Chapter 62 – Reckless Behavior

The unmasking of Benedict Yaxley as a Death Eater and his subsequent capture highlighted the need to quickly push forward with efforts to identify all Death Eaters hidden in the bosom of the Ministry. To this end, it had been decided by the Minister that the effort should be given first priority, and once things had settled from the events surrounding the attack on Hogsmeade, Director Shacklebolt was once again able to focus on the matter. Yaxley's capture was a major coup for the Ministry, as it was suspected that the Dark Lord relied heavily on the information the man was able to provide, as well as the confusion and disinformation he had undoubtedly sown. It was possible that the Dark Lord would stop marking his spies and attempt to infiltrate new ones into the Ministry, but he had not shown a willingness to do that as of yet.

As the Minister had requested Albus's presence at the meeting which would vet the Department Heads, he made his way to the Ministry building that morning, thinking that he had almost spent more time at the Ministry since the attack than he had at Hogwarts. It was something which concerned him, though he knew that Professor McGonagall was capable of doing the job in his absence. There was the ever-present threat of attack, which he could not help but suppose was great when he was not present, but also the fact that nothing could replace the guiding presence of a school's Headmaster.

Albus was well aware that some would castigate him, noting that he had spent a good portion of his time as Headmaster holding down other, equally demanding positions, and as such, had never had the time to truly devote his all to the school. And they would be correct, though Albus would note that he had undertaken these positions due to the feeling that the Wizarding world required his assistance in preparing for Voldemort's ultimate return. Regardless of what others said, Albus was looking forward to the day when he could resign his other positions and focus on the school, or perhaps even retire completely and devote himself to some of his other interests.

He found the Minister in her office and he entered, noting how the damage to the structure had almost been completely repaired. He imagined that the orb had been re-keyed to the office to provide protection again should it be needed—it had proved its usefulness in protecting the Minister once, and Albus did not doubt that all thoughts of scrapping it had been abandoned.

"Albus. Thank you for coming," Amelia said by way of a greeting.

"Of course, Amelia," Albus returned. "I presume everything is ready for the day's task?"

Grimacing, the Minister gave a tight nod. "Yaxley was a surprise. We are now making sure that everyone swears an oath that they are not affiliated with Voldemort and will not support him in the future. Even if they have some sympathies, they are being removed. We cannot afford to have anyone in the Ministry potentially turn to Voldemort and offer him information."

"Agreed," Albus replied, thinking of how much further ahead they would be if previous Ministers had simply taken that stance.

A short time later the Department Heads had convened in the Ministry's largest conference rooms, ostensibly for a staff meeting with the Minister, albeit not at the usual time. Still, there appeared to be no visible curiosity as to why the Minister had called the impromptu meeting. The Heads were all quiet and composed, and seated in their respective places within moments, though that did not mean that questions were not asked.

"Arthur," Jonus Berrens, the Director of the Department of Magical Education, spoke up, "do you know what this meeting is all about?"

Arthur merely shrugged and said, "There are a few things the Minister wants to discuss and make clear, especially since the attack."

A grunt was Berrens's only response, and he turned to another Director at his side and began speaking to him. Albus surveyed the room from where he sat at the edge of the room. Many of those who occupied it were Purebloods, and though some were still some of Fudge's favored "yes men," he did not think that there were any overt Voldemort supporters amongst them, though many were undoubtedly sympathetic to his cause. Albus expected that because of that fact, there would be several vacancies before the day ended.

The council was made to wait for some time—almost a quarter of an hour—before anything happened, and Albus knew that the wait was deliberate. Beyond the fact that it caused a little annoyance at being made to wait, it dulled the edges of any suspicion any of them might have had at being summoned in such a manner. Knowing what was about to happen, Albus made a surreptitious check of his wand, readying himself to intervene should anyone attempt to resist.

It turned out to be unnecessary. It appeared everyone in the room was taken completely by surprise when the three doors to the room burst open simultaneously, and Aurors flooded into the room with wands drawn. The surprise of the gathered Heads was such that no one even appeared to think of drawing their own wands, and within minutes, they had been disarmed, though not without some protests.

By the time the Minister entered the room and approached the head of the table, however, most had found their voices, and their displeasure rose up in a discordant cacophony. The indignation was impressive, but completely cowed when the Minister began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Amelia cut through the mounting noise, her voice short and clipped, and not allowing any opposition. "Thank you all for giving me your attention." Her voice held a slightly mocking quality, but her words were said with such steel that no one dared speak in response.

"What none of you are aware of is that the entire Auror and Hit Wizard force was swept for Voldemort supporters on Saturday before we met his forces in Hogsmeade. You will also be equally unaware of the fact that in our sweep, we picked up two marked Death Eaters. Those men are currently decorating cells underneath the courtroom levels."

"You think there are Death Eaters among us?" Dieter Dashworth, the director of the Department of Magical Transportation asked, aghast.

In truth, Albus knew him to be one of the primary suspects in the day's events. With the Floo being shut down the day of the attack, suspicion had come upon the Floo Network Authority, and as such on the entire department. In truth, Albus thought Dashworth to be too much of a puffed-up dandy to be a Death Eater, though his social views, which he never bothered to hide, certainly did fit in with those Voldemort espoused.

The Minister, however, shot Dashworth a quelling glare. "We do not know there are Death Eaters among you. But we cannot take a chance." She peered around the room, her gaze resting upon each of the department heads in turn, skewering them with her eyes. There were several among them who would not meet her gaze.

