A Stranger in an Unholy Land

by serpant-sorcerer

PART I: Days before his 6th year, Harry Potter is sucked into another universe by forces not of this world. Dazed and confused, Harry finds himself in a world where his parents are alive, where Voldemort has never fallen and he is Voldemort's key enforcer

11. What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is heavily contaminated and no one can enter it for the next thousand years. With the Aurors incapable of monitoring illegal magic or Apparation, the country plunges into chaos. The limited number of loyal Aurors are overrun by the hordes of Death Eaters. With the Order of the Phoenix both deaf and blind and with Harry Potter apparently dead, the Dark Lord marches on towards victory. But fear not, for from the ashes of despair, a hero has risen and Voldemort is going to wish he had killed Harry when he had the chance.

Chapter XI
What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger

h3 "People killing, people dying,
Children hurt and you hear them crying,
Can you practice what you preach,
And would you turn the other cheek?
Father, Father, Father help us,
Send us some guidance from above,
Because people got me, got me questioning,
Where is the love?"

Black Eyed Peas (Where is the Love?) /h3

If you had asked Harry at any time over his sixteen years on this mortal coil what he thought dying would feel like, he might have replied that he expected to feel numb all over, then sit up, stare down at his body for a few moments, before walking up towards the light. He might have told you that it felt like nothing; just blackness all around him. His opinions changed with every film he saw, every opinion he heard, but one thing remained constant in his mind; death was not the end. Harry believed in life after death, and as he fell into the darkness, part of him rejoiced in the fact he had been right. He remembered reaching the fireplace, he remembered the bang and the heat on his neck and face, but then it all went black and Harry found himself plummeting into the darkness. He wasn't entirely sure how he knew he was falling, but he was certain he was. He glanced downwards at his own body. His eyes bulged as he saw that he was entirely naked. He felt a blush immediately making its way to his cheeks, but then realised that there was no one here to see him. Adam and Eve had eaten the apple and their eyes had been opened and hence, just like Harry, they had been embarrassed by their nakedness before the Lord God. He glanced in each direction but saw nothing but darkness. It occurred to him that he was falling through blackness rather than darkness, for his body did not appear in shadow. His eyes seemed to see clearly; it was just that everything was black.

He began to get used to the feeling off falling. What worried him was that he had always imagined that Heaven was upwards and Hell down below. Was he on his way to Hell? Had he been that bad? Who was he kidding? He had killed people; he had committed almost all of the cardinal sins, missing only lust and gluttony. He was a monster, a killer and worse. Was there a universal devil or was there one in each universe? Did this Satan think he was the other Harry and would torture him for the sins of the Dark Knight?

Suddenly, Harry stopped moving. He did not land on anything, but he felt his movement stop. Ground seemed to appear beneath his feet; it was as black as the rest of this place, but soft and cool to the touch. He took a step forward, holding his arms out to balance, expecting to fall. After a few seconds, he relaxed enough to take a few paces.

"HELLO?" shouted Harry into the darkness.

He half expected either an echo or the booming voice of God. Instead he got absolutely nothing. There was complete and utter silence. Harry had never known silence like it - he didn't even have his heartbeat to listen to. Everything was utterly still.

CRACK!

Suddenly a brilliant white light appeared in front of him and Harry felt a surge of some sort in his chest that made his whole body feel weak. Harry ducked away, shielding his eyes with his arm. He managed not to cry out, but the light was so intense. It seemed to penetrate not only the darkness, but Harry's flesh and soul as well. Did he even have flesh anymore? Daring to turn back and face the light, he held up a hand to try and see through it. He didn't know what to expect. If his heart had been beating it would have been pounding a hole through his ribcage. He was utterly terrified. Was this it? Was he doomed to hell? Was this the light he was supposed to follow? Was his soul pure enough, or would he be forever doomed to ride Satan's instruments of torture? Harry found himself being drawn to the light. His body shook with every step, but holding his hand up to save his eyes, he stepped closer to the light.

OW! Another surge hit his chest, and he doubled up in pain. Why was he still feeling pain when he was dead? Suppossedly, in Death all life's questions should be answered, but he was still clueless.

He was half expecting an elderly face with a long white beard to appear in the light, dressed all in white. He stepped closer, trying to see the source of the light. Where was he? Where was the light coming from?

Suddenly, Harry saw movement in the light. He wanted to turn and run, but he was frozen to the spot. Something was moving in the light; whatever it was it was huge and it was coming towards him. He could see it moving up and down in the light, getting closer and closer. It was coming straight for him! Harry wanted to scream but his voice left him. The thing kept coming…kept moving up and down, kept…flapping! The thing had wings! For a second, Harry thought it was a dragon, or a demon of some kind.

Suddenly, Harry relaxed; a sound had flooded his ears that he'd given up all hope of ever hearing again. It seemed to penetrate every corner of his mind, filling him with warmth. He felt the power coming out of him. The sound was like a warm blanket that wrapped around him, keeping him safe from all the horrors that lay out there. Harry stared into the light, watching the approaching Phoenix as it sang its beautiful melody. Harry could see it clearly now as it glided gracefully towards him. It was enormous, almost half the size of Harry with a wingspan longer than a Land Rover. The song surrounded him, enveloped him. He felt all the fear leaving him as he let the music take him. His eyes kept watching the bird as it soared out of the light. It was like watching it in slow motion, as it flapped its mighty wings again.

As it came closer Harry was suddenly aware that it was coming right for him. He tensed slightly, just as the Phoenix reached him. Harry expected to feel the claws land on his bare shoulder, or the bird to circle him. The last thing he expected to happen was for the bird to fly right into him - literally. As the Phoenix neared him, it changed into a silvery cloud form, similar to a Patronus, and as it collided with Harry, it disappeared right into his chest. There was a flash of light as the tail feathers disappeared into his chest. Suddenly Harry felt warmth and a power spread to every inch of his body, penetrating every cell of his body, every corner of his mind invigorating his sense, and calming his mind.

Duh-Duh

Harry gasped as a cold stream of air filled his lungs.

Duh-Duh

His heart was beating again!

In the land of the living, in the Headmaster's office of Hogwarts, Harry Potter sat up, gasping for breath, but very much alive. Madam Pomfrey and Rose, who had been crouched over him, jumped back in shock.

"Harry!" shrieked his mother, throwing her arms around him. He felt her arms wrap tightly around him as he gasped for air and glanced around, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He remembered the darkness and the Phoenix so clearly. After a second, his memory of the bomb, of Christine and the explosion, came back to him. He remembered everything. He glanced around, looking for Christine, hoping he hadn't gotten her killed. She was innocent and had risked her life for his world. She didn't deserve to die. To his relief she was leaning against the wall to his right, wearing an expression of concern. She looked unharmed, though clearly shaken. Suddenly an odd feeling swept over him.

"Something's different," he said, more to himself than anyone else. It was an odd sensation, but somehow he could sense the magic in the room. The kettle was hovering above the fire and Harry could sense the spell, or rather the presence of the spell. The room seemed alive with magic. He couldn't see it, hear it or feel it in any physical way, but he could sense it. It was a disorientating sensation, and his head was pounding to begin with.

Suddenly the euphoria of life left him, and pain came flooding back. He clutched his hand to his face; the left side of his face felt fine, but the right was a different matter. He couldn't feel the touch of his hands, as the nerves in his face had been completely burned away, but he could still feel his face with his hands. It felt like burned toast; rough, crispy and liable to snap, allowing blood to flow out from fissures. Part of him wanted a mirror, while part of him wanted never to see his face again. He could only imagine what he looked like.

"We thought you were dead!" Lily sobbed into his shoulder, bringing Harry away from his thoughts. The pain in his face was unbearable, his head was spinning, and his chest hurt.

"I was," he panted. "I was dead."

"You have third degree burns, Potter," said Madam Pomfrey suddenly, her eyes wide in shock. "To the Hospital Wing, now, before they become infected."

Harry didn't respond; his burns were not the big news. He turned to face McGonagall. "I know what my Animagus form is," he said, wearing a lop-sided grin. "I'm a Phoenix."

"Harry," said McGonagall gently, "your heart stopped. You are hysterical; it's only natural. Take a deep breath and calm down."

"I am a Phoenix," repeated Harry, brushing Pomfrey off him. "And I am calm."

"Harry, that's not possible," said James. "I know. I wanted to be a dragon; I spent ages researching it. It's not possible to be a magical creature."

"I know," said Harry, "but it happened. You told me I'd know when it happened. And it just happened. I tell you, I'm a Phoenix." He realised he was rambling, but his head was spinning, and he was so pleased to be a Phoenix, he just couldn't get a clear sentence together.

"What are you talking about?" asked a shaky voice. Harry turned to see Christine leaning against the wall, shooting worried glances at all those gathered.

"Wizard stuff," said Harry. "I will soon be able to turn into a magical bird and back again."

"Harry," said Dumbledore. "What you are, and what just occurred will be up for discussion later. For now, we must get you and Miss - sorry, Doctor Gaynes - to the hospital wing to have you checked out."

"But…" protested Harry.

"But nothing," said Lily firmly.

"Listen to your mother," said James. "I'll go to the Ministry and see what's left of it. You stay here and get better."

Harry was about to protest, but then a floating feeling came over him and the floor beneath him vanished along with the cold feeling on his bum her had gotten from lying on the cold floor of the office. He looked down and found himself hovering eight inches above the floor. Madam Pomfrey seemed to have levitated him, presumable bored of waiting. Harry gave Rose a glare as she failed to hide her laughter as he was dragged away down the stairs. Harry just lay back and enjoyed the flying sensation as Pomfrey carried him to the hospital wing, Christine walking by his side, giving him concerned glances - she was presumably trying to work out how the law of gravity was being broken. Harry smiled at her, but then cringed as the smile caused his blackened skin to split and blood to seep out. He saw the look of disgust and pity on Christine's face and promised he would explain as much as he could when they reached the Hospital Wing. It would take over two days of conversations for her to understand the basics of the world that yesterday she never knew existed.

As they reached the Hospital Wing, Harry was levitated onto a bed. Madam Pomfrey leaned over him, inspecting his face. All he could see was her face and the ceiling. He had been able to feel spells of dizziness coming and going on the way up, and now the room was beginning to spin.

"Potter?" said a voice. Harry's eyes opened to see the matron leaning over him. "I need to put you to sleep. When you wake up, it will be over. I need you to drink this." She offered him a phial. He was too tired to argue. So instead of risking people running off when she prescribed sleep, Madam Pomfrey now kept patients unconscious? How very sneaky.

Harry drained the phial, and then lay back. He remembered having his tonsils removed at the age of five. The nurse had gassed him then asked him to count to ten. He had only made it to six. He was about to try again, but potions are stronger than drugs; he never even got to one before sleep took him.

-----

Harry?

Harry opened his eyes, and then abruptly closed them as the bright lights of the infirmary blinded him. He groaned and tried to sit up. He had seen Madam Pomfrey leaning over him as he awoke and it didn't surprise him when she spoke.

"Relax, Harry," said Madam Pomfrey, pushing him back down. He kept his eyes closed as she spoke. "The numbness of your muscles will pass in a few moments. For now, please listen. This is going to be very hard to hear, but I need you to remain calm. You were lucky in that you have not received a large dose of radiation and will not suffer any ill effects from it. However, your face was burned badly; so much so that it didn't just blister; it was completely reduced to carbon. As such, I had to remove it all, as it would never heal. There is now no skin on the right side of your face. I have managed to fix the nerves and I have given you a salve that will re-grow skin over the next three or four days. If I use a spell to heal the burns, you will have a mass of scar tissue, so this way is better as it will match your complexion."

Harry cringed. Now he definitely didn't want a mirror. He could imagine his face, half of it red, showing nothing but muscles and cartilage. It would be slimy red with blood everywhere and thick purple veins snaking over his face, throbbing obscenely. He felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to touch his face, to prove she wasn't telling the truth, but he knew she was and he knew how much it would hurt to touch it. However, Madam Pomfrey wasn't done.

"However, while the potion does its work, we must keep all dust, germs and ultra-violet light away from it. I have already spread a local anaesthetic over the wound so it won't hurt, but I need you to wear this for the next three or four days."

She held out a mask, or more specifically, half of one. It was white and featureless except for a hole for the eye and mouth. Harry stared into the hollow eye of the scrap of plastic. It was smooth on both sides, but so blank and emotionless that it was somehow creepy. Part of him was grateful that he had something to hide behind, while another part of him was sickened by it. He didn't know how he felt about it, but the thought that it was only temporary was a comfort to him.

"Keep this on at all times," she said. "After three days, no one will ever know that you were burned."

Harry took the mask from her and stared into its hollow eyes. He remembered Tonks' words when he asked about becoming a Metamorphmagus. She had said that she bet he wished he could hide his scar at times. This mask would hide it, along with the face that brought suffering to all those around him, and brought him looks of hatred and fear. But then again, it felt like a prison, having to hide who he was more than ever. Still, he should get over his pride. Three days and it would come off and no one would ever know that he had been disfigured. But if he was to appreciate it, he had to see his face as it was now.

