaceful times.'

'Of course,' Bill agreed at once. 'I was more than happy to come, sir. Is this to do with…' he hesitated, not sure he should speak of the Order aloud, even here. 'The conversation we had in the summer?' he asked instead.

'In a way,' the headmaster said delicately. 'It is not specifically related to the Order at this time, but I suspect that will be the… eventual result of this effort.'

'Alright…' Bill said, beginning to feel the riddles were growing, rather than diminishing, with this conversation. 'How can I help, sir?'

The headmaster settled into his chair before replying, conjuring a tea service with a wave of his wand to float onto the table in front of them. He gestured that Bill should help himself, and waited until both were armed with fresh, steaming cups before continuing his explanation.

'I have a contact,' the headmaster said. 'On the Continent. He has been assisting me with a project for the past few months, but communication with him is difficult. He cannot travel, you see, and so I must go to him every time we are to connect. And with the situation as it is here, with Sirius Black and with Harry… I am unwilling to be out of the school for any extended length of time. Certainly, I will not be able to go to Germany as often as I may need to. And this is work which should not be delayed.'

Bill nodded, setting the cup in its saucer. 'I can go,' he agreed at once, foreseeing the headmaster's point. 'I'd be glad to, if it'll help. But… I'm not sure I'll be able to go unnoticed,' he admitted. 'The bank does not do much direct work in Germany; as you know, they have an extensive operation of their own. And my branch in particular has never been called in to assist with the German efforts. I'd have to come up with a story to cover any travel questions, but I'm sure I could –'

But he broke off, as the headmaster was shaking his head. 'That will not be necessary,' Dumbledore assured him. 'I have warded the contact's location myself, with a powerful set of spells which will allow you to apparate directly to the place, regardless of international restriction and untraceably. We shall have to visit together to key you to the wards, of course, but in future it should not be a problem for you to travel alone. The enchantment will also allow you to apparate directly to Hogsmeade from his location, should your visit provoke a need for discussion with me. It should be a much easier way to commute than the regular channels.'

'And the distance?' Bill asked, impressed by the idea but still wary. 'I thought apparition was usually limited by physical distance… Germany is quite far from here, and quite a bit farther from Egypt. Many won't even attempt the journey between London and Hogsmeade in one apparition.'

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. 'I have taken care of it,' he assured Bill. 'You should have no trouble with physical or magical strain – so long as you travel only to the place I will show you.'

Bill nodded, slowly. He was frowning as he contemplated the odd set of circumstances. 'Pardon, sir, but… why me?' he asked bluntly. 'Not that I'm not happy to assist,' he added quickly. 'But… it seems a fairly high-security operation. You're certain you wouldn't rather someone with more experience handle it? I'm sure my father, or one of the teachers…'

Dumbledore was shaking his head again. 'The other professors are nearly as busy as myself,' he said. 'And the Ministry is in uproar at the moment… nor do I think it a particularly wise idea to expose your father – or anyone working at the Ministry, for that matter – to the delicate task I must ask. It would not do to provoke any suspicion.'

He refilled his teacup and gestured politely toward Bill's. Bill nodded in thanks, and the headmaster freshened his as well.

'But the main reason I think you would be a particularly capable alternative, Bill, is because of what you do,' Albus explained, setting the china pot down again.

'What, curse-breaking?' said Bill in surprise, dropping a slice of lemon into the cup.

Dumbledore chuckled. 'No,' he clarified. 'Consorting with goblins.'

Bill paused, lemon tongs still raised. 'Your contact is a goblin?' he asked in surprise. 'Headmaster, I – er – I'm sure you know already… but goblins are notoriously underhanded. They can't help it – it's in their nature. They are suspicious even of the best-intentioned wizards… and they believe you should be expecting duplicity. Even as someone who works with them regularly, I'm not sure I would trust myself to handle top secret communications where the situation rested on the goblin's discretion. They are too likely to sell out to a higher bidder.'

The headmaster nodded, but he was smiling again. 'Perfectly true,' he agreed. 'But you misunderstand me. The man I wish to introduce to you is a wizard, not a goblin. But goblins are natural legilimens, are they not?'

Bill's brow furrowed. 'Yes…' he said slowly. 'It is a power they are born with, to some degree. They hone it over time. It's a point of goblin pride, particularly as they can practise Legilimency wandlessly. It's why they hold such distain for wizard attempts at trickery, and why they consider themselves cleverer than most of our kind.'

'Precisely,' the headmaster said with another nod. 'And so, I imagine you were trained in Occlumency, before they sent you into the field.'

'Yes, sir,' Bill agreed. 'The curse-breakers, the appraisers and the traders are all required to learn it. I studied it for nearly six months and sat an exam before they'd allow me into the tombs, and we're all required to keep up with the practise throughout our employment with Gringotts.'

'And that is why you are the perfect wizard to assist with this mission,' Dumbledore explained. 'For the man I intend to acquaint you with is one of the most accomplished Legilimens in the world, and I would rather not risk that he may take advantage of you. Your job will be to act as my liaison, when I cannot travel to Germany myself, and to assist the pair of us with our research. I will not pretend it is an easy assignment. He is a brilliant mind and an invaluable resource, but you will find him difficult, at times. And you must never, ever trust him.'