"Before you leave this room you will all bare your left arms, and you will give magical oaths, stating that you are not in league with Voldemort."

"And if we refuse?" one of the heads from further down the table demanded.

"Then you may take up residence in the cells with the two Aurors we found to be marked," said the Minister.

"You can't get away with that!" said Evgeny Eagles, the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports since Ludo Bagman's disgrace the previous year.

"I assure you that I can," snapped the Minister. "What you all do not seem to understand is that we are at war with an enemy who walks among us, and means to see our world brought to ruin. I can arrest you and hold you under the suspicion of being a Death Eater, and I can hold you until it can be proven one way or another whether you are."

Her tone of voice and implacable glare told all who witnessed it that the Minister was completely serious in her threats.

"I suggest you simply swear the oaths," she continued. "If you are not one of Voldemort's minions, then you have nothing to fear. If you are, then you have no recourse. We will discover you."

Thoroughly cowed by the Minister's threats, the department heads were subsequently induced to do as she asked. There were no Death Eaters to be found among them, though several were obviously reluctant. They were then sequestered and interviewed by the Auror forces, and several were removed from their posts, most notably the aforementioned Dieter Dashworth.

The true surprises came later in the day. As Dashworth's department had been implicated in the events surrounding the attack on the Ministry, the entire department was the first priority to have its workers investigated. It was found that the head of the Floo Authority was himself a Death Eater, as well as three close subordinates. In addition, a low-level member of Broom Regulatory Control was found with the mark, and even more chillingly, one of the workers in the Portkey Office was also found to be a Death Eater. Finally, though he was not a Death Eater himself, Dashworth was found through interrogation to be aware to a certain extent the activities of certain members of his department, and had found himself incarcerated with his companions.

The records were immediately consulted, and the Aurors paid visits to almost one hundred people who had been provided portkeys by the mole in that department, though almost a dozen of them could not be found, along with their immediate families. It was clear that the emergency portkeys he had been providing had instead whisked those attempting to flee into the hands of their enemies. The remaining portkeys were quickly replaced before they could be used.

At the end of the day, another department had been completely investigated and a couple of other moles had been discovered. Albus left the Ministry, confident that everything that could be done to oppose Voldemort was being done, and that the Ministry was well on the way to righting its ship and making sure that Voldemort did not have any Death Eaters among them. It was far from foolproof and did not account for the use of the Imperius Curse, but at least it was a step in the right direction.

On Wednesday of that week, Jean-Sebastian walked through the halls of the French Ministry, noting that it was good to be back in the country of his youth, and an environment in which he was familiar. Britain was simply different from what Jean-Sebastian was used to, both in its political climate, and in its culture.

The French Ministry was perhaps even more of an expression of Wizarding arrogance than he had thought the Hogwarts Express to be all those months ago when he had seen his eldest child on it for her one and only journey to the venerable school. Whereas the British Ministry had been constructed completely underground and hidden away from prying Muggle eyes, the French had simply taken over a number of floors of a downtown Paris office building. With the help of certain charms, no one who frequented the building seemed to think that it was unusual that the first twenty floors were not accessible to most people and for all intents and purposes did not exist to the Muggles. Of course, the French version of the Department of Mysteries had been built under the building, as some of their experiments were dangerous, and they needed a lot more room for their own Hall of Prophecy than a single floor in an office tower would give. Beyond that, if some Unspeakable experiment went awry, it would be much easier to hide it if it occurred underground, than if some windows of an office tower were suddenly blown out onto the street, and smoke billowed up into the sky.

Regardless, the building was much lighter and airier than the underground British Ministry, and Jean-Sebastian felt much more at home here than he ever had in Britain.

That day was auspicious for several reasons, but most importantly, because Alain had called the French Magical Assembly today in order to pass a resolution to throw their lot in with the British. There were many in the Assembly who did not like anything English—the two countries were traditional rivals, regardless of the Muggle cooperation in two world wars and their cordial relations ever since. But Jean-Sebastian was of the opinion that the members would see the necessity of this. He would make them see the necessity, as he was not convinced at this time that the British had the resources to defeat Voldemort without outside assistance.

Jean-Sebastian's greetings to Alain were warm, but perfunctory, consumed as he was by what he would say to the Assembly. Soon, he was situated in the Assembly's chambers while its members filed in to the room, many of whom he knew personally, and most of whom seemed surprised to see him.

When the Minister approached the lectern to speak, a hush fell over the participants.

"My fellow Assembly members," he began, "I thank you for attending this special session today. Let me make a few brief remarks before I cede the floor to our esteemed Ambassador to England."

All eyes rotated to Jean-Sebastian and he noted that not all were friendly. He had his own enemies in French political circles, after all, partially because of his ideology, but he was also aware of a few bigots who did not like him because he had married a Veela. France had a tendency to be more tolerant of Veela in particular—though they had their fair share of Pureblood bigots here as well—and therefore there were fewer who would look down on him or his wife and children because of it. Still, they were out there.

"I believe that you are all to a certain extent aware of the troubles plaguing our neighbors in Britain. Their Dark Lord has arisen yet again and threatens them. He has recently begun a campaign to topple the magical government, and wishes to take over and force his views of world order on them. Today's discussion centers on what France's response will be to his second rise. I have discussed this with our esteemed Chief Warlock and we have agreed that we must keep knowledge of this meeting from the ears of the Dark Lord. As such, I am invoking the secrecy act on this meeting."