"Do you have a mirror?" he asked her. She clearly hesitated. She glanced at him, a look of concern on her face, clearly hesitating. "Please," he added.

She sighed and summoned a small mirror from the table by her office; it was a small wooden thing with a handle. Harry took it from her and glanced at the unfamiliar reflection. Half of his face was…gone. It was featureless, a sickening shade of red that looked like there was nothing keeping the blood in. Purple veins snaked across the layers of tendons and muscles in his face. He looked like an exploded diagram in a school textbook. He felt sick, looking at himself. Maybe he deserved to look like this. A monster should wear a monster's face.

"It's not as bad as you think," said Madam Pomfrey gently, trying to comfort him. "You just need to apply this cream every morning and in three days it should be back to normal. Once it is, come back and we'll re-grow the missing hair. You will need to see your mother about the painkillers, though. The name is Boronite."

Harry nodded, throwing the covers off. He may be disfigured, but he was not crippled. "Aren't you going to tell me to rest?" he asked as he stood up.

"Would you if I did?"

"Nope," said Harry with a small smile. He felt a stab of pain as he smiled. He needed to get some more Boronite from his mother. Madam Pomfrey left while he changed. Harry put on a clean set of clothes that had been left for him. All black – it suited his mood. He threw them on, being careful as he pulled the jumper over his head to avoid his face, or lack thereof. It was then that he glanced in the mirror. Half monster, half human. It reflected the two Harrys so well. With a small smile he stared at his face; the skinless side was also pulled into a smile, giving it an evil grin, while the other, normal, side smiled sadly back at him. How symbolic, thought Harry to himself, as he slowly raised the mask to his face - it was held on by magic so it wouldn't fall off. It was cold to the touch, and felt strangely soft and padded, though no padding was visible. Oddly enough, it didn't obstruct his vision; it felt soft and soothing to wear it. Harry stared at his reflection. Half of his face was normal while the other was white, emotionless and featureless. Still it was better than the monster below. Harry realised suddenly another glaring example of symbolism. Half of his face was that of a Death Eater, covered in a white mask and clothed in black. The other was the Boy-Who-Lived. His reflection showed the conflict within, in perfect balance. Now he was working with Flamel to tip the scales. In a few days, his appearance would be back to normal, one hundred percent Boy-Who-Lived; his soul would never be that pure again. It was just another sacrifice made way down the line.

The Potions room was full of fifth years as Harry knocked on the door. Judging by the look of the room, they were in the middle of a written test. He could see a familiar head of red hair to the left and another of black hair next to that. He slipped in the room, trying to cause the least disruption, but naturally that was never going to happen. His already fearsome reputation was added to by his bizarre appearance.

Lily looked up from her desk. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of her son, while the others in the room had stopped their test. Harry crossed to her desk.

It was she that spoke first. "How do you feel?"

"Fine, I guess," Harry said. "Apparently I have to wear this for three days, maybe four. After that, I should be as good as new."

"Does it hurt?"

"The Boronite is wearing off," he whispered. "That's why I'm here."

"Ah," she said. "Keep an eye on this lot while I get some." She disappeared through the door into her office. Harry glanced around the room. No one was even trying to hide the fact that they were watching.

"No time will be added on for this," Harry said coldly. He wasn't trying to be nasty, but he was in a foul mood after his reflection on his reflection. "So I suggest you get back to your test." His tone reflected his mood at the moment. He saw Rose and Ginny exchange a look. Ginny leaned over to whisper something to Rose, but Harry cut her off. "Your own test, Miss Weasley," he added, trying to hide his amusement. She shot him an annoyed glance before getting back to her own work.

Lily emerged a few moments later.

"Is this enough?" she asked, handing him a phial of potion. Harry nodded. With one final glance around the room, he stepped out into the corridor and back to his mother's living quarters.

-----

Two days after Halloween, on the Friday at five to seven in the evening, Harry knocked on Professor McGonagall's door. He opened it and stepped into her office. This was the first time his Animagus classes had been held somewhere other than the Room of Requirement. This was not a problem, as there were no requirements or equipment needed in the classes, unless she was going to teach him to fly - Phoenixes were birds after all. He would be able to fly of his own accord, without a broom or anything - perfect freedom in the skies. How amazing would that be!

McGonagall was sitting behind her desk, marking an essay by the look of it. She glanced up as Harry entered. Harry was ever more conscious of the mask that covered half his face. Anyone seeing him in profile would see a Death Eater standing where the Boy-Who-Livd should be. It's only temporary, he reminded himself.

"I'll be with you in a minute," she said, not even batting an eyelid at the mask, and returning to her marking. Harry walked across the room and sat down on the sofa to the right of the desk. In all his years he had never been in his Head of House' s living quarters. The room was larger than he would have expected, but McGonagall's practical and minimalist personality was abundant. Harry thought back to Umbridge's office- that had been just plain hideous. McGonagall's room was rather bare in Harry's opinion. The walls were uncovered stone with a window on one side. There was the desk she now occupied with a sofa to the right, which Harry was now sitting on. In addition there was another table, with a set of cutlery laid out. There was a fireplace on the left wall, with a pot of Floo powder on the mantle beside a candelabra, a mirror and also a china figurine of a cat, standing to attention. There was another cabinet with a glass front through which he could see a few more items on display - Harry had no idea what they did, but they were certainly magical. There was a bookcase next to the sofa. While four of the five shelves held thick books that were clearly for references and teaching, the top shelf was full of fiction, which Harry found rather odd. He saw Asimov's I, Robot, Orwell's Animal Farm and Nineteen Eighty Four, Twain's Huckleberry Finn, Wells' Time Machine, Milton's War and Peace, Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, Dante's Devine Comedy and Tolkein's Lord of the Rings as well as about forty more, most of which Harry did no recognise. She was clearly into her Muggle Fiction, a fact that you would never have guessed about her. Combine that with the Devine Comedy and there was a lot more to McGonagall that met the eye. The old Puss-in-boots was full of surprises, once the ice was broken.

"What do you think of this?" asked McGonagall, holding out a sheet of parchment. Harry reached out and took it. It was an essay by a girl called Charlotte Saunders, a second year Ravenclaw. Harry began to browse through the essay.

"Ouch," he muttered to himself. "I remember this one." He hadn't even noticed that he'd said it out loud. McGonagall, on the other hand, had.

"And what did you get, might I ask?" she pressed, giving him an appraising stare.

"Seventy two percent," said Harry. He had actually been quite proud of himself at the time, since eleven people in the class got under fifty percent and only three people had beaten him. His good mood had evaporated when he reached his next lesson: Potions. He wondered what his mother was like as a teacher. "I believe your notes said something along the lines of, 'Good breadth of knowledge though lacking in detail. Wider reading required'."

McGonagall seemed satisfied, and returned to her marking. Harry continued reading. He remembered his mother saying that English should be taught at Hogwarts, and he was beginning to agree with the mistakes in the essay. He knew he was being hypocritical and was not renowned for his spelling abilities. He, in fact, had handed in an essay in his fifth year with the word banana spelt 'bananana'.

McGonagall took the essay back and began to mark it. It seemed to be the last one left to do.

"What would you have given it?" she asked.

"Low sixties," said Harry matter-of-factly. He had no idea about marking criteria, but he might as well give it a go. He felt he could have done better, but that was with an extra four years of experience. He hoped he had done better when he had done that essay. McGonagall only gave him a 'hmm' in response. It took about three minutes to mark the essay, since it was only one foot long. Finished, she put the quill back in a pot of water and screwed the top back onto the ink. That done, she slid the essays back into a loose-leaf folder marked 2 R/H, presumably, second year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

She stood and left her desk, taking a seat on the opposite end of the sofa near the bookshelf. She removed a large and heavy looking book from the bottom shelf.

"Ready?" she asked, without any introduction. Harry nodded.

"Right," she said taking a breath. "Now as I mentioned weeks ago, and as every book on the subject will tell you, you cannot become a magical creature."

"But a Phoenix saved me," protested Harry instantly.

"Madam Pomfrey saved you, Harry," McGonagall cut him off.

"But…"

"Let me finish," McGonagall cut him off again. "I mentioned the potential consequences of mixing two forms of magic, did I not? Now, you are adamant that your form is a Phoenix, which is about as Magical a creature as exists. Theoretically this is impossible, but I am willing to hear you out. First though, I will tell you what happened from our perspective…"

Whoosh!

The fireplace sprang to life, flames of emerald green shooting up the chimney. There was a loud thud as two people fell rather than emerged out of the fireplace, landing in an undignified position on the polished floor of the office. Minerva only had a fraction of a second to comprehend what was happening before a jet of orange flame shot out of the fire, over the heads of the new arrivals. Fawkes took flight with a squawk as the flames engulfed his perch. Everyone in the office backed away from the fire. The flames disappeared as quickly as they had come, leaving a smoky smell in the office and two bodies on the floor. Soot covered the area around the fire.

There was a cough as the woman, on top of whom the unconscious form of Harry Potter was lying, began to splutter. This must be the scientist Harry had been working with. She tried to sit up, but with the weight of the boy on top of her, it was easier said than done. Coughing profusely, she struggled to get up. In a flash Albus was at her side, rolling Harry off the poor woman. James immediately went to check on the woman, scanning for injuries, or so Minerva assumed. Meanwhile, Harry lay unmoving on the floor. As Albus moved, Minerva got her first unimpeded view of the boy. She gasped in shock.

The right side of his face was very badly burned. It wasn't pink, nor was it white with blisters; it was black, having been reduced to pure charcoal in the heat of the flames. Part of his hair had been burned away, and the smell of charred flesh and hair made those in the office cover their noses.

Albus slowly extended two fingers to the underside of Harry's face, the left side to avoid the burns. He sat motionless for a few seconds before striding to the fireplace in one step.

"Poppy," he barked urgently into the fireplace, throwing some Floo into the grate. "Come quickly, it's an emergency." Less than two seconds later, Poppy emerged from the fireplace, brushing soot from her white matron's robes. Her eyes fell on Harry instantly and she was by his side before Minerva could say a word. Her wand was out and ready.

"He's flat-lining," she said to herself more than anything. "Has he had any spells or potions in the last few hours?"

"None we know of," said Dumbledore.

"Lily," said Poppy quickly, "roll up that piece of parchment and put it in his mouth. Hold his nose and when I tell you to, breath into the other end."

With her wand she vanished the jumper and t-shirt he was wearing, leaving his chest exposed. She placed both hands over his heart and then pushed sharply down. She repeated it fourteen more times in quick succession, counting to herself.

"Now, Lily."

Lily already had the parchment rolled into the tube and in his mouth. The Potions Mistress breathed into the 'pipe' and Minerva saw Harry's chest expand as Lily forced air into his lungs.

"STAND CLEAR!" ordered Poppy, pointing her wand at Harry's heart. A red light shot out of her wand, straight at his heart. His entire body bucked violently for a second but then lay still. Poppy's hand flew back to his heart. Again she pressed into his chest fifteen times, counting as she did. "Lily….stand clear!"

Again Lily breathed into Harry's mouth the light surged out of Poppy's wand, hitting Harry's heart. His body thrashed on the floor, but then lay still. It didn't seem to be working!

"Still nothing," said Poppy angrily. "Lily, do you have any strengthening potion? I need it now!" Lily disappeared into the fire in an instant. "Rose-Marie, take over!" ordered Poppy.

"I…" stammered Rose.

"The brain dies four minutes after the heart stops. We have ninety seconds to get it going again, so do as you're bloody well told," snapped Poppy. Minerva had never seen her talk to anyone like that. She felt so helpless standing there as Rose knelt next to her brother. Poppy started pumping his heart again. "One, two, three, four, five…" Minerva glanced at Albus. His calm demeanour was gone. The Headmaster was sweating and appeared genuinely scared, as he stared helplessly down at Harry. Minerva had never seen him in such a state. "… thirteen, fourteen, now Miss Potter." Rose-Marie breathed into he pipe and Harry's chest rose. "CLEAR!"

Harry's body thrashed, but less vigorously than the last time. The body was dying! Suddenly the flames burst into emerald green as Lily re-emerged clutching at a phial.

"Rose-Marie, keep breathing every three seconds," ordered Poppy. She took the phial from Lily and uncorked it. She summoned a silver plate from Albus' desk and poured the contents of the phial onto the plate. She waved her wand and muttered some charms that Minerva couldn't hear. The orangey-pink liquid glowed red for a few seconds. Satisfied, Poppy waved her wand and the liquid disappeared.

"I've just introduced the potion directly into the boy's heart," she announced. "Breathe again, Rose-Marie." As Rose did so, Poppy pointed her wand at Harry's chest for what could be the final time.

"CLEAR!"

The red light shone out of his wand, surging into the boy's chest. Harry's body bucked violently under the spell, his shoulders and feet being all that remained touching the floor. As his stomach rose from the floor, his eyes flew open and he took an enormous breath. Harry gasped at the air around him as his heart began beating again. He sat up, coughing profusely and hugging his chest, which presumably hurt a lot after his ordeal.