Bill felt suddenly nervous. He almost didn't want the answer to his next question… but he knew he had to ask it. 'And who is it that you want me to meet, headmaster?'

Albus Dumbledore was no longer smiling. His blue eyes were very serious as he held Bill's gaze. And Bill knew what his answer would be, even before he spoke.

'Gellert Grindelwald.'

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Review Responses: Chapter 27

TL-Deception: Thank you for your review! I'm very happy to hear you're enjoying the story so much, and thank you for your continued support throughout this journey! I'm not sure if you read my responses after you've read the chapter or before… but this instalment should answer your queries on Dumbledore's and Minerva's responses. :) I hope you like where we travel next!

Valkyrie-Sythe: Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you appreciate the mad rush of updates this month. Yes… R.I.P. Nimbus 2000. Poor Harry… it really wasn't a very nice week, was it? But never fear – things will improve eventually! And I am happy you caught that little Albus gem snuck in that penultimate sentence of his viewpoint… as the headmaster is always reminding us, Love creates the most powerful magics of all. Enjoy the next instalment!

Discodancepant: Thank you for your review! I'm glad you are enjoying the story. To answer your concern, I'm not sure I agree, in full… Harry is Harry – the core of his personality is not going to change, at least in my re-envisioning of his story. His flaws: the anger, the often reckless action, are a part of who he is and a product of ten years spent at the Dursleys' home, and though some of it will be tempered (and has been, already) through his new environment and better influences, it won't disappear entirely. I'm not sure I see the laziness, per se… but perhaps that is just my personal opinion. That said, I think he has grown and shown maturing abilities in many places: going to Snape following Dumbledore's instruction at the end of the last book, his actions and reactions in Godric's Hollow, his evolving relationship with Albus and Minerva… all are reflective of his growth, or are – in my opinion – supposed to be. It isn't an overnight fix, of course… and Harry has only been with Albus a bit over a year at this point. And he is, of course, still very much a child – though at thirteen is caught in that awkward space between true childhood and adolescence. This story is very much on a vector, and the alterations to Harry (and to the others) that stem from his presence will be gradual and incremental: organic, like most major changes in the real world. We have seen more, in Part II, than we did in Part I. We will continue to see it develop as the story moves forward. But there won't be a fundamental alteration in who Harry is… nor any of the other characters' essential nature. I hope this makes some sense. I agree with you that who a person becomes who they ought to be through a combination of self, genetics and environmental factors. And all will play a role in Harry's growth. Enjoy the continuation!

Leonore: Thanks for reviewing and for your continued support! I'm very happy to hear you're still enjoying the story so much. Yes, this chapter was heavier on 'internal dialogue' than overt in parts – mainly because I very much wanted to explore the psyches of Remus and Severus, and the unresolvable dichotomy that has been created by Sirius – not only in his entrance to the castle, but really in his betrayal (allegedly) of the Order. I think his character causes both Remus and Severus to engage in some difficult self-reflection, though of course for different reasons. And Alastor! Yes, I love him and was quite excited that he had a bit part to play this chapter. He was referring to Tonks – excellent catch.

Albus… yes, bit of a cutesy moment here in the midst of panic. It isn't the first time he's indicated how deeply he loves Harry, or that he is in many ways his world… but it is the first time we hear him apply the title in so many words. And then of course, there is Harry. Poor Harry – who really can't catch a break this week. Snape does take a misplaced view of Remus… but it actually comes, through all its rancour, from a place of true concern. Of course, it is (as Harry says) a voiced opinion of exactly those things which Harry has been fearing. Like Remus himself, Harry has a deep-seated recognition and appreciation for loneliness and rejection that rears its ugly head in this chapter. But, of course, Snape's command does not stem from Dumbledore… so we'll see how that plays out should the headmaster become aware of it. Hopefully, you'll find Chapter 28 sufficiently uplifting as to make Harry's lot a bit easier. Happy Christmas to you and yours as well, and enjoy the next chapter!

AlsoKnownAsMatt: Thank you for your review! Yes, I agree that with word limits it would be difficult to show as much internal dialogue, but luckily that is not something I have to contend with, and it is something I found I wanted to explore, particularly in parts of the book where the canon events are more prominent. Harry's thoughts on Remus might have seemed a bit lengthy here – and perhaps I should have trimmed them… but they are important fodder for the next arc in Harry and Remus's story, as hopefully will come to light in future instalments. And yes, while this series is a vector from canon in some ways, and largely expands on the canon tale, it is a canon-based project and a lot of the canon major events will occur and be followed. I've definitely asserted that this re-telling will explore on a vector the effects of the changes on our characters and the over-arching story, but it's definitely not a project I've ever claimed to be completely AU or canon-divergent. I have retold less, in this instalment, than in the previous one (usually it's been summarised, as I hope by now readers will have read Part I and developed some trust in the direction of the story), but there are parts where I feel for my characters the event must be explored in more detail, though usually from a different perspective or for a specific purpose. However, it is certainly true that the changes in some portions of the story – and this chapter would be an example – are more subtle than in other places. Sometimes it will be events that alter; sometimes it will be reactions; sometimes it will be perspectives… sometimes it will be a merge of all three, depending on what I've felt is necessary for the overall direction I'm hoping to move the story and for the characters' development. That was a long and rambling answer… but I hope it made some sense!