Ancient magics fell over those members and bound them to the Minister's words, by the oaths that they all swore when they were accepted into membership to the Assembly. No one in the room would be able to divulge anything concerning the discussion to anyone who already did not know, except under certain conditions. There was a murmur of discussion which welled up at this act—it was not normally done and reserved only for the most secret and sensitive discussions.

"Why would we need to become involved with a British problem?" a voice rang out from the top rows of the Assembly.

Jean-Sebastian could not see who spoke, but he knew that such a sentiment would hardly be an uncommon one.

"All will be explained in due course," Alain replied. "But I must point out that such a position is extremely short-sighted. We are, after all, Britain's closest neighbor, only separated by a few miles of water. What should happen if Voldemort should topple the British government?"

"I can tell you exactly what would happen," Jean-Sebastian interjected, rising from his seat to stare out over the Assembly. "I beg your pardon, Minister, but I believe that the explanation would be best coming from me."

Alain waved him to the podium and returned to his seat while Jean-Sebastian looked out over the Assembly. He liked to think that his compatriots were fair-minded individuals who would listen to the facts and make the prudent decisions based on what was best for them all. Undoubtedly, though, there would be Fudges among them, who would rather bury their heads in the sand, as there would also be those who hated everything British and would rather see their neighbors burn than offer assistance. There would also be those bigots who agreed with Voldemort's overall aims, if not his methods. Most, however, would be much more enlightened, and it was his job to see that the fence-sitters were brought to an understanding of the true nature of the threat.

"Let me tell you what our neighbors are facing," Jean-Sebastian began, registering the looks of surprise from many in the Assembly. They had, no doubt, expected him to launch into a plea for support. One of the hallmarks of a good politician was to do the unexpected, and though Jean-Sebastian did not consider himself to be a political animal, this was perhaps the most important address he had ever given. He had prepared accordingly.

"A few days ago, an attack was planned on Hogsmeade in Scotland. For those of you who are unaware, Hogsmeade village is close to Hogwarts, and its students often frequent the village, particularly on 'Hogsmeade weekends' which are designated as days when the students are allowed to go to the village and spend a little time away from the school.

"This attack was ultimately foiled by fortunate happenstance. But this does not tell the whole story. For you see, the attacking force was made up of werewolves under the leadership of Fenrir Greyback, and a number of giants, lured to Britain for the promise of violence and killing."

There were a few nodded heads—Jean-Sebastian was aware that the attack had been reported in the French papers. But there were many more paled faces—giants were no laughing matter, and Fenrir Greyback, though an English scourge, was still known and reviled in France.

"What most of you will not know is that the survivors of the attack were interrogated by the British Ministry's Aurors. What they found was a sinister plan, designed not only to cause as much damage as possible, but to use children in the furtherance of Voldemort's plans. The werewolves and giants were to drive the school children into the arms of the waiting Death Eaters, who would capture them and return to the Dark Lord. Then, the werewolves and giants were free to destroy the village."

Jean-Sebastian gazed out over the audience, who were silently watching and listening to his words. The gravity of the situation was not lost on anyone.

"Those children who were captured would be held by Voldemort until his demands were met, and I do not think I need to inform you all, that he would have demanded the capitulation of the government. Of course, those who he considers lesser beings would have been of no use in persuading the government to stand down. I am certain Lucius Malfoy's trial was reported extensively in France, so I leave it to your imagination what their fates would have been."

Murmurs broke out over the Assembly, and Jean-Sebastian saw that he had their attention. The hook was out—now it was time to reel them in.

"Now, I understand many of you will wonder why this becomes our problem," he continued, and the murmurs died down. "The British created this problem of the Dark Lord—let them fix it.

"I can tell you that is a foolhardy stance, and one that endangers us all. For you see, our British cousins have recently learned that the problem is not only a British problem. It is one which besets us all.

"At the height of the first war, Voldemort likely had between seventy and eighty wands in his entire force. In the attacks that occurred on the Ministry and other targets, there were more than two hundred Death Eaters participating in the attacks. Many of those Death Eaters were from other countries—Germans, Americans, Austrians, and nationals of other countries have all been recruited to support Voldemort's cause. And yes, there were Frenchmen among them.

"In fact," Jean-Sebastian said, his tone rising in an attempt to be heard over the rising hubbub of noise, "a member of my own security detail was found to be a Voldemort supporter. He tried to prevent my wife and youngest daughter from escaping an attack led by the Dark Lord himself.

"That is what we are facing!" Jean-Sebastian thundered. "Voldemort has agents in many countries and they are all descending upon Britain with the intention of overthrowing that country and taking control for themselves."

"Let them!" a voice rose above the rest. "It has nothing to do with us!"

"I knew you were short-sighted, Lafleur," Jean-Sebastian snapped, "but I didn't know that you were stupid too."

The man in question, a short, rotund little fellow, who was known to be a virulent English hater and a Pureblood bigot in his own right, glared down at Jean-Sebastian. For his own part, Jean-Sebastian merely looked away in disgust.

"It has everything to do with us! Have you not been listening to a word I said?" Jean-Sebastian glared out over the Assembly. "Voldemort will not be content with Britain if he manages to take control there. After all, there are Muggleborns, Veela, and others who he considers inferior in all parts of the world. We would be foolhardy if we assumed that he would be content to rule Britain and ignore the rest of the world. And if he does manage to topple the British government, recruits will flock to him. It will become immeasurably more difficult to defeat him if we allow him his victory.