"Harry!" cried his mother, throwing her arms around him. He sat there, embraced by his mother, panting like a Bull-Mastiff, but very much alive. Minerva saw something cross his face, a realisation probably, and then he spoke.

"Something's different," he said softly.

"So what was different?" asked McGonagall, staring at Harry as she ended her story. Harry didn't answer immediately. He was trying to get a grip on what he had just heard. Was it all a dream? Had Pomfrey really saved him and he had just been hallucinating? No, it couldn't be a dream, it couldn't! Finally, he answered the question.

"I can feel magic around me," said Harry. "It's as if my eyes have been opened. I can sense spells in the air, the presence of spells. For example, I can feel the lock on the desk drawer over there," - he pointed towards her desk - "I can feel the presence of the spell, though I don't know what it is. I am just guessing that it's the locking spell as it is your private desk."

"Interesting," said McGonagall. "That is indeed said to be one of the abilities of the phoenix. Could you tell me what happened from your perspective?"

"While I was…dead," he began. "There was darkness everywhere and then a light and a Phoenix came towards me. I remember it looked like a Patronus and it just disappeared into me. My father told me I would know when I found my form, and I just knew that this was it. Was this what you meant?"

"No," said McGonagall. "Assuming I take you at your word, that this is your form, you were not meant to die and be saved by it. When I was in your shoes, I remember seeing the cat and then…it was like everything just clicked into place and my eyes were opened. All other animals just seemed inferior to it. I could see what it was thinking - it was like an epiphany, and I knew that was for me. Dying was not part of the agenda."

"But a phoenix is reborn from the ashes," said Harry.

"Yes, but symbolism like that doesn't really mean anything," McGonagall replied.

"You said that the form is a representation of the person's character. That's all about symbolism, isn't it?"

"Are you always this stubborn?" asked McGonagall, giving him an irritated stare.

"Only when I know I'm right," said Harry affronted. He merely stared back, unwilling to budge. He was there, he knew what he had seen and felt. Bollocks to her. Harry knew what he knew.

"Fine," said McGonagall after a moment, "I assumed you would argue like this. As such I asked Professor Dumbledore if I could borrow his Pensieve. Let me see this apparent encounter with a phoenix for myself."

"Oh, damn," said Harry before he could stop himself.

"Do you not want me to see?" asked McGonagall, raising an eyebrow.

"It's not that," said Harry, covering his mouth with his hand. He had completely forgotten! Dickhead! "I put some memories in there. I meant to give it to Frank, but I kind of forgot in the excitement of Halloween."

"You can attend to Mr Longbottom later," said McGonagall. "I am a very busy woman, Harry. Can you please place the appropriate memories in the Pensieve."

Putting Frank aside, though making a mental note to get it to him ASAP, Harry pulled out his wand and placed it to his temple, following the instructions Dumbledore had given him the night he had borrowed the Pensieve. Having spent half a night doing it, it was no trouble. He pulled out the memory and deposited it into the Pensieve.

McGonagall nodded to him and then dipped her nose into the Pensieve. As she began to use the Pensieve, Harry was struck by a sudden thought. He was naked in the memory! He felt the blood surge to his cheeks. His Head of House was about to see his…something she damn well shouldn't see. It could be worse; it could Snape, but still…McGonagall. Yuck! He felt himself break out in a cold sweat. How embarrassing!

Less than two minutes later, McGonagall finished the memory. She leaned back on the sofa and stroked her chin thoughtfully. Harry was tempted to say 'I told you so', but that risked her bringing up the subject of him being naked, so he held his tongue. He sat and stared at her, hoping she wasn't going to comment on his appearance in the memory. He wondered briefly if he was burned in the memory. For over a minute, McGonagall sat in complete silence, staring at the coffee table but clearly not seeing it. Her mind was somewhere else. Harry could almost see the cogs turning.

"Curious," she said at last, reminding Harry of Ollivander. Was that it? All she could say was 'curious'? He was about to ask her to elaborate, when she did of her own accord. "From what I have just seen," she began slowly, "I find myself being forced to believe something I know to be impossible. Harry, you have just broken every rule in the Animagus textbook."

"So you believe me?" he asked. She hesitated for a second before answering.

"Yes," she said at last. "Harry, I am going to be honest with you. What I have just seen should not have happened. Suppose you are right and that you were literally reborn from the ashes, then this is the first occurrence of this in the world. Do you recall that I mentioned why you should not be able to be a magical Animagus? I said that combining two types of magic could be very dangerous. We will be dealing with a different form of Animagus here, one about which there are no books or resources. I will do my best for you, Harry, but we are entering the unknown. I cannot say if this will be easier or harder or what you will feel, but I will do what I can for you."

"Fair enough," said Harry casually, eager to get on with the training.

"Wait," said McGonagall. "You do not appreciate the situation, Harry. You say that so casually I know you have no idea the danger you are in. Not only is the Phoenix a magical creature, but it is one of the most powerful on the planet. If something were to go wrong you could lose your humanity, literally. If you are sure - and I want you to go away and think about this - if you are one hundred percent certain that you want to continue and that you truly appreciate the danger, then we will continue. That is all I will say tonight. Go and think about it, long and hard. You have the weekend to think it over. Come back on Monday with a decision. I mean it Harry, I honestly do not know what is going to happen."

Harry sat for a moment before rising from the sofa. He already knew he wanted to do it, but to say so would just infuriate McGonagall. He did appreciate that this was the unknown, but that was also exciting. There was no doubt in his mind that he would succeed. He could already feel the difference. He could feel the tingle of magic on the air. He could feel the presence of spells without even needing to look. She was right about one thing; Fawkes was very strongly magical - he almost seemed to glow now, and Harry could feel his presence from almost anywhere in the castle.

Think long and hard, Harry did. He already knew what he wanted to do, but in case McGonagall was a Legilimens or had some other way of knowing it, he did actually sit down and think it over. He brought up the subject in a conversation with his father. Being an Animagus himself, he was able to offer some advice, but his final answer was a little vague. He said that McGonagall was right and that this was potentially dangerous, but if he chose to do it, and it was his choice and his alone, then James would support him.

At seven o'clock on the following Monday, Harry once again knocked on the door to McGonagall's office. This time she was apparently unoccupied, or rather she was not busy. She was curled up on the sofa with a book, in a pose that he would never have imagined her in. Minerva McGonagall putting her feet on the sofa? Perish the thought! Though she had taken her shoes off. She looked up at him as he entered.

"Have you reached a decision?" she asked simply. Harry nodded.

"Did you actually think it over?" she asked, giving him a piercing stare. Again Harry nodded. There was a pause and Harry was sure she would tell him that she didn't believe him. She stared at him with one of her trademark stares before suddenly snapping the book closed with a sharp bang and sitting upright.

"So be it," she simply said. "On the desk is a pile of books - bring them here." Harry did as he was told, resisting the urge to use magic. McGonagall took the stack and rested them on her knees. She opened the top one to a large diagram of a skeleton of a bird, a magpie. Harry hesitated. There was a more than subtle difference between a magpie and a phoenix. Was this book even relevant? Before he could ask, McGonagall began to explain.

"Some of these books are simply for reference, others you need to read in detail," she informed him. "This first one is a Muggle book, but it has its uses. The first three chapters detail the basic bone-structure, feather structure and biological make-up of a bird. The same principles apply to a phoenix as to a hummingbird or a robin. You need to read and understand this one before we go any further. The Animagus ability is neither a spell nor a potion; it is force of mind, so you must be able to visualise and understand the workings of every single part of its anatomy. I have here a feather from a pigeon, a golden eagle, a crow and Fawkes. You need to study them in detail. Remember, it is not about learning the names of the parts. That does no good to man or beast. You must understand what the parts are made of - bones muscle or cartilage for example - how they contribute to movement - both walking and flying - and what they equate to in your human body. Remember, they are transfigured from your body. While it is obvious that your heart becomes the heart of the phoenix, you need to ask yourself what you fingernails will become. There are no claws on the wings. Attention to small detail like that is essential."

For the next hour, McGonagall went through the diagrams piece-by-piece, displaying a depth of knowledge of Muggle Biology Harry would never have thought of her, or most witches come to that. Harry found the whole experience much less interesting than he had been expecting, but still tried to take in as much as possible, knowing that once this was out of the way he could get on with the more interesting things.

McGonagall lent him the book and that night he lay awake reading until one in the morning. He realised that he was putting more effort into this endeavour than he did most homework - a revelation he had no intention of sharing at their meeting the following afternoon. Harry brought the book back, having read the appropriate chapters twice and taken notes. All in all he was feeling quite proud of himself.

"Before we begin," said McGonagall, gesturing for him to take a seat, "I want to let you know what to expect. You might recall that I said an Animagus reflects your inner character. As part of this, some of the instincts of the animal in question will begin to manifest themselves in your human mind. Over time, you will come to recognise them and control them. It's nothing particularly strong, simply that creatures like owls, bats and wolves tend to find themselves staying up later, enjoying the night and hating mornings. Those who become birds lose any hint of vertigo and speaking from experience, cats dislike rodents and water. Over the next few weeks, you will begin to feel these impulses pulling at you."

"And what impulses would a phoenix have?"

"I cannot say," said McGonagall. "That's what makes this so interesting. Remember, we are in uncharted territory, Harry. You may also notice some smaller changes in your character and body. Some people develop more physical qualities similar to their form. For example, a girl who left here two years before you arrived chose to become an Animagus in her final year. Her form was a hawk. She found that her eyesight improved as she developed her ability."

Harry was still trying to guess how a Phoenix would affect him. He could already feel something different about the world; he could sense magic before it happened, but that was about it. One thought occurred to him - Fawkes was red; Harry just hoped he didn't turn ginger.

"When an urge comes to you," McGonagall continued, "don't fight it. Allow it to wash over you. Remember, it is just an urge; you can choose not to do it, but letting the animal into your mind will speed up your transition."

"Right," said Harry. He still wondered how this applied to him. What would a Phoenix tell him? He would probably forget any vertigo, but he didn't suffer due to his Quidditch skills.

"Okay," said McGonagall. "That will subtly happen over the next few weeks. It is nothing to worry about, and in time your mind will automatically filter out phoenix impulses from your own human ones. Now, shall we move on?"

Harry nodded and brought the book out onto his knees and opened it to the diagram of the bird.

"Right," said McGonagall. "Unfortunately with bird, we must start with the hardest part and the most dangerous. If this goes wrong, it can be very painful." Harry gulped slightly. This sounded ominous. He had better not get it wrong. "One of the biggest changes between a mammal and a bird is that the pubic bone, located here," - she pointed to the top of the bird's legs - "and here," - she gently poked him on the hip – "is turned backwards. It's all to do with reproduction, but that's irrelevant. The point is that at present, your pubic bone faces the front and when you are a bird, it must face backwards or you will not be able to walk or fly. Poppy Pomfrey is on call, so if we have any difficulties, she will be able to fix everything. What you need to do is effectively rotate the base of your spine one hundred and eighty degrees."

Harry's jaw was hanging limp. YUCK! Break and twist his spine. He cringed when people cracked their fingers, a habit Seamus was very proud of, but drove Harry up the wall. Part of him wished his form was a mammal. Then he would only have to drop to all fours. No! A Phoenix was what he was, but still…twisting his spine was a sickening thought. The image of bones twisting, grinding together with a gut-churning, scraping sound filled his mind. He shivered involuntarily. Now he understood why some people couldn't stomach becoming an Animagus.

"Obviously you don't actually rotate your spine," continued McGonagall. He felt a wave of relief, accompanied by confusion. "I said effectively rotate it, not literally. In truth, you have to reshape your pubic bone to face backwards. I must state first that you must not attempt to walk with it facing backward until you are completely transformed, otherwise you might do some damage. Remember, your legs will still be facing forward and you could potentially dislocate your entire leg."

She stood and walked to her desk. On top of it, covered by a green cloth, were two large things. Harry hadn't noticed them when he came in. As McGonagall removed the cloth, Harry could see that they were models, of the pubic bone of a phoenix, or at least a bird and a human. At least, Harry hoped they were models.

"You will need to study these closely before we try," said McGonagall. "I want you to use a wand and transfigure one into the other. Once you can do that on these models, your visualisation will be enough to do your own bone. For the next fortnight, I hope to cover the skeleton and get the major changes out of the way, such as the extension of the neck, reversal of the pubic bone, three toes as opposed to five, nose and jaw into beak and the merging of the arm and wing bones. From there we will move onto the sizing, muscles and flesh."

Harry took a deep breath, looking at the plastic models of the bones in front of him. This wasn't as easy as he had anticipated. He didn't regret his decision, but he had hoped it would be quick and that her guess of four months was an over-estimate. He promised himself that if he worked at it relentlessly then he could bring it forward. He just hoped it wasn't too painful. It was unlikely, but hope springs eternal.