On Snape/Dumbledore… I don't think they've forgotten muffliato at all. I rather felt, writing it, that Snape doesn't cast the charm (or another protection) because he sees Dumbledore has not – something that annoys him, but a decision he's forced to accept. Dumbledore… we don't have this from his perspective, but in my mind he made the deliberate choice not to protect the conversation as to deter Severus going down precisely this path: he knows Snape, after all, quite as well as Severus knows Albus in turn. Of course, Snape tries to pursue his ends anyway – though ultimately unsuccessfully. Minerva – haha, I think you're right, she probably could have said that and been spot on. Harry doesn't exactly say he's 13… but he's certainly acting a bit whingy when he's perfectly aware of why everyone is upset and anxious. Perhaps she's a bit indulgent because she feels badly; perhaps it is merely because she is too distracted with her own worry to snap at him… but she is firm, in any case.

Very happy you liked the Harry/Snape interaction and the Remus POV. The tension is heightening on all three fronts. And Remus, in particular… it's an odd dilemma that I've wanted to explore ever since reading POA the first time through. Why doesn't he tell Albus? It's odd, if you think about it… especially as even in canon he clearly feels more for Harry than a teacher-pupil connection. I hope my explanation of his thoughts made sense here: I do feel, at the base of it all, that Remus has a deep-seated sense of loneliness and fear of rejection that drives him to rationalise his secrecy even at the expense, perhaps, of sense. And you're right: sometimes things we do in childhood or early adulthood seem innocent or fine at the time… but later, we recognise the foolishness or danger in our actions. I think it is true for everyone, to some degree. But Remus, of course, has bigger, darker secrets than most.

I hope you like the next instalment!

AECM: Thank you for reviewing! Very glad to hear you are still loving the story, and I hope the speedy update will be enjoyable for you. Happy reading for Chapter 28!

Anyeshabaner: Thank you for your review! Yes… Sirius' break-in has officially occurred, and sent ripples through the thoughts of all our characters. Seeds of doubt… interesting. Is it doubt, quite yet? Or is it incongruity… certainly, it has Severus' brain churning in an unhappy cycle of being unable to reconcile the many sides of Sirius Black – and that will have consequences in future. And Remus – yes, he's being quite maddening. Yet you can see his dilemma; he's very much a broken man. He's lived in isolation so long – then had ten years' respite with his friends – only to watch that get dashed upon the floor with the death of two and betrayal by the third. He's damaged, and self-deprecating, and the events of Hallowe'en drag all that back to the forefront for him. I don't think he's immune to the cost his distance will have for Harry, but he has convinced himself it's for the best, in the long run. But never fear – there are people who can force him to see sense! I hope you like Chapter 28!

MoonshineMadame: Thank you for your wonderful review! I'm very happy you like Godric's Hollow so much! Albus and Harry at their respective family graves and the conversation that came after was quite difficult to write, to be honest… not the words; those came fairly easily. But from an emotional standpoint, it took me a while to finish it. Also glad that you liked the fantastic beast integration. We'll have more on that point for sure – including Albus (at some point) explaining an Obscurus in more detail to Harry. I believe he thinks the actual term to himself during their conversation, but he doesn't quite get detailed on that point with Harry or tell him what her affliction is called (although he uses 'obscures,' as a double entendre verb, in his explanation of what the war within the magical core does to the magic). Harry definitely would not have a way to know what an Obscurus or Obscurial is, unless someone tells him. Batty – I loved her too! I hope they'll be a chance to put a bit more of her into the story at some point. To answer your query on her age, she'd be at least 130, by my reckoning, as she was already an established adult when Albus moved to Godric's Hollow and Dumbledore is 112 at 'present' time in our story (born in 1881). So she's quite old, even by wizarding standards.

Sirius… yes, he does know Remus is at the castle (he saw him a couple of times, which he reflects on in Chapter 22, I think). But it is a dilemma for certain – as Sirius chews on and then Remus does in Chapter 27. For Sirius, of course, it's a question of whether or not he's willing to gamble on how well he knows his old friend… for Remus, the debate is really about rejection and trust.

Chapter 27… Ooh, I'm glad you've brought up 'detention'! Yes, yes yes – we will definitely be seeing another soon. As soon as next chapter, in fact. And they'll be continuation/fall-out from the Harry-Severus conversation too.

Guest: Thank you for reviewing! Very glad you liked the chapter, and the title. I feel there's been a lot of action in this particular book, but I do want to also include the different viewpoints of canon events and the exploration of the character's thoughts and personalities, so I am glad you're liking that. Very flattered that you consider it so in sync to JKR's style! That's definitely a goal of mine. I hope you like the next chapter!