"And one more thing this assembly should consider," Jean-Sebastian continued after a moment's pause. "Right now, it is primarily the British who are at risk to the Dark Lord's forces. It is in our best interests to fight him on foreign soil—to stop him before he becomes a threat to our citizens. Think on that if you are considering voting against this resolution. We have a chance to help stop this madman without putting any of our own citizens at risk."

"What about our Aurors?" called a voice from the Assembly.

"Yes, our Aurors will be at risk in battle," Jean-Sebastian replied. "But they know they are at risk in any conflict. I believe it makes much more sense to have them defend our population on foreign soil, than to do it on our own. Remember the British in World War II—they attempted and failed to stop the Nazi advance in France, and paid a steep price to the German Luftwaffe when they failed. I propose that we act now, and that we do not fail!"

Having made his plea, Jean-Sebastian sat down and looked out over the Assembly. Having been in Britain for the past months, his attendance to the Assembly meetings had been sparse, and he was not entirely certain of the mood of the body. But Alain smiled at him as he rose and went to the lectern. He, at least, seemed to think that it was enough.

And in the end, he was right. There were dissenting voices, as always, but when the vote was finally taken, the motion was passed by a wide margin. The French would stand with the British in the upcoming struggle.

"Come on, Harry!" Ron pleaded. "Something's wrong here. You've been out of sorts for days, and now Ginny's acting strange. Tell us what's going on."

As Ron met Harry's stony gaze he was struck by the thought that Harry had developed a bit of intimidation in the past year. It did not hurt that his friend had gained a good bit of height, to the point where he stood only a couple of inches shorter than Ron himself. But though Harry's growth spurt was a factor, it was more the air his friend had attained, especially in the past few months. He was truly evolving into a leader, and Ron could only applaud his friend's new confidence and initiative.

Unfortunately, Harry's stubbornness remained a firm aspect of his character, and when he dug his heels in, getting something out of him was almost like pulling a brick out of a wall without chipping the mortar away. But this time Ron was not about to give in; Harry could keep his secrets if he chose, but now that Ginny had started to act up—strangely enough in a manner which was very reminiscent of the way Harry had been lately—Ron was determined to get to the bottom of this. And in this he was for once supported by his brothers, who stood to either side of him, focused on Harry. For once, Fred and George were completely serious.

"I can't tell you," Harry insisted. "If there's something wrong with Ginny, then she's the one you need to ask."

"Ginny's clammed up," Fred interjected.

"We can't get her to say anything," George added.

"Then I can't help you guys," Harry insisted.

"Harry—"

"I can't tell you," Harry spoke once again, this time somewhat harshly. "There are other things going on here, which you don't know about, and the fact of the matter is that I can't say anything about it. I don't have a choice."

"That's not entirely accurate, Harry."

Startled, Ron looked up to see Ginny coming down the stairs from the dorms and, as she had appeared the past few days, her expression was grim and troubled. Whatever Ron was about to say died on his tongue—something fearful was afoot here, and whether Ginny chose to tell them, it suddenly seemed like an imposition to try to wheedle it out of her.

"You know that we can tell them if we swear them to the oaths."

Ron was shocked, and from the reactions of his brothers, it was easy to see that they had been taken by surprise as he had. Oaths? What on earth was Ginny talking about?

Harry did not reply immediately. Rather, he glanced around the room, evidently to see if anyone was listening in on their conversation. The common room was rather sparsely populated, their conversation having gone into the normal dinner hour. Even Fleur and Hermione, who had been hovering around Harry even more so than usual, were not present.

"We cannot discuss this here," Harry hissed, drawing closer to all of them. "Come on."

He started out the portrait hole without looking back—not that he needed to, as all four Weasley siblings were close upon his heels. He led them away from Gryffindor Tower and down a few levels to a part of the school which was largely unused. The room he entered was an old, unused classroom, which he, Fleur and Hermione had used for their Occlumency lessons—lessons which had come to a halt with the events of the previous weeks. It had the benefit of having been cleaned to the point of being habitable, though not precisely comfortable.

Once there, he closed the door after they had all entered, and began to shoot off privacy spells, indicating to the twins that they should do the same.

"You too, guys," he said as he worked. "I know you know lots of privacy spells since you don't get caught as much as you should. We might not be able to make this place as spy-proof as Dumbledore, but we need to do our best."

Bewildered, Ron watched as the three of them worked. What could possibly be so important as to warrant this level of paranoia? He turned to Ginny but she ignored him, watching closely as she was the actions of the other three occupants of the room.

Once the room had been warded to Harry's satisfaction, he turned to the rest of them, but more specifically to Ginny, whom he addressed directly.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Ginny?" he asked, with a gentleness Ron had only seen him display toward Hermione and Fleur. It confused him all that much more.

"They're my brothers, Harry," was Ginny's simple reply. "Sooner or later they're going to find out anyway."

Seeming to digest this, Harry gave Ginny a tight nod before turning back toward Ron and the twins, his entire demeanor as serious as Ron had ever seen him.

"All right, then we'll tell you. But I have to warn you—what you're about to hear is secret, and it can never be told to anyone. Before we can tell you anything, you need to swear a series of oaths which will make sure you don't. Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?"