-----

The next morning Harry had another Occlumency lesson with Flamel. Today's lesson, Flamel announced at the beginning, would be different in that only half of it would be Occlumency, the other half would work on using the skills left by the other Harry without allowing them to control him. He had been working on suppressing emotion for nearly a week, but now they were going to actually try and use it.

Flamel tested Harry on lying, then on hiding memories and then suppressing emotion. That took nearly fifteen minutes. After that, Flamel announced that they were moving on.

"Okay, Harry," he began. "We will move slowly, but if at any time you feel it hurts too much, of that it is too much, tell me and we can stop. Putting you through too much and hurting you is counter-productive, so don't be afraid to speak up. Right, remember what we have been doing. Keep your mind clear from any form of feeling. Reach into that arsenal of yours, but keep your mind clear. If you start to feel again, stop, okay?"

"Got it," said Harry.

"You must not just relax; I need you to consciously try to remember," said Flamel softly.

Harry stood in the centre of the room, his wand held in a ready stance as if in a duel. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, concentrating on the sound of waves. They were in Flamel's office, not the Room of Requirement, so he had to imagine the waves without the real thing to aid him.

"Concentrate, Harry," came Flamel's soft voice.

He felt the emptiness take him and all thoughts leave him. The mask as a symbol alone seemed to help. It gave him the idea that no one could see through into his mind. His paranoia about his thoughts was reduced by the presence of the mask. He tried to reach inside, grasping for memories, for skills, for anything. He seemed to be wandering through a wilderness, then suddenly it happened.

On the floor in front of him was a woman. She had silvery blond hair that was matted from being asleep. She wore a white nightie and was lying on her back, her arms and legs straight and together under the effects of the full body-bind. Harry crossed to her side, emotionless. The woman's cheeks were streaked with tears. The dead form of her husband was sitting in a chair to her left, his stomach cut open and his intestines hanging out and dangling between his legs. He had a mane of dark blond hair and a certain lion-like appearance. Harry paid no heed to the body as he crossed, pulling out his sword in the process.

"Mrs Scrimgeour," said Harry coldly. "You will not testify, understood? You did not, repeat not, see anything on the night of July twelfth. You were here with your husband. If you testify, you will be hearing from me again. Don't think for a second that you can hide. Your husband was head of the Auror division, and we still got to you, so make no mistake. If you testify, I will personally hunt down you, your sister, your niece, your Aunt and even your dog, is that understood?"

"Harry?" said a voice softly.

"No!" he stammered. His eyes flew open. He realised he was lying on the floor and thrashing with arms, fighting an unseen and non-existent foe. He was in a cold sweat and Flamel was kneeling over him. "It's okay, Harry," he said kindly, helping him into a sitting position. He fished a bar of chocolate out of his pocket and handed him a piece. Harry took it and put it in his mouth. Flamel pulled him to his feet as he chewed.

"Are you alright?" asked Flamel, helping him into a chair.

"Near enough," said Harry. He felt like he had during Occlumency with Snape and Dementor lessons with Lupin. He had once again ended up unconscious on the ground. He had thought that Occlumency was coming along slowly but surely, but now he had utterly failed. His head ached from where he had presumably hit the floor.

"What happened?" asked Flamel.

"Another memory," said Harry. "Head of the Aurors, Scrim-something or other, sounded German. His wife was threatened."

"Harry," said Flamel gently, "Rufus Scrimgeour was the Head of the Aurors; he reported directly to Amelia and Crouch. He was killed a few months ago, and his wife recalled her testimony against Rosier. Dawlish and Kingsley were given the job until a suitable replacement can be found, but between them they are managing and there are no volunteers. Harry, that murder was never solved, though many had their suspicions."

"Chalk another one up for the Dark Knight," said Harry darkly. "I guess this Occlumency isn't working."

"That was but your first go," said Flamel. "I was not expecting you to get anything. I also was not expecting you to have such a strong reaction. If you don't wish to continue, I understand."

"No," said Harry. He wasn't going to be defeated as easily as this! "One more go; I've got to learn this sometime."

Harry stood back up and got ready again. He took a deep breath, preparing himself. He closed his eyes once more, concentrating on the waves, casting all thoughts from his mind, even the fear of what he would find. He fought against the emotion, removing it from his mind. Finally ready, he reached down into the darkness inside him.

Harry stood at the edge of a ledge. He was on a round formation of rock, somewhere underground. The walls of rock stretched skyward above him, rising another twenty feet before reaching ground level. Another twenty feet below him was the bottom of the pit, filled with churning water. The water swirled around, like a whirlpool with jagged rocks in the bottom. The water bubbled and spat everywhere as it churned over and over. The ledge surrounded the centre cavern, and all along the edge were a circle of Death Eaters, their masks shimmering, reflecting the dancing glow of the water. The roar of the water filled his ears.

This was the Devil's Cauldron, realised Harry. He found that unlike the last memory, as he watched it, he was capable of his own thoughts and feelings, rather than feeling the other Harry's emotions.

Next to Harry, dressed all in black, stood the Dark Lord himself. He stood on an outcrop of rock inside the circle of Death Eaters with Harry behind him. This was it! This was what he had been waiting for. Excitement surged through him.

Suddenly the cavern dissolved and Harry was staring up at the ceiling again, his head pounding. He had had no more success than the last time. Flamel was by his side, helping him up once again. If it carried on like this, Harry would be sick from too much chocolate. He took the piece that Flamel offered him and ate it. He climbed into a chair, his legs shaking, barely able to hold his weight.

"I think it's getting worse," said Harry after swallowing the chocolate. "My head really hurts, but now I can feel my own thoughts and feelings, rather than just his."

"You are progressing, but too much at once will harm you," said Flamel. "I think we had better call it a day there. Your mind is too tired to cope with any more Occlumency."

"One more, please," said Harry. He knew he could do it this time. He was determined to. He was stronger than the other him, and now he would prove it. "Holy trinity, third time lucky, let me try a third time. Last one, I promise."

Flamel hesitated. He clearly was not comfortable with this, but Harry persisted. "Please."

"Absolutely the last time today, and promise me you will not try this in your own time," said Flamel.

"Of course," said Harry, and he meant it. He had no wish to go through this alone.

For the third and final time that day, Harry stood in the centre of the room, wand at the ready and trying to force all emotion from his battered mind. He managed to slow his breathing, preparing to delve into the darkness. He willed himself to relax before reaching into the darkness.

The Dark Knight stood in a dark room. It was large and grand, though much of it in shadows. There was a figure in front of him, his face in shadow. The Knight felt anger towards the man, and knew he was his enemy. Harry's sword was facing backwards under his arm. He could feel a weight on the end of it and knew he had ended another life. He shivered with the excitement of having driven the cold steel blade into the soft warm flesh of an enemy. Harry could sense the Dark Knight's pleasure at having killed. He turned slowly and calmly to face a man impaled on the sword. Harry felt sick as he looked into the Auror's dying eyes. He felt a surge of hatred towards the other Harry. He could feel the Knight's cold anger as he wrenched the sword out of the man's stomach. With nothing to keep him up, the Auror fell to the floor. The Dark Knight emotionlessly turned to face the other Auror. Inside his head, Harry was screaming at the Dark Knight's coldness. The Auror stepped forward into the light. Harry immediately recognised his face. Kingsley!

Suddenly, Kingsley dived forward, unleashing two curses in mid-air.

Sanctius! thought Harry silently. A small turquoise shield appeared at the end of his wand. Effortlessly, he batted the incoming curses away. Several more curses were exchanged, but Harry's head was starting to pound as the evil unfolded before his mind's eye. He could feel the excitement and hatred from the Dark Knight. Harry was having trouble staying conscious, or unconscious, whichever the case may be, but he was determined to watch. Just knowing that this wasn't real was an improvement.

Suddenly, a book was zooming towards him.

Reducto! Harry could hear the Knight's spell in his mind as the book was shattered to a million pieces.

"Cute trick," the Knight taunted Kingsley. "But two can play at that game."

Oh, you are so going to pay, screamed Harry at the Dark Knight, in his mind. When I find you, I'll rip your Goddamned heart out, you son of a bitch!

The Knight used the same spell as Kingsley to fire something at the Auror. Harry nearly vomited as he saw what the Knight used as a missile. It was the severed head of a Goblin. Harry suddenly realized where they were. The grandness of the room, the goblin behind a desk - this was Gringotts. He remembered reading about a siege here, at some time. Kingsley had been the first Auror to survive an encounter with the Dark Knight. This was the Gringotts Siege!

Harry was so pleased with his discovery that he hadn't been paying attention. The next thing he knew, a curse had hit him, or rather the other him, in the chest and had blasted him across the room. He landed hard on his back. Kingsley had obviously had enough. Harry heard the incantation of the Paralysis Curse. Sure enough a pink ball of light was zooming towards him as he sprang off his shoulder onto his feet.

Harry felt a wicked pleasure in the Knight's mind. JurofacIo! Harry felt a warm feeling in his right hand. He was holding a ring of pale blue light. It didn't hurt him as he held it in a gloved hand, but he knew it wouldn't even if he didn't have gloves. He was proud of the ring; he knew that it was his own invention. As the pink curse came towards him, he scooped it up in the ring before the eyes of a startled Kingsley. It looked like the planet Saturn as he held it for a fraction of a second. Harry hurled it back at Kingsley, who was too shocked to move. The combination of spells zoomed towards him, spinning as it did. Kingsley had the sense to raise a shield, but it did him no good. As the dual spell hit his shield, the blue light disappeared causing the shield to pop like a bubble, leaving his own Paralysis Curse to hit the person who had cast it. The Knight thought of the spell as Poetic Justice, and that was what he called it.

Suddenly, Harry was being shaken by Flamel. He looked up to see the old man, over him, holding him by the shoulders.

"When you didn't wake up, I panicked," confessed the professor. "That is absolutely all for today, no arguments."

"I did it," said Harry, grinning stupidly at the Professor. "I got into his mind, or what was left of it, and I saw the spell, the incantation. I got the Sanctius Shield and one of his own making." Harry shouted the incantation aloud, holding out his hand as the other Harry had done. Suddenly the ring of blue light burst into existence in his hand.

"Awesome," said Harry, looking down at the spell.

"Write it down," said Flamel. "We will continue after you have had a night's sleep. Remember, do not pursue this in your own time. You need someone competent with you."

Harry promised him he wouldn't before leaving the room.

-----

Three days, Occlumency lessons and Animagus training sessions later, Harry sat on the side of the Fountain of Magical Brethren, dressed in a woolly jumper and black trousers and, of course, the mask, even though he didn't need it any more. He had had to wear it for four days, which meant that since yesterday he had no longer needed it. His face was back to normal and he couldn't see a difference in the mirror. Madam Pomfrey had done a good job. The mask did however, have its uses. As he was now in the Ministry, he had chosen to wear it, to hide who he really was. He didn't want even more people to stare or take more aggressive action against him. He was only here with Rose, for her trial, but since only one family member could accompany 'the defendant', he had had to stay outside, so he was now watching the Minister's Press Conference with interest. With all the photographers and journalists around, he had no desire to be recognised. The mask earned him a few glances, but nothing hostile. He did have one other reason for wearing it: It also covered the hair he had lost, which was still growing back, but was much shorter than the rest of his hair. Growing hair with spells was simple enough and fast - he had once made Neville's sideburns grow until they reached his belt - but that was only a temporary spell. Getting real and permanent hair to grow over an area in which the hair follicles had been destroyed was much more time consuming. As such, he still had an area that looked like it had been shaved recently, so he had chosen to keep it hidden.

In front of him were five rows of chairs, each containing ten chairs, five on either side of an aisle. Around the back and sides, wizards and witches were setting up tripods ready for cameras. The table at the front was clothed in blue, with the Ministry's logo hanging on a backdrop behind the table. There were three seats behind the table and each of them had a plaque with a name on it in front of them. Harry could read the names from the back. Crouch, Dawlish and Bones. It had been over a week since the dirty bomb had detonated five floors below him. What he knew was sketchy, but he knew the gist of what was to come. Harry watched with interest. It was now the second week of November, and he wondered how much the Ministry had recovered in the week and a half since the bomb.

With a 'ping' the lift doors slid open at the end of the corridor. Crouch emerged, flanked by Amelia Bones and Dawlish. There were two Aurors behind him, dressed in their familiar red robes. The Minister and his escort walked swiftly from the lift towards the table set up for them. The audience rose as Crouch entered, presumably as a sign of respect, though possibly to get a better angle for a photograph. Cameras flashed in Crouch's face as he sat down at the table. Once he was seated, the audience sat down again, though most had their hands in the air, baying like jackals for a few scraps of information. Harry couldn't help but think back to his slander campaign at the hands of Fudge and the year of Rita Skeeter. Bitch. He could see her sitting amid the rabble of the press.