For a brief moment Ron almost considered taking Harry up on his last minute offer to forget the whole thing, which was, he was sure, why Harry had offered in the first place. But sanity quickly asserted itself and Ron knew that no matter how awful it was—and he was certain that it could not be good considering what they had just heard and how his friend and younger sister had acted— if it affected a member of his family, then he wanted to know. A quick glance at the twins showed their resolve matched his own.

"Please, Harry," he replied to his closest friend. "If there's something wrong, we'd like to know."

With a tight nod, Harry motioned for them all to take seats. Slowly, Ron lowered himself into a chair behind a desk, waiting for his friend to begin. The oaths were amazing, in that Ron did not think that he would be able to even think much about what he was about to hear, let alone tell anyone else about it. He had never even imagined magical oaths being used in such a manner. A pit formed in the bottom of his stomach, which only became worse when Ginny and Harry paused before going into the explanation of what had been bothering them.

"Do you want to explain it, Ginny?" Harry asked.

Ginny's response was almost a grimace. "Can you do it please? You know more about these things than I do."

Reaching out, Harry squeezed her hand. He then turned to the three brothers, but he paused before speaking, quite apparently, to Ron's eyes, attempting to find the best way to put whatever he had to say. Ron waited in suspense, wishing for Harry to get on with it and tell them what the problem was, while another part wished that he had not insisted on being told.

A moment later, Harry squared his shoulders and looked each of them in the eye in turn. "Right. I suppose that it would be best to just tell you and get it over with.

"Now, do any of you know what a horcrux is?"

For the next hour, Harry explained to them in detail exactly what was going on, and horror after horror was revealed to them. He started with learning of his own situation and learning he was a horcrux just after Christmas, the hope that he felt when Professor Lupin had been sent to Egypt to try to discover an answer. He then covered the return of the professor and the news he brought of the true nature of horcruxes. And if all that was not bad enough, he then covered the discovery of Ginny as another one of these abominations, and how her own turn in her mood had coincided with her learning of her own situation.

By the end of the narration, all three Weasley boys had tears running unabashedly down their cheeks, as they held their only sister tightly in between them. It was all Ron could do to check himself from rising to his feet and ranting about the injustice of it all.

Harry watched as the Weasleys gathered around their little sister, smothering her with their attention and love. Somehow, though he had never witnessed such a reaction from any of them, the Weasleys were such a close-knit family, he had known that they would rally around their sister, share her burden, and ensure that she never felt alone. For the briefest of moments, Harry felt a stab of jealousy pierce his heart at the sight. Hermione had always been there for him, Ron was a good friend, and the Delacours had become a surrogate family, but nothing could take the place of loving parents and the siblings he might have had. He mourned their loss in that moment like he never had before.

Then, furious with himself for his momentary lapse, Harry forced such thoughts from his mind and focused on the true author of all this misery. Voldemort. The dark tosser fouled everything he touched and sowed despair wherever he went. At that moment he did not know how, but he was determined to make him pay for what he had done.

"You all right there, Harry?"

The thoughts dissolved and Harry looked at his friend who, apparently seeing Harry's sudden distraction, was now regarding him with concern. Harry allowed a ghost of a smile to come over him, while reflecting that it truly was good to have such good and caring friends.

"You know me, Ron," he replied simply. "All in a day's work for Harry Potter."

Behind Ron, Ginny rolled her eyes. "Don't believe a word he tells you. He's just as affected by this as I am."

"Maybe so," Harry agreed. "But I'm also used to it. I'll get by.

"But look," he continued, taking in all four of the siblings, "I think you may need a little time alone as a family. I'd like to think about things for a while anyway, so I'll leave you to it."

The siblings protested that he was always welcome, but Harry insisted, excusing himself a few moments later. He walked away from the classroom, his mind already worrying over the problem. All this sitting around would not do; maybe it was the time to carry the fight back to Voldemort.

As the Boy-Who-Lived walked from the classroom, the siblings watched him go, concerned for his safety and state of mind, but no one watched him closer than Ginny. Harry had been off ever since the night, Ginny now knew, when he had learned of the true nature of horcruxes, and Fleur and Hermione had both confided in Ginny that they were concerned about him, a concern that Ginny shared herself.

In short, Harry, though he had improved dramatically over the past year, both in his demeanor and his confidence, was still the same impetuous boy that he had been before. This school year he had had little opportunity to be impetuous, as the problems they had faced had largely been handled quickly. His other activities, such as the adventure in the Ministry, had been carefully scripted and planned out as much as possible in advance.

Now, however, Harry appeared adrift once again without a rudder, and Ginny was concerned that he would do something without the proper consideration for what the consequences would be.

If Ginny were to be completely honest with herself, she knew that she espoused those same feelings herself. A part of her raged at Voldemort and at the unfairness of life. But she knew she had to control it. The situation appeared to be bleak, and she was aware of the fact that if one were to consider the situation in the strictest of manners, Voldemort's defeat was important to every man, woman, and child in Britain, and arguably, in the whole world. Would it not make sense to sacrifice the two of them for the good of everyone?

Ginny had no answers. But what she did know was that Harry appeared to be focusing inward upon himself, and in the past, that had signaled potentially rash behavior. He would bear careful watching. Whatever he decided to do, Ginny would not allow him to endanger himself without due cause. And if it came down to it, she would join him in making sure Voldemort was defeated.

After a night spent largely awake, worrying over the matter at hand, Harry had come to a resolution.

The facts of the matter, as he saw them, were incontrovertible. Voldemort must be defeated, and to do so, his horcruxes must be destroyed. There was nothing else to be done.