Crouch raised his hand for silence. The questions died down slowly and after nearly ten seconds it was quiet enough for Crouch to speak. Harry was glad no one was paying attention to him. He was only here while some idiotic bureaucrat official exonerated Rose from any assault on Lucius Malfoy. His father and Rose were over at the new Auror Complex, so while they were in an office signing parchments, Harry had opted to come and watch the proceedings.

"Ladies and gentlemen," began Crouch. "First off, I have a statement. Once I have finished I will open up the floor to questions. If these questions do not come in a calm and orderly fashion, I will not hesitate to leave, so please be calm and professional. Now, I have in my hand a report published this morning regarding the attack on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement two weeks ago. Some details are obviously of a sensitive nature, but copies of the report will be made public tomorrow and you shall all receive a copy. For now, allow me to sum up the key points.

"At half past nine on Halloween, a Muggle-built device was detonated within the Auror division five floors beneath where we now stand. I would like to point out that no one here or anywhere else in the building is at risk. Due to the quick thinking and professionalism of the Aurors, the contamination caused by the device has been limited to one floor. While the floor in question is uninhabitable for a great many years, the rest of the Ministry remains unaffected. To make sure, radiation checks are carried out daily; so far, there have been no leaks. Rest assured that you are all perfectly safe.

"The bomb in question is Muggle in origin and was stolen by Lord…well…you know who I mean. It was delivered by Dolores Umbridge, my former senior undersecretary. It is believed that she was operating under the affects of the Imperius Curse, which as you all know, is an Unforgivable. Unable to stop herself, she became a suicide bomber and died in the explosion. Dolores Umbridge was a patriot; she did a world of good for her country and will be greatly missed." Harry managed not to snort from the back of the room. He understood the politics of making her out to be a martyr, but he didn't like it. He had a deep-seated hatred for that woman, and with good reason. It was true - politics was an ugly business.

"I am aware," continued Crouch, "that rumours are circulating that the Ministry is now helpless. That is one hundred percent false. Construction has already begun on the new Auror Complex. It is being built with all haste, and under maximum security. We are using every ward in the book to make sure this can never happen again. The new Complex should be open within another week. This probably sets a speed record for the construction of a building, but the haste is much needed. A team of three hundred builders are working around the clock on the Complex; it comes complete with state-of-the-art equipment for monitoring dark magic, enough holding cells to rival Azkaban, a medical centre on par with St Mungo's, as well as a built-in training centre and gymnasium. For years the Aurors have wanted a more modern facility and now they have one. My only regret it that it had to happen under these circumstances. The rumours that are running wild at the moment have inspired a wave of violence as is clear by the reports in the Daily Prophet. We ask all members of the public to stay in their homes, to travel in groups and avoid leaving their houses after dark. The Ministry's ability to monitor Apparation and dark magic will be back on-line within days. In the meantime, please remain vigilant. Until such time as the Complex comes on line, Aurors will be on patrol in major public locations to preserve the peace. The telephone number that was given out for the public to contact the Aurors is still functioning, and will continue to do so, until the Auror Complex comes on line. Once again, I urge all citizens to remain calm and bear with us through this turbulent time. Thank you - any questions?"

Of course there were questions. Harry groaned inwardly as the jackals began baying once again. They seemed to surge forward, practically crushing those at the front. Harry could see Crouch's distaste for the media, but he was well aware of the need for them. Politicians were perfectly two faced. Harry wasn't. He wore his distaste on his sleeves. Crouch pointed to one woman in the rabble.

"Madeline Cullen, Scot's Wizard," she said in a heavily accented voice. "Rumour has being flying around that this was an orchestrated attack by the Muggle government against our way of life. Do you have any comment on this, Minister?" Harry felt a flicker of anger. He knew perfectly well that this was nothing to do with the Muggle government. Voldemort obviously wanted it to look like it was. The Muggles had been leaning heavily on Crouch before the weapon was taken. The Order had assumed that Voldemort was trying to start a confrontation with them by infuriating them. He seemed to be doing the same here, by spreading discourse through the community.

"There is no truth to those claims," said Crouch firmly. "The device was manufactured by Muggles, but that is where their involvement ended. They are so destructive that they are kept behind the highest levels of security. Over twenty Muggle Marines died to protect the bomb. Sadly, they were overpowered by You-Know-Who's forces, and he escaped. The Muggle government did everything they could to track it down. It was a joint effort between them and us. There was even a Muggle scientist, Christine Gaynes, who helped us track down and confine the bomb to a single area. Without her help, the entire Ministry would have been destroyed and the loss of life would have been astronomical. She saved a lot of lives. Muggles are not to blame here, only You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters. These recent attacks are unprovoked and illegal. It had been decided that the Ministry will no longer use its influence to protect members of the Magical community caught assaulting Muggles. Those caught will face six months in a Muggle jail, with no protection from the Ministry. Anyone caught by Magical authorities will spend three months in Azkaban. These measures may seem extreme, but I intend to protect the Muggle and Magical communities as best I can. That is what you elected me for, and that it what I will do. These criminals who think Muggle baiting and assault are fun and games will not stop me from keeping the peace. They forfeit the right of our protection as soon as they chose to engage in criminal activity."

Harry thought about it, it seemed fair; Criminals should face the consequences of getting caught. Assault was not fun. Dudley was like that, a disgusting slob and a moronic bully. He deserved to be locked up. He forfeited the right of freedom when he beat up ten-year-olds. Personally, Harry would like to see him caught by the Magical Authorities. That would scare him senseless, after his previous encounters with Wizards. Harry hoped that a Muggle jail would scare a wizard in much the same way. That might put an end to the ongoing violence. With no way to Apparate in or out, no wand and after being checked by an Auror, there would be no escape. Without their wand, most wizards were nothing. As for his stance on Muggles, Harry thought Crouch was right to be honest, and to omit the facts he left out. Exaggerating Christine's part was a good idea. She had been very helpful. Following the explosion, she had stayed at Hogwarts for three days while her minor burns healed. Magical remedies work much slower on Muggles, as they cannot react with the Magic in the body as they do with wizards. After that she was returned to Cambridge. Harry managed to convince Dumbledore not to Obliviate her. To the best of Harry's knowledge, she was still working in the Physics department, though she had announced her intention to take a part-time degree in Occult Studies. Personally, Harry thought she should come to Hogwarts to teach Muggle Studies or at least the basics of science and maths to Purebloods. But then again, he didn't want to put her in the path of the storm. Meanwhile, Crouch had picked another person to ask a question. Harry cringed as he saw who it was.

"Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet," she said calmly. "Minister, you mentioned that a Muggle was involved in the Ministry's search. I can appreciate you bending the rules to get the job done - it was an emergency, after all. However I have heard a rumour that Dr Gaynes was not the only civilian you brought in. There is rumour of Harry Potter's involvement, though no comment has been made about which side he worked for. Could you please elaborate?" Does this woman have it in for me? wondered Harry. Did she exist solely to slander him? She even led the Minister with the question, trying to get him to say that Harry was evil. Was she planning a big 'I told you so' story about his return to darkness? Shite! Just as Harry was beginning to be accepted. He really hated that woman.

"It is true that Mr Potter was involved in the attack," said Crouch. There was a gasp around the room, and the sound of scratching quills on parchment. Harry felt himself begin to blush. He hoped Crouch would not get him to give a speech. Harry was definitely not in the mood for it right now. Luckily, the Minister made no move to do so, but instead went straight into the cover story that had been arranged. "I felt Harry Potter's familiarity with the criminal underworld might have been an advantage, so I brought him in to advise. As his past shows us, he is more of a doer than a talker. Might I remind you all that Mr Potter is under twenty-four hour surveillance, and his wand is capped so that we know every spell he utters as well as its location. At no time was the public in any danger. However, these security measures proved unnecessary. Mr Potter travelled to Cambridge to recruit Dr Gaynes. It was a joint effort between the two of them that discovered the target of the bomb. Between them they saved many lives, and even attempted to disarm the bomb right up until ten seconds before it went off. I have also heard that Mr Potter himself was gravely injured in the attempt and that there is a chance he will be permanently disfigured; his heart stopped temporarily, however, he is now alive and well. You call him the Dark Knight, but he came selflessly to our rescue in our hour of need. I call him the White Knight. I would like to extend a personal thanks to Mr Potter, wherever he is."

Harry blushed slightly at the White Knight comment. He was hardly the romantic ideal of a knight in shining armour. Harry couldn't tell if Crouch had actually noticed him or not, but was grateful to him for not dragging him into this. His thanks were noted. At the front, Crouch picked another reporter to ask a question.

"Gloria Herringford, Magical Times," said a short woman with a ridiculous blonde perm that would have looked disastrous even in the eighties. "Even with the new Auror Complex complete, do you not feel that too much has been lost, not only in terms of records and equipment, but with morale as well? Some things are irreplaceable, do you not agree?"

"There is an element of truth to your words," conceded Crouch. Crouch was more honest than Fudge, Harry noticed, but he wasn't convinced that honesty with regard to weakness was a good idea. "Many records were destroyed or contaminated when the bomb went off. However, Auror recruitment is at the highest point it has been in nearly five years. Equipment can and is being replaced. As for morale, I view this atrocity as a calling. It goes to show that these people who allegedly fight for the glorification of wizard kind are nothing of the sort. They are terrorists, common criminals with no regard for life. This should be a calling to every free citizen in the country. Don't stand for this, be heard, show You-Know-Who that he cannot steal our way of life!" Harry thought that was quite inspiring, right up to the point where he called him You-Know-Who. A common criminal whose name he still feared to use. Not a good sign.

Instantly there were twenty hands in the air. Questions were being shouted out. Harry could see Crouch's frustration. The Minister did not hesitate; he rose to his feet.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I asked for the questions to be orderly. You have failed in this, so I am leaving now. Good day." With that, Crouch turned to his right and stepped down from the stage. The noise from the jackals only became louder. Crouch shot one final glare at them. As he did so, his eyes fell on Harry, sitting at the back. Harry pulled the mask aside, long enough for Crouch to see his face.

Crouch raised a hand and beckoned Harry over to him. Putting the mask back on, Harry crossed through the dispersing crowd quickly, keeping his head down to avoid recognition. He reached the Minister's side, but before he could say a word, the Minister held up a hand to silence him.

"Not here," he said simply. He led Harry into the lift and pressed the button to go down. The doors opened a few seconds later to reveal a huge room that stank of paint, solvents and God-knows what else. There were workmen in white overalls all over the room. Harry could see stairs going up to another level against one wall. There were corridors leading away from the main floor.

"Welcome to the Auror Complex," said Crouch softly.

It's got to be a speed record, thought Harry. The room was huge. How could they have built a building so fast? Even working around the clock, it was a magnificent accomplishment. He thought back to the Minister's speech. Arsenal, training facility, medi-centre, gym, enough cells to rival Azkaban. This was just what the Aurors needed.

"It should be ready soon," said Crouch. Dawlish and Bones stepped out into the new complex. "Some of the cells are already occupied. Fewer guards are needed, of course; with all the solvents in the air, the prisoners are as high as kites. The ventilation system hasn't been installed yet." Harry was about to point out that solvents abuse can kill, but he was sure Crouch would not lose a night's sleep if a Death Eater died because of it. Harry caught one last glimpse before the doors slid closed.

"I thought it was off site, somewhere secret," said Harry.

"It is," said Crouch. "The lift is fitted with a Portkey-style device that transports it all the way over here, over two hundred miles. This way, the button to the Aurors still works. As for the old Auror Division, it is completely sealed; lead has been plastered all over it. Even the lift shaft is sealed."

"Good," said Harry.

"You help was invaluable, Harry," said Crouch as the lift continued down. Harry noticed the use of his first name but did not comment on it. "How's it all going?"

"In what context?"

"School, family, all the things you couldn't do over the last year," said Crouch. Harry was naturally suspicious. Was he hunting for a confession? Or softening him up before asking for something? Crouch had invited him in and was being civil – he must want something.

"Fine," said Harry. "I am not in lessons, but I think I'm settling in fine." He couldn't really go into detail. Animagus training was off-the-record, so Crouch must never know. Not to mention that he was breaking every rule by being a Phoenix. Unspeakables would probably put him through all sorts of tests if they found out.

Just then the doors opened. Crouch stepped out, and Harry fell into step beside him. They walked to the end of the corridor and turned left. After about twenty feet there was a pair of double doors on the right wall, which slid open as Crouch approached. Harry followed him through the doors and into a large room that reflected the power of the office it housed. The ceiling was high and cavernous and Harry wouldn't be surprised if the room echoed. There were two rows of three desks, with a witch or wizard sitting at each of the six desks. Along the back was a row of filing cabinets above which were shelves filled with parchment and files. Halfway along the left wall a staircase that protruded out by about ten feet, allowing for a shallow climb up to a doorway made of glass. The bottom ten feet of the wall were just like the others, but from about ten feet up, the entire wall was made of glass. Harry could see another room through it. Artwork covered three of the walls. Harry did not consider himself an art buff, but he recognised a copy of the Mona Lisa, Monet's Water Lilies and what looked like a smaller representation of Michelangelo's David. These had to be copies. The real Mona Lisa was in the Louvre, wasn't it? There were other portraits he didn't recognise, but he imagined that if they were legitimate - and they appeared to be so - they would be worth one hell of a lot. The ceiling of the room was enchanted to show stars, much like Hogwarts. A huge ornate chandelier that hung from the ceiling seemed to be made of over one thousand diamonds – a priceless antique. Beneath it, the secretaries stood as the Minister entered. What did one man need six secretaries for? Harry shrugged the question off. He glanced around the Minister's own office. He wondered how many people had entered this room. Security was pretty tight these days.

Harry followed the Minister into the room. He quickly turned left and headed to the metal stairs that came out of the left-hand wall. Crouch didn't spare a sideways glance at any of the secretaries, except to bark at the last one on the left, a young witch with red hair and a purple silk scarf, demanding tea.

Harry followed Crouch up the stairs. The Minister pushed open the glass door and marched through. Harry was a step behind and found himself looking into what had to be Crouch's office. It was a large room, but not cavernous. The wall through which he had come was made entirely of glass. Through it, the Minister and Harry could see the goings on below. Crouch probably was not one to tolerate slacking and time wasting. However, Harry still couldn't comprehend why he needed six secretaries.

The carpet was thick and a pale cream colour. The Minister made no sound as he crossed to his large desk. There were several piles of parchment, an oil lamp, some quills and ink and a few ornaments on Crouch's desk, but it seemed very organised. The remaining three walls that were not glass were painted white. There was an old record player on a black cabinet to Harry's left. Above it was a landscape picture that reminded Harry of Aunt Marge's farm in Devon. To his right were two large leather sofas with a matching armchair gathered around a glass-topped coffee table. Behind the desk at the back were bookshelves filled with books and ornaments. There was also what Harry was sure was a mini-fridge, and judging by the whisky tumblers on the top, it housed a variety of alcohol. Since Crouch had demanded tea, Harry was sure he was not going to get any booze today.

Crouch dropped the pile of parchment onto his desk and then marched over to the sofas. He sat on one and gestured for Harry to sit on the other. Harry dropped onto the sofa in the Minister of Magic's boudoir.

"What do you think?" asked Crouch, gesturing to the room.

"Impressive," said Harry. "A little up-market compared to what I'm used to." Just then there was a sharp knock on the door. Knocking on glass gave a much colder, clinical sound than knocking on a wooden door. Something seemed distinctly un-homely about it to Harry. The red-haired witch entered carrying a tray with a teapot, two cups, saucers, and spoons, a bowl of sugar cubes, a jug of milk and a plate of biscuits.

Crouch did the honours and soon Harry was happily sipping away on a cup of tea. Crouch was doing the same opposite him.

"So, Harry," said Crouch, leaning back on the sofa. "As I said outside, I would like to offer my personal thanks for helping us contain the destruction the bomb could have potentially caused." Harry nodded. "I was watching you during the Press-Conference. I could see disapproval in your eyes for some of it." Harry hadn't been aware he had been spotted, nor how Crouch could see his eyes at that distance through a mask, but he didn't argue.

"It's nothing personal, Minister," said Harry. "It's politics. I don't understand it all, but I understand the reason for it."

"Only half the war is fought by soldiers," said Crouch. "The other half by politicians. We must win the hearts and minds of people."

"My uncle once said that a politician was someone who was willing you give your life for his country," said Harry. "Again, I understand the need for politics, but I don't like it."

"It is an ugly business," conceded Crouch. "But life is simpler for a soldier. We give him a gun and tell him whom to shoot. All he has to do is pull the trigger."

"And risk his life for it," objected Harry.

"Yes," admitted Crouch. "But our war is not without risks."

"There's a difference between risking one's job and popularity, and risking one's life and torture if you're caught." Crouch nodded again, but Harry could see that Crouch was becoming annoyed, so he decided not to argue further.

"We have to keep people believing in the cause. To do so, we must do some pretty awful things. Take Dolores Umbridge, for instance. You accused her of being a Death Eater at your trial. Albus Dumbledore then wanted her arrested to advance the war effort, but I knew, as a politician, that the scandal created by a Death Eater penetrating the Minister of Magic's office would break what little respect the Ministry has left. The sheer implication that we are helpless would be disastrous; people would join You-Know-Who out of fear. So I allowed her to stay in place. We fed her some false information. Once she was dead, I had to keep up the pretence by telling the world that she was a martyr. It really eats me up inside, calling scum like her a hero, but it has to be done, to prevent panic. A person is smart, but people are dumb. Management training calls it 'Group Think'."

"I know the feeling," said Harry, thinking back to the hate mail he and Hermione had gotten during his fourth year. People by-and-large were stupid and tended to believe whatever they read. Scandal was not about whether the rumours were true or not, but what the very implication could do to the reputations of those involved. Facts were set aside for irrational opinions and crappy journalism. Fiction was more fun than fact, and the tabloids loved to stir up trouble.

"So you played up the capabilities of the Aurors, to keep moral high?" asked Harry.

"Partially," said Crouch, sipping his tea. "The new Complex will be up soon. It is well equipped and the recruitment is on the rise. However, records were destroyed in the attack. Much of our information about criminals is lost, everything from last known-address to criminal records are now incinerated. We have to compile these records all over again. Already with the top profile fugitives, we have had the case officer recall what he can from memory, but we have lost twenty years of intelligence. If this war comes down to who knows what about whom, we've already lost."

"Obviously, you can't go out there and say that," said Harry, more to himself than to Crouch. "Realistically, how effective can the Aurors be now?"

"Variable," said Crouch, frustration clear. "Investigative powers are limited because many of our files were destroyed. The Archives are being used to reassemble some files, along with Azkaban's records for former inmates, but not all of them have copies in the archives, and it all takes time. Now we are dealing with the aftermath. We are defending against attacks rather than preventing them. We are hunting the effects, not the cause, because our investigative powers are failing. It doesn't help that these animals are taking it on themselves to attack Muggles."

"How much of what I've read in the Prophet is accurate?" asked Harry. He had read the reports about attacks on Muggles by wizards with no criminal records.

"It's worse than that," said Crouch. "It's not even the Death Eaters; they have been quiet since the bomb. How can we go about fighting them when the rest of the country, those we are trying to protect, are acting like Death Eaters? These attacks are getting out of hand. Every gang in the country is taking it upon themselves to wage a war on Muggles. In London, West End gangs have killed twelve Muggles this week alone and Merlin knows how many assaults they've orchestrated. It's not only them; groups of drunk wizards seem to find it amusing, students especially. Magical students at Muggle Universities are out of control. Students are supposed to steal road-signs and traffic cones, wake up with hangovers in bushes somewhere. That is the stereotype. Not blowing up cars, vanishing clothes and that kind of thing. Muggle baiting used to be relatively easy to cope with. Regurgitating toilets is one thing, but the recent stuff…Arthur Weasley can't cope. I have given him a team of twenty Aurors and still they are overrun."

Harry sat in silence, assimilating the information. It was going to get worse. He couldn't think of anything to do. Couldn't people just be helpful and leave it to law enforcement to get them through? Could they not see how much trouble this caused? The Aurors couldn't fight Voldemort if all their attention was on these common criminals. Regurgitating toilets was Muggle baiting, murder was Voldemort's fun and game, but the rest of the population seemed to have found some middle ground. According to the Prophet, every gang in Knockturn Alley, every group of wizards out on the piss seemed to end up in a confrontation with Muggles. Assaults, destruction of property, turning lawns orange with a few expletives written on in blue seemed to be quite popular, according to the Prophet. In reality it was much worse.

"Muggles and Wizards live in such close proximity," said Crouch, shaking his head. "This kind of hatred could easily start a riot. Walking among those you believe to have attacked you is not easy."

"What is being done?" asked Harry. "I heard about leaving them to Muggle jails, but what is the Ministry doing to catch people and maintain order?"

"The first day after the attack, when the monitoring equipment was lost," began Crouch, "we put a telephone number in the Prophet that links straight to the Aurors. Not everyone knew how to use a telephone, so it was accompanied by a guide. Anyone who witnesses an attack can report it straight to us. We are getting over one hundred and fifty calls daily. It seems that wizards and witches have taken it on themselves to strike out at Muggles. Prank-callers are sending Aurors all over the country. We are being run off our feet. If this doesn't stop soon, the Aurors are going to collapse. When we show up, they Disapparate, and we can no longer track them. Portkeys are the same. Those we catch get a slap on the wrist and then are back on the street in forty-eight hours."

The only thing Harry could think of was a Nazi-style tactic of shooting on sight. A no-tolerance policy might help - increasing penalties and putting Aurors on street corners to preserve the peace. The trouble was that that plan sacrificed the very freedom they were trying to protect. It could even make Voldemort look like a way out to people sick of this violence. Was that what he wanted? There was no reasonable way out of this, not until the Auror Complex came on-line.

"And that's just the half of it," said Crouch bitterly. "Downing Street are seriously pissed. First we tell them there is this terrorist at large. We fail to capture him after twenty years. He kills and we seem to be doing nothing. They do not understand his power, influence or how our world works. They think he can be caught by any old person, and that we are incompetent. They don't think much of us. Then he goes and defeats all their security and makes off with a nuclear bomb. Suddenly, our entire race is more dangerous than they realised. We fail again and a nuclear bomb detonates on British soil. Naturally, it's all our fault; we raised him, and failed to stop him. We are pretty high on the Downing Street Shit-List."

"Surely they can see that…"

"That what?" asked Crouch. "They don't know the nature of magic, or how he can evade our searches and theirs. They think we should be able to stop him. A little hypocritical - they never caught Jack the Ripper, we did. We caught the Yorkshire Ripper in the eighties and let them take the credit, and now we are incompetent. Major doesn't understand us. He wants this threat taken care of, and since he doesn't know how we work, he assumes we are inept. Now of course, we are under more strain."

"Why?"

"All these attacks," said Crouch. "When they started, we went around and used memory charms. As the numbers grew, we could no longer continue this. We had to admit we have a problem to Downing Street. It is human nature to fear what we do not understand. Naturally, this wave of violence was racially based, so Major interpreted this as our community rising up against his. We tried to smooth it over, but every attack fuels more hatred in the government for us. They want this to stop or they will respond with lethal force. Then all hell will break loose and we will have a full-scale war on our hands. We originally pulled strings to get those who got caught out of jail to face Ministry justice. All Muggle jails and police stations are warded to prevent magic and break-outs. Now we just leave them there. Hopefully, when we publish stories about Muggle jails - with a few embellishments - in the Prophet, they will die down."

"What stories? What embellishments?"

"Advice not to drop the soap," said Crouch calmly, sipping his tea. Harry smirked to himself. Shock tactics would hopefully work. Better than his Nazi-style idea, but if it failed, what other option did they have? They were nearing the brink of war. The time for half-measures was over.

"The era of the diplomat is fast dwindling," said Crouch. "Soon, I fear we may end up with violence."

"But to train the Aurors to take on Muggle weapons…" began Harry.

"Would be seen as an act of war by the Muggles," continued Crouch. "And the media would circulate rumours of a coming war and even though that is not our intent, that is what we would have. Muggles outnumber us fifty-to-one, and their technology is more advanced than many wizards realise." Harry was certain he detected something even remorseful about that last comment, but he held his tongue.

"What use is a Protego Shield against a Harrier Jump Jet and Sidewinder missiles?" asked Crouch. "We don't have Anti-tank spells."

Though we could lift and throw them around, thought Harry. Not that he had even levitated anything that large before. And vanish or destroy their guns, transfigure them into carrots or something. Could it really come to that? Thousands, maybe millions would die. That war was unthinkable. Surely Voldemort was mad enough to start it?

"Would Aurors have a chance against the SAS?" asked Harry.

"I couldn't say," said Crouch. "Shields can stop solid objects, but you get no warning with a gun. The bullet has struck before you hear the bang. At least with a spell you can hear the incantation and see it coming. We used to run a training scheme with the SBS."

"Special Boat Service?" asked Harry.

"Yes," confirmed Crouch. "The SAS's even more secret sister organisation."

"Who's better?" asked Harry.

"They are essentially the same thing, just different governing body," said Crouch. "The army owns the SAS, the Navy owns the marines and hence the SBS. The SAS are more famous after that thing with the Iranian Embassy in nineteen-eighty, but the SBS go through the SAS training and selection and then do a hell of a lot of canoeing, diving and stuff like that as well. Anyhow, this is irrelevant. The point is that we used to train with them on assaults on buildings, close protection, hand-to-hand combat, explosives, surveillance and all manners of espionage and combat. That was part of how specialist the Aurors are. Once You-Know-Who started creating havoc, Downing Street decided that we were too much of a risk to continue being trained by their best Special Forces. I visited their base in Poole at the time they were training the Aurors. Those guys are serious. They scared the hell out of me."

"So bottom line," concluded Harry, "is that we need to stop Voldemort, and put an end to these muggings, before the Muggles put an end to all of us."