With that end in mind, the question now became a matter of what particular actions were to be taken to ensure he met his end. And there was the dilemma—if the horcruxes had been nothing more than inert objects as Dumbledore had first thought, then find them, destroy them, and ensure Voldemort came to a nasty end by whatever means possible. And those steps need not happen in any particular order either.

The situation, however, had changed. Though the man had not known the true nature of horcruxes before and had not taken several available opportunities to simply take over Harry and be done with it, there was no guarantee that he would not discover the link in the future. Harry, through much thought, had decided that it was far too risky to kill Voldemort now and take the chance of his discovering that he had a waiting body in Harry, Ginny, or some other poor sod out there who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Thus, it became apparent that in order for Voldemort to be finally and irrevocably defeated, his horcruxes must be dealt with and the existence of any others must be discovered. Though he was not completely certain and did not have a concrete plan in mind, some vague possibility of a confrontation with Voldemort, killing him, but not before informing him of the true nature of horcruxes, and thereby luring him to take over Harry when he died, then having someone else kill him the moment Voldemort took him over, flittered through his mind. Of course, this did not take into account Ginny's status as a horcrux herself, but Harry shied away from that fact for the time being. There was nothing he could do about Ginny; she would have to decide her own course and her own fate—he was having enough difficulty dealing with his own. It also did not take into account the possibility of there being other horcruxes, but that was a subject to be dealt with at another time.

But that left one other inescapable fact—Nagini was also suspected to be a horcrux, and the more he thought of it, the more Harry thought that Dumbledore had the right of it. And therefore, if the snake was a horcrux, then it would need to be killed before any plans to lure Voldemort to his death could be contemplated.

What was equally evident was that the snake could not be killed by just anyone. Given what Remus had discovered about how soul shards reacted to their animal host being destroyed and, more importantly, how Ginny had come to be a horcrux, he knew that anyone who killed the snake ran the risk of becoming a horcrux themselves. In fact, it was almost a certainty, unless someone else was nearby, and could become the horcrux in their stead. Either way would still constitute a problem.

Of course there was one exception to that possibility—Harry himself. Remus was not certain if a soul shard could be added to an existing horcrux, but thinking about it philosophically, he supposed that it truly did not matter if he had one soul shard residing within him, or if he had two. The end result was the same—by continuing to live, he anchored Voldemort to the earth, rendering him undefeatable.

Thus, it made sense that if anyone was to kill Nagini and dispose of the horcrux within it, that person must be Harry himself. He simply could not bear the thought of someone else doing the deed and becoming a horcrux for their trouble. It was bad enough that Ginny was one—he did not think he could live with himself, for whatever time he had left, if he allowed someone else's life to be ruined by Voldemort's megalomaniacal bid for power. The additional benefit, of course, was the fact that if he could manage to kill Nagini, her death might prompt Voldemort into a rash action where he could be defeated much sooner than might otherwise be the case.

Once Harry had that all sorted out in his mind, he then turned his attention to another problem—by all accounts Voldemort kept the snake close to him, as was to be expected, if their suspicions were true. So how could Harry get at the snake in order to kill it, especially if he was to prevent the soul shard from simply seeking another host?

The more Harry thought about it, the firmer his plan of action became. And as he thought about it, and considered how he might proceed, and the danger of such a path, the more convinced he became that his plan could work. The only final consideration was that he did not know where Voldemort had hidden himself. However, there was one who did know.

The next morning, Harry arose from his bed, showered and dressed quickly, and made his way from the tower as soon as the night's curfew was lifted. His friends would worry about him, he knew, but for his plan to succeed, absolute secrecy was required. So Harry pushed down any feelings of guilt and determinedly marched through Hogwarts, intent upon his destination. It was a good thing that it was still early in the morning, as he saw no one on his way to his destination. Talk might have made the rounds had someone witnessed him heading toward a part of the castle he might have otherwise avoided.

When he reached his destination, Harry paused for a moment outside the door and gathered himself. He did not expect the coming conversation to be pleasant, and if history was any indication, he rather suspected that he would want to deck the person he had come to see before he had spoken two sentences. But it could not be helped—he needed this person's assistance and would do whatever it took to make certain he would get it.

Finally, after screwing up his courage, Harry gathering himself and he knocked on the door, entering when the voice from the other side indicated he should do so.

The potions master's office was the same as it had always been—dark and dreary and in every way a reflection of the dark and brooding man who occupied it. Snape himself sat behind his desk and he eyed Harry as he approached, he face revealing nothing, not even surprise that his current nemesis should dare to approach him in his own territory. It did not follow that the gaze was welcoming in any way—of course, the only thing about Harry which Snape would welcome, he thought, was his demise. It appeared he would eventually get his wish, Harry thought with a dark hint of humor, though it would not be until Harry had finished with Voldemort.

"Potter," Snape said when Harry stopped in front of his desk.

"Professor," Harry replied in kind. Had he had the presence of mind to think of such things, he would have recognized that his own responding voice was completely expressionless, void of the anger he would normally have felt for the man, and indeed of any contempt he might have inspired. In fact, his tone rather resembled Snape's not that either would welcome the comparison.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" Snape prompted.

"I need your help."

Surprise flickered over Snape's countenance, and he leaned back in the chair. "Help?" he asked, with a hint of incredulity entering his voice. "I would have thought that Miss Granger would have been the recipient for such a request. You have never asked me for help before."

Harry forbore pointing out that it was Snape's own demeanor which discouraged any thought of appealing directly to him.