"Delicately put," said Crouch.

"Minister," said Harry. "I appreciate you being frank with me, but I do not believe you called me down here just to tell me all this."

"True," said Crouch. Harry saw him give the faintest trace of a smile. "We are at such a point that if we do not take extreme action, we will all suffer. The Ministry is full of spies and now with all this, we are under too much pressure from inside and from out. I have a plan to remedy this, but that is in the future. Right now, we need to use every resource available."

"What's the point?"

"The point is that I have removed the cap from your wand," said Crouch. "You are no longer under constant surveillance."

"What made you change your mind?"

"I spoke to Dumbledore," said Crouch. "He assured me you were on board. He also informed me that you were taking an interest in teaching duelling at Hogwarts."

"Yes I am," said Harry. "As long as Snape manages not to veto the club."

"I am giving you full Ministry backing," said Crouch. "Off the record, of course. Money, resources and even time with Mad-Eye if you need it."

"You want me to build you an army?" asked Harry, reading between the lines. "The idea is for them to defend themselves, not to fight a war for you." He remembered he had had to justify this to himself in much the same way. He too had considered making them soldiers.

"I want you to put enough duelling skills into the upper years to cut down on Auror training time," said Crouch. "Also, it will enable people to fight off attackers, help stranded Muggles and may even inspire hope amongst our youth. Now, there are obviously rules, Harry. No Dark Arts, for one."

"Any Dark Arts in front of me and I will personally make sure that person finds their way to the showers at HM Prison Dartmoor with a slippery block of soap," said Harry.

"Good," said Crouch. "They are our future, so let's make it a good one."

"Very poetic," said Harry. "Thanks for the tea, but I must be going. My sister's trial should have finished by now."

"Trial?" asked Crouch.

"Malfoy is filing for assault charges," said Harry. "I hit him when I was on the train. Dumbledore modified his memory to stop him from telling Voldemort I had switched sides. Officially, he blames Rose for his injuries."

"And unofficially?"

"He wanted Rose in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when the bomb went off," said Harry. "Since she survived, he now has to sit through a trial he has no hope of winning, even with his gold."

"Are you positive that he is a Death Eater?" asked Crouch.

"Yes," said Harry. "But we can't pull him."

"Why not?" asked Crouch, the vein on his temple throbbing.

"If you do, two things may happen," said Harry. "First option: Voldemort will protect him, and since he controls the Wizengamot, Malfoy would walk and then probably sue the Ministry for millions. Option two: Malfoy would confess everything. He would go to Azkaban for maybe a week before Voldemort breaks him out. In addition, his confession would include bribing all departments of the Ministry, recruiting spies in the Ministry and Hogwarts' board of directors: the scandal would destroy everyone. I hate letting him remain out there, but we have no choice, yet."

"I thought you didn't understand politics," said Crouch. "You have a very shrewd mind for this kind of thing."

"I didn't work this out," said Harry. "I was angry when Rose almost died and I ranted to my dad. It was he who explained why we can't arrest Malfoy yet."

"I must give him a pay rise," said Crouch thoughtfully. "I really must go through the Aurors, find a team of loyal, elite Aurors. Someone I can trust…maybe…never mind. I will make sure no legal reprimands come to your sister, Harry."

Harry thanked the Minister and drained the last of his tea.

"Good luck, Harry," said Crouch as Harry opened the glass door. Harry debated whether or not to tell him about his son. After a second's pause, he decided against it. Angering him when he was being helpful was not going to help. For now, let the Order handle Crouch's son. Harry nodded and quickly made his way back up to the entrance hall where Rose and his father were waiting.

"Where have you been?" asked Rose as soon as she saw him.

"Tea with the Minister," said Harry. "How about you? How'd it go?"

"Great," said Rose. "Ginny, Hermione and me had to testify. Malfoy didn't have a single witness. He looked fit to burst. He never thought he'd have to sit through it - he hadn't prepared anything. Even his wife, a QC could do nothing. He even ended up having to pay a two hundred galleon fine for wasting Wizengamot time."

Harry smirked slightly to himself as they headed for the fireplace. After James had gone though, Rose leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"Party, Gryffindor common room, eight o'clock, you'll regret it if you don't show!" she whispered. She shot Harry a devious glance before stepping into the fire.

-----

What the hell are you doing, Harry? he asked himself as he stood before the Fat Lady. Through the wall he could hear the music of the party, presumably in full swing. Knowing Gryffindor as he did, he knew that Seamus would be all over the shop, Dean would be showing off his 'moves', Ron would be arguing with Hermione and Ginny would be chatting amiably with her year-mates. Then again, since this was a whole different universe, he could be way off. Except for Seamus - he was definitely going to be smacked off his tits.

It was simple. All he had to do was give her the password; she would swing open and he would be in. Was it so hard? No. So why did he hesitate? He did want to see them all again, especially Neville. He had never gotten around to giving Frank the present he had prepared. He had worked so hard on it, but suddenly in light of the nuclear threat, it had slipped his mind. He had not seen Frank since.

Harry could picture his friends' faces in his mind. He wanted to see them again, but for some bizarre reason he felt so scared. Part of him wanted to hide from them. Seeing them again only made him feel homesick. Although he had everything he wanted here, (short of Voldemort being six feet under), he did not truly belong here. The people on the other side of the door were not his real friends. They were shadows of their real selves, the same only in appearance. Harry had befriended Ginny again but she was the only one. He cared about Rose, but as for the rest of them…he knew he wouldn't know them. They were different people, and to top that, they all thought he was a monster. They thought he was a killer. They wouldn't come near him; every conversation would be awkward. He knew what would happen when he walked through the door. Everyone would stop as they noticed him. He would be like an exhibition. Everyone would pause and stare, eyes wide with fear and those with heart would have hands on wands. He would be as hated as had been when he emerged into the Great Hall. Hannah was not the only one with a grudge against him. Surely it would be better for Rose, for the others, for the whole party that he not attend? He would spoil the mood; rain on her parade, as it were. What right did he have to ruin it for her?

Harry turned on his heel, and headed back up towards the Staff Accommodation wing. He had gone three paces when something stopped him. This was his sister he was talking about. She was family. Family were supposed to stick together. He was expected to be there. It would break her heart if he did not turn up. It wasn't hard; all he had to do was take the first step and then be himself. A chill ran down his spine. Harry realised that he was sweating beneath his jumper. Again he had gone for the Muggle look with black trousers and a dark blue woolly jumper over a black t-shirt, and his mask firmly in place. He felt naked without it. It was like a sanctuary for him. No one could see through it; he was safe inside. Maybe it would be better for him to have left it at home, but firstly his hair was still not back to normal and secondly he was still unhappy to show the other Harry's face. He was completely unarmed, leaving even his wand in the Potions Dungeon. Following the bomb blast and his magical recovery, Harry had moved from the Room of Requirement to his mother's rooms in the Staff Quarters. He had been given a room that was essentially an annex to hers. It had been decided by Dumbledore that he should stay with her. Harry sensed Flamel's hand in the machine, but made no comment nor complaint in it. He would rather stay there than at Gryffindor Tower for the very reason he was now struggling to step into the Tower.

Totally unarmed, unprotected and at the mercy of those inside, Harry stood before the Fat Lady.

Do it now, Harry, before you chicken out. Don't hesitate. Do it!

"Lionheart," said Harry, his voice a hoarse whisper. As the Fat Lady swung open, Harry's legs felt like jelly. They seemed to resist his will to move. He walked shakily forward, emerging into the room. As expected, the party was in full swing. A banner reading 'Congratulations, Rose' was hanging on the far wall, with the letters flashing different colours every few seconds. The drinks were running free. Pumpkin juice was available, but Harry got the impression from some of the dancing, people sitting around the edges of the room and the empty Butterbeer bottles that there was more on offer. He could see several bottles of other spirits on a table near the back. Sure enough, Seamus was in the vicinity of the alcohol. Some people were eating biscuits, cakes and other snacks. Presumably, someone had paid a visit to the kitchen. The Wireless was blasting out some cheesy old track to which some idiot in the fourth year was attempting to break-dance to.

Harry only had the chance to observe for four seconds before the inevitable happened. Someone, he wasn't entirely sure who, spotted him. Immediately, those around them noticed. It spread over the room, and within another two seconds, the room was silent except for the wireless, which soon joined the room.

Every eye was on Harry, just as he had expected. No one moved a muscle. His mask gave him a haunted appearance, yet it also protected him, if only in his mind. His cracked sanity was grateful for a place to hide.

I knew this would happen, Harry cursed to himself. Why the hell did I actually turn up? What was I thinking?

He could feel the blood flowing to his cheeks as he stood in the doorway. He knew he should say something, but words escaped him. He opened his mouth but then quickly closed it. Stammering 'err' over and over like a gaping fish was not constructive.

"Hi," he said, realising immediately after how stupid it sounded. They weren't expecting Shakespeare, but he could have done a little better than that. Oh, God, why did I come, he wondered. This was just what he was afraid of. He was the centre of attention, not Rose - and it was her do.

"You came!" said a voice to his right. Harry turned to see Rose, who had been talking to another Gryffindor in her year.

"Apparently, I'd 'regret it for the rest of my days' if I didn't, according to a certain young lady who shall remain nameless."

"I never dreamed you'd actually show," she said, putting her cup down.

"I nearly didn't," conceded Harry. "Scared to show my face." He gestured to the mask.

"Do you still need that bloody thing?" asked Ginny.

"Apparently," lied Harry. "According to she-who-must-be-obeyed. That and a month of rest, to which I told her to do something I would never repeat in front of Professor McGonagall." There was a murmur of laughter. He didn't know why he decided to lie. Maybe he was scared – more scared of her than he was of Voldemort. Maybe he just didn't want to show his face in its current state, and this was a means to an end. He was trying to be honest with his family, but he found lying so easy - maybe it was Flamel's training. The world seemed so many shades of grey when the Light Side taught him to deceive.

"Well don't just stand there, idiot child," said Rose, "get a drink and join the party." She grabbed him by the collar and led him to where the drinks were being poured. As he passed, the noise began to rise as groups began to speak again, albeit in much quieter voices.

"What do you want?" asked Seamus cautiously.

"Anything non-alcoholic?" asked Harry.

"You're not t-total, are you?" asked Seamus, in a tone that suggested Harry had just blasphemed.

"No, but I don't think you'd like me when I'm drunk," said Harry, smiling at the Irishman's jovial persona. Maybe he wasn't so different. "Someone might get hurt."

"Going to be moving back in any time soon?" asked Seamus, pouring him a drink.

"Not that I'm aware of," said Harry. "Have you really missed me that much?" Seamus gave him a wry smile. Harry was tempted to add 'didn't think so' but held his tongue. He took the drink and sniffed it. It didn't smell alcoholic, but he didn't trust Seamus. "What is it?"

"Verailia Sap Spritzer," said Seamus. "No alcohol, but high in caffeine." Harry sipped the drink. It was cold, fizzy, but sweet and tasty. He thanked Seamus, then turned and glanced around the room. He saw old friends, new faces and many more besides. He easily spotted the new first years he had never met before. They were keeping much to themselves with their drinks, which Harry hoped Seamus had been sensible when he had poured. The sixth years were dotted around the room talking to various groups. Those he assumed to be the Quidditch team were together, Katie Bell the supposed captain. She was the only surviving member of the team he had started with. It would be the end of an era when she left and Harry would be alone. After he left, who would take over? Sloper, Kirke or whoever else the captain in his world, probably Katie being the eldest, had chosen. Of course, the question hinged on him getting back in a fit state to play Quidditch to a world that an opponent-less Voldemort had not yet taken over.

"Reminiscing?" asked a familiar voice. Hermione was standing next to him. His mind had been so far away he had never heard her approach.

"After a fashion," said Harry, sipping his drink.

"How can someone without a memory reminisce?" she asked.

"I didn't say I'd lost every memory," said Harry quickly, clearing his mind. It was so much harder outside the silent surroundings of the Room of Requirement. Lying to his friend was also harder because of his desire to be honest. He fought not only to keep a straight face, but also to keep his mind clear. He doubted that she was a Legilimens, but he wouldn't put anything past her.

Concentrate, Harry! Yes/No answers, mind clear, no emotion, think of the waves.

"Dumbledore trusts you," said Hermione, softly. Harry nearly snorted into his drink with the irony, but managed to contain himself. "If I had not seen you fight a vampire for a few first-years and myself, that would not be enough. I want to believe you, Harry," she said turning to face him. "But you've got to tell me something. I know you are hiding something, and that you haven't lost your memory. You know who you really are. I just want to know why you swapped sides."

"Hermione," said Harry smiling slightly. "You really are the brightest witch of your age." She blushed slightly under the comment. "But you are also only seventeen. There is a war going on, and the knowledge you ask for will make you a target. If anyone found out that you knew, you'd be dead before you hit the ground. I know this is a tall order, but please stay away, for your own safety."

"You ask me to trust you blindly?" she asked.