"I need something that she can't help me with."

"Very well," said Snape after a moment. He sat up in his chair and spread his hands. "What can I do for you?"

"I need you to tell me where Voldemort is," Harry replied.

Whatever the man had been expecting, clearly this had not been it. He actually lost his careful control for an instant, gaping at Harry as though he had never seen him before. Then, of course, the predictable anger made its appearance.

"And why would I tell you where to find the Dark Lord?" he snapped, eyes flashing with ire.

"Because you want him defeated as much as I do," Harry rejoined.

A familiar sneer came over the potions master's face. "And you think that you can simply walk into his presence and kill him?" he asked with contempt oozing from his voice. "Just stroll up to the Dark Lord and finish him off in time for tea. Is that your master plan? Perhaps you should stop playing adult and let those who are actually in a position to handle the Dark Lord do so."

In the past, the man's tone and scathing words might have provoked an angry response from Harry, but at that moment, it truly did not affect him. The man was petty and predictable, a true child carrying a grudge in a man's body. Still, his words warranted a response, and Harry could not help but oblige him.

"Like you playing adult?"

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously, but Harry continued on somewhat blithely. "It's not very adult-like to carry a grudge for a dead man's son. If I wasn't aware of the oaths Dumbledore had you swear, I'd think you're playing both sides. But at least I'm trying to do something. Rather than have your revenge on him, you just sit there like a spider in its web, trying to entrap him in its silken strands. In fact, the spider is even better than you—at least the spider will finish the prey off when it's entrapped in its web—you just sit back and try to make others do your dirty work. At least I have the stones to take him on. If you were half the man you claim to be, you'd have tried to take him out yourself."

Eyes bulging in his head, Snape appeared to pass beyond merely furious, and for a moment, Harry wondered if he would burst a blood vessel in his head and die right in front of him.

"Get out!" Snape finally ground out.

"Not until you give me what I need," was Harry's even reply.

"So you can get yourself killed? Much as that would be a blessing for everyone concerned."

"That's not what I have in mind at all," Harry replied.

"Then what is your grand plan?" Snape bit back.

"I'm going to kill Nagini."

A silence stretched out between them, as Snape gazed at him with some confusion. "You want to kill Nagini," he finally stated, doubt coloring his voice.

"I don't want to kill Nagini," Harry emphasized, "Nagini needs to die for Voldemort to be defeated."

"What are you talking about?" Snape demanded, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I can't tell you what's going on." Harry flashed him a mirthless grin. "It's secret. You see, I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

Snape returned Harry's gesture, though his was more of a grimace, but by now Harry was not paying attention to him.

"The truth of the matter is that what's going on is so secret that it's protected by a series of oaths. And though I could swear you to those oaths, I don't really like you very much. I'd prefer that you didn't know any more about me than you have to."

Surprisingly, Snape did not take offense to Harry's words. He smiled faintly and nodded in acknowledgement, but made no further response. Perhaps in spite of himself, he appeared intrigued enough to forgo his usual angry diatribe or cutting remarks.

"Professor, have you ever wondered how Voldemort managed to return, though he had clearly died the night he killed my parents?"

This seeming non sequitur caught the professor by surprise, but he quickly recovered and raised an eyebrow. "Do you know that he did? They never did find a body."

"Oh, he died all right."

"And do you have proof of this, or is it your peerless intelligence speaking?" Snape's tone was positively dripping with contempt.

"Other than the fact that I was there when he gained a new body?" Harry asked.

At that Snape was forced to give way, though he did so in a most graceless manner—nothing more than a tight nod. "In that case, yes, I have wondered."

"There is a branch of magic which allows such things," Harry replied. "I cannot tell you exactly what he did, but I can state that it allowed him to return to a body given certain circumstances. He did not tell any of his followers what he had done, which is why it took them so long to bring him back."

"That is all very interesting, but what does it have do with the snake?" Snape asked, sounding impatient.

"Because the snake helps anchor him to life," Harry replied. "If he dies and the snake still lives, he can come back again."

The professor peered back at Harry thoughtfully for several moments. When he finally did deign to make a reply, he eschewed any kind disdainful comment about Harry, which was surprising, considering how this conversation had unfolded.

"Can I assume that Dumbledore knows of this?" At Harry's nod he continued, "In that case, I am certain that the Headmaster can handle it. There is no need for you to go and confront Nagini on your own."

"I'm certain Dumbledore could kill Nagini in his sleep," Harry replied, keeping his voice even and serious. "Unfortunately, he can not do so safely."

"That statement seems to be somewhat incongruous," Snape jibed, "even for you."

"Only if you don't have all the information. You see, professor, I have had the same thing done to me that Voldemort did to Nagini. If anyone other than me kills the snake, the magic on her will just transfer to whoever is in the area. As I am already under this magic, I am immune to it. That's why I have to be the one to kill the snake."

As his explanation continued, the professor's eyebrows rose to levels Harry had never seen before. It had taken him almost five years, but Harry had finally surprised the man to the extent that he was speechless. He smiled darkly at the sight—for one who was as knowledgeable as he suspected Snape was about the dark arts, it was amusing to Harry that he was unaware of just what those arts could do.

"So if you are under this magic…" Snape said, finally finding his voice.

"Yes, professor," Harry said with a sardonic smirk, "I have to die so that Voldemort can be defeated. And I know that you don't think much of me or my abilities. But being under a death sentence has given me a certain perspective. I don't want my death to be meaningless and I'd like to go out on my own terms. The first part of that is killing that snake. If you won't help me, I'll just have to find another way."

Snape peered at him for some time, seemingly trying to process what he had just been told. Harry watched him placidly, waiting for him to make his decision. His words about finding another way had not been mere bravado—but this way was much simpler and much safer, while the other would expose him to danger and discovery. But he was determined—the snake needed to die and Harry would not allow anyone else to put themselves in a position to become another horcrux. Too many lives had been ruined already.

"How do I know that you're telling the truth?" Snape finally asked. "For that matter, how do I know that you aren't mistaken?"

Harry shrugged. "You don't, I suppose."

"And that is supposed to be reassuring?"

"I think you know that I don't particularly care if you are reassured. I can swear an oath on it if you like. But beyond that all I can tell you is what I know—this information has been verified and Dumbledore himself has admitted that it's true. The only thing that Dumbledore is not absolutely certain of is that this magic has been performed on Nagini."

Snape blinked. "I have seen the snake. Are there any outward signs of it?"

"Larger than normal," Harry replied. "She would also be more vicious and more under Voldemort's control. And I'm not certain how noticeable it would be, but she might exhibit a sense of wrongness or evil."

Shuddering, Snape looked away for a moment. "I have witnessed all these things in the snake. Much as it pains me to admit it, what you have said about her makes sense."

Snape chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "It is almost certainly not wise to try to take on the snake by yourself. It is a very dangerous creature."

"So was the basilisk," Harry replied, keeping his focus on Snape. "And I'm the only one who can safely do it."

"And I will almost certain provoke the Headmaster's ire if I tell you how to find the Dark Lord."

"I won't tell if you don't."

A weak smile met Harry's declaration and if he had not known better, he almost would have thought it was a grimace. Clearly he had put the professor in a tough situation here. Snape wanted Voldemort defeated, but it would almost kill him to have Harry fulfill his destiny and have a large hand in his defeat. He also clearly did not like Nagini, if his reactions were anything to go by, but sending Harry into danger by himself, while not overly concerning to Snape, could affect his precious position and his status as Dumbledore's spy. For the briefest of moments, Harry almost felt a little sympathy for the man for putting him in this spot.

But it was what it was and it was necessary. Nagini must be defeated. No other consideration mattered.

"Very well, then," Snape finally responded. "I can get you to the general area. But what I cannot do is to get the snake to magically appear in front of you so that you can kill her."

"Voldemort does allow her to go out and hunt from time to time, doesn't he?"

"He does," Snape admitted, "but it's almost impossible to predict when."

"Leave that to me," Harry replied. "That may not be so difficult as you may think."

Though he was clearly intrigued, Snape did not say anything further in response. He sorted through a stack of parchments on his desk until he found what he was looking for, and then he showed it to Harry.

"This is your most recent essay in potions class," he states.

On the top of the paper, Harry could see that Snape had written a few lines, which he could not make out at the moment, and that his grade was an "O."

"Yes, it seems as though your work is improving," the professor said when Harry looked at him with some surprise. Only a handful of times had Snape given him such a grade during the entire five years of his attendance at Hogwarts.

"Dumbledore was right." That last was said in a quiet tone, and though Harry was not certain exactly what the man was on about, he nodded in response. It was pointless to say anything further—his grade on a random essay was not what was at stake here.

Waving his wand, Snape intoned, "Portus!" The parchment glowed blue for a moment before the light faded. Snape then took a small ribbon and tied it around the rolled up parchment, before handing it across the desk to Harry.

"The pass code for that portkey is 'revenge.' It will take you to a location about two miles away from the Dark Lord's lair. I advise you to be very careful—the sentries are not known to be overly energetic, and are as likely to be asleep as they are of actually guarding the place. But if you start to throw spells around in full view of the house, it will undoubtedly attract attention."

"Do you know where Nagini usually hunts?" Harry asked.

"I do not. I have not spent much time at the Dark Lord's side since his return, for reasons of which you are well aware. I do know that the snake also patrols the grounds at certain intervals, though what area and how far away she ranges are unknown to me."

"And what is the area like?"

Snape shrugged. "Sparse vegetation, precious few trees, rolling hills—pretty much what you would expect of a moor. It is a dreary place, made all that much drearier by the presence of the Dark Lord and his minions. Unless you are hidden by the landscape itself, there are not enough trees for you to hide in them. Be very careful."

Knowing that this was all he would get from the professor, Harry thanked him and rose to leave. He had gotten to the doorway when Snape's voice rose again from behind him.

"It would be a shame to waste that improvement in your brewing capabilities. Do not do anything rash and take every precaution to return safely."

Turning, Harry peered at the professor, wondering if he was actually showing a bit of concern at such a late stage. Snape watched him, but gave nothing away with his expression. Perhaps it was an echo of the affection Snape had held for Lily Potter which made him speak so—Harry was uncertain. He accepted the sentiment in what he hoped was the manner in which it was intended, and nodded to the professor once, before letting himself out of the office.

It was with a sense of purpose and resolve that Harry walked through the halls of Hogwarts toward the Great Hall. He did not truly feel like eating—everything tasted the same lately and it was certainly not for the pleasure of it that he continued to eat. But he had a date with Nagini fast approaching, and it would not do to be caught unprepared or weak from the lack of sustenance. The snake would die. Of this, he was determined.

Updated 06/10/2014