"I know it's a lot to ask…" began Harry.

"It's too much," finished Hermione. Harry remembered the other Hermione and her disapproval of being asked for blind trust .She too had not liked it, but she had known him well enough to do it. This Hermione did not. He just hoped she didn't go running to Dumbledore and tell him. Who knows what the old man would do?

"Hermione," said Harry. "I want to tell you, I really do, but I can't. I hate who I am and what I've become, but I can't change it and right now a monster is what's needed. Please, don't press further. As soon as it's safe, you have my word, I will tell you." She gave him an appraising look, and he was fairly sure she didn't believe him, but she didn't push further. She excused herself and disappeared up the stairs.

"Have a seat," said a voice as a hand took Harry's. Rose guided him into an empty chair. She seemed determined to get him to interact with the Gryffindors. Harry found himself in a circle of chairs along with the Gryffindor Quidditch team and the rest of the fifth and sixth years. Ron was explaining to the others how his father had managed to secure tickets to England's World Cup qualifying match against the People's Republic of China. Apparently he had once again gotten top box tickets.

"Ever play Quidditch?" Ron asked Harry, taking him by surprise.

"I…er…yeah," stammered Harry. "Seems like an eternity ago."

"What position?"

"Seeker," said Harry.

"That's Ginny's position," said Ron, eying him with an unreadable expression.

"Good for her," said Harry, sipping his drink. It occurred to him how trivial Quidditch seemed compared to nuclear bombs, wars, and Dark Lords. Still it was little things like that that kept him sane, that kept him knowing who he really was. Were it not for the people sitting before him, he would have cracked, and with his new 'skills' would be no better than the bastard he had replaced.

"Not thinking about playing, then?" asked Ginny.

"I'm a tad busy at the moment," said Harry. "Things to do, people to see, et cetera."

"Coming to the game on Saturday?" asked Ron. "It's Slytherin."

"Why not?" said Harry. He realised it was really hot with all the people in the room. He put his drink down and pulled his jumper over his head, taking his t-shirt embarrassingly with it.

With the jumper over his eyes, he couldn't see anything, but he heard the wolf-whistle. Blushing furiously, Harry yanked the jumper off him; luckily it didn't dislodge the mask. He shot an annoyed glance at the others, but he had no idea who it had been.

Luckily, the conversation went on, without Harry having to endure too much. He still got a few glances sent his way, but on the whole, the others were beginning to warm him.

"Chocolate?" offered a girl standing behind him. She held out a small sweet, wrapped in foil. "Made them myself," she added. Politely, Harry took the chocolate from her.

"Sorry, you are?" he asked her.

"Romilda Vane," she replied with a smile. Harry had spoken to her a few times, but didn't really know her. He unwrapped the sweet, but then froze. He stared at the sweet. It appeared ordinary, but his Phoenix senses were going haywire. There was magic in these sweets that there shouldn't be. She had made them herself, so what had she done to them?

"On second thought," said Harry quickly, "I'll save it for later." She looked a tad put out, but not hostile. It was not a poison, but it was some sort of potion or spell. At first, Harry thought it was a WWW product, but she had claimed to have made them herself. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Come on, grumpy-pants," said Rose, taking Harry by the wrist and pulling him to his feet.

"What?" he protested, instantly.

"You are coming to dance," said Rose.

"Oh, hell no!" said Harry quickly, sitting back down. Rose shot him an irritated glare and grabbed his wrist again. Ginny was sniggering behind Rose, and the others seemed to be giving him amused stares. The Dark Knight dancing? He hoped Colin didn't have his camera handy. He would so regret it in the morning.

"Harry," said Rose exasperatedly. "Get your arse up now, and boogie with me."

"Absolutely not," said Harry. "I look like a bloody frog in a blender." He was blushing furiously, but there was no way he was dancing. He had made an arse of himself at the Yule Ball and had not intention to repeat it. He considered getting drunk and then doing it, but he didn't trust himself to drink, in case he snapped at someone.

"Now worse than Ron," said Rose. Harry defiantly shook his head. "Whose party is this?" she asked, giving him a glare to rival that of her mother. Suddenly two arms slipped under his and across his chest. Seamus was standing over the back of the chair, his arms around Harry.

"Come on, big guy," he said in a slurred voice. "I'll put on Night Fever."

Bollocks, thought Harry as Seamus and Rose literally dragged him to where they were dancing. It might not have been so bad if everyone hadn't stopped and stared.

The party went on for another two hours, and Harry felt as he left that evening that things had taken a step in the right direction. Aside from the Vane girl trying to slip him a potion, and his appalling attempt at Night fever, followed by Rose's attempt to teach him the Macarena, the evening had passed well. Harry had spoken to all his old friends, even Ron, thought Ron was more hostile here. As he made his way back home, he was sure he had made the right decision to attend.

-----

From the Daily Prophet…

WAVE OF VIOLENCE SWEEPS COUNTRY!

Following the detonation of a Muggle-built bomb in the Auror Division two days ago, a wave of anti-Muggle violence has spread across the country like a plague with the Areas worst affected by the violence being the big cities. These vigilante assaults are attended by Aurors, leaving the Ministry of Magic's Law Enforcement Department under a lot of strain.

"These attacks are unacceptable," said Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Law Enforcement. "The attack on the Ministry had nothing to do with Muggles. These common criminals are not helping. Aurors are now under instructions to treat all attackers as Death Eaters. Assault is a crime, and we will not distinguish between Muggle baiting and a full-out attack. These thugs may think they are helping, but they are driving a wedge between our community and the Muggles. They are doing exactly what You-Know-Who wants them to do. The sooner people realise this and return to their homes, the sooner this war can be won."

With the Aurors effectively crippled, it seems that many of our community have started taking liberties. Assaults are becoming more common, and both the Aurors and the Police are struggling to cope. Citizens are now scared to leave the house, fearing an attack. The Ministry have issued a statement, pleading with the community to return to their homes and to remain calm, but is this enough? The violence has increased daily since the attack on the Ministry, and with the Aurors incapable of detecting illegal magic, only a handful of arrests have been made. With the public under constant watch, and with gangs taking up all the Auror's time, what is You-Know-Who up to? The Aurors can no longer monitor him and all resources that should be trying to stop him are being used on the thugs who think they have the right to attack Muggles left, right and centre. The Ministry is stretched as it is, and it may only be a matter of time before the whole government collapses and the country plunges in anarchy.

-----

The Defence Against the Dark Arts room was almost full when Harry arrived the following Friday. He had just come from an Animagus lesson with McGonagall in which he had been working on changing arms into wings and feet into claws. His limbs ached as he hobbled into the room. He felt stiff all over, and his mind was still on wings and claws.

Silence fell over the room as he entered. No longer wearing the mask, Harry's face was enough to silence the class. His hair was back to normal and no one could ever tell he had been burned. Everyone sat in silence, staring. It seemed he had much the same effect on a class as Snape himself. His attendance at Rose's party had boosted his standings, but he was still far from welcome in the eyes of most. The class was sixth years, so he recognised all the faces. The Slytherins were in a group towards the front-left of the room, with the Gryffindors towards the back and the right, presumably to get as far away from Snape as was possible in this room. Hermione was the only exception to this rule, sitting as a lone Gryffindor at the front on the right, away from the Slytherins and accompanied by the Ravenclaws, which made sense when Harry thought about it.

The class gazed expectantly at him, as if he was teaching the class. How ironic, he thought. If this lesson isn't up to scratch then he may end up teaching a select few of them, maybe more than a select few, now that he had Crouch's permission to build him an army. Harry was not happy about his friends being trained to fight, but war called for sacrifices.

"Are you taking this class, Potter?" drawled a voice from the direction of the Slytherins. Harry fixed him with a cold stare before replying.

"I'm just observing," he said softly.

"Then sit and observe," came a clipped voice from behind him as Snape strode into the room, cloak billowing out behind him as usual. A scowl was etched into his face, an expression he had not changed since Dumbledore had informed him that Harry was to be sitting in on his lesson. Dumbledore had not given a reason, but presumably Snape had read between the lines. Harry knew that Snape's attitude would be far from positive during this lesson, but luckily Dumbledore had said that he could not take points off Harry, as he had not officially rejoined the student body yet.

Harry sank into a seat at the front, just inside the door, from which he could see everything that Snape was doing. He was two seats away from Hermione, who was sitting next to Padma Patil. Harry stole a glance at the textbook she had open. It seemed they were doing advanced duelling techniques at the moment. Harry approved of the subject material, but Snape's teaching he had yet to see.

"Since the beginning of the year," began Snape, forgoing any form of greeting or introduction, "you have been instructed to perform all spells non-verbally. As was said at the time, or rather quoted at the time from the textbook by Miss Granger, this is so that your adversary is unaware of the spell you have used and it reduces the time taken to cast the spell, and as such gives you an advantage in a duel. In today's lesson you will begin Parrying. There are various stages at which a spell can be parried. We will start at the beginning; when the incantation is uttered. For today only, your opponent will be using the incantation so that you have a chance to block it. We will move on to parrying a silent attack next lesson."

Harry did not want to be impressed. Saying he went into his lesson with an open mind was a downright lie. He wanted Snape to be as dreadful as Umbridge, but he seemed to know him stuff. As infatuated as Snape was with the Dark Arts, his breadth of knowledge was vast. But then again, his knowledge of Potions was vast but his ability to teach was only a tad better than a Blast-Ended Screwt.

Snape withdrew his wand. "The counter-curse is Prius, but is to be performed silently." He demonstrated the wand movement once, and rather quickly. Harry glanced around and noticed the baffled expressions on the faces of some of the students nearer the back. Snape was going too fast in Harry's opinion, but it was what he had expected.

"Now, to demonstrate," continued Snape. His eyes fell instantly on Harry. "As the guest of honour, Mr Potter, I believe you should be the one to demonstrate." Malice flickered in his eyes. Harry should have known Snape would single him out. If he couldn't take points, he could try and take his dignity. Harry felt a deep desire to just say no, but he was here to observe, not to disrupt. It was more of a disruption to argue than it was to demonstrate. Luckily for him, Prius had been one of the spells that he and Flamel had uncovered in his vast arsenal of darkness the night before. To give him his credit, Harry Potter had been quite a duellist.

Harry slowly rose to his feet and stepped forward to the front of the class, facing Snape. He drew his wand and stood waiting for the order from Snape. As much of an insult as it was to take orders from Snape now, he managed to control any desire to resist.

"Mr Potter is now going to attack me, casting the spells aloud," said Snape. "Watch how he will be unable to complete the spell. Potter, attack me."

"I thought you'd never ask," said Harry coldly, causing a muffled laugh from the Gryffindor area.

"Furnicu…" As Harry spoke, Snape flicked his wand as he had earlier. Harry felt his mouth shut. He couldn't finish the spell. Snape's spell had cut him off halfway through the incantation.

"Even the mighty Dark Knight cannot hex you if he cannot finish the incantation," Snape informed the class coldly. "However, against an accomplished dueller, this spell should only be used sparingly. If you use it too often against a master, you become predictable and he or she will find a way around your defence. In this example there is an obvious way around this – observe. Potter will attempt to block this attack."

Harry barely had time to comprehend that Snape was going to attack. As soon as he saw movement, he flicked his wand as Snape had, concentrating on the spell. It was no good, as Snape was not using the incantation. He swished his wand at Harry. Instantly, Harry felt something grab his ankle and yank it sharply upwards. The next thing he knew, he was hanging upside down, staring at Snape's knees. He dropped his wand in surprise, which bounced out of reach.

There was a laugh from several people in the class as Harry hung upside down. He recognised it as the same spell his father had used on Snape in the Pensieve. Luckily for Harry he was wearing trousers, not robes, and had tucked his t-shirt into his trousers so even though he was upside down, he was not exposing himself as Snape had done. Harry hung upside down, shaking his head at Snape with his best 'you are pathetic' look on his face.

"How childish," said Harry calmly. The blood was running to his head, but he was determined to appear at ease.

Snape shot him a look of daggers, but made no attempt to let him down. Instead he turned back to the class. As Harry hung there, face reddening and beginning to feel dizzy, he felt a deep desire to hex Snape. To do that he needed his wand, but he would not lower himself to asking Snape to release him. Harry looked at the class. Malfoy was wearing a thoughtful expression, while Parkinson was openly laughing at Harry.

Harry knew he needed to act before he was too dizzy to think. He could see his wand lying two feet away. He needed to summon it. He could do it wandlessly, but if he tried, Snape would hear and disarm him, and then he would be left to pass out. Harry knew he had to do it wandlessly and silently. He had never tried it before. He had become proficient at Summoning Charms in his fourth year but he had never tried it like this and under these conditions.

He balled up his fists and closed his eyes, concentrating hard. He visualised the wand and the word in his mind. He poured every ounce of magic he could muster into his arm. He opened his eyes and extended his left arm towards the wand. Accio wand! his mind screamed, but no sound left his lips. His wand gave a small wobble and moved an inch towards him.

"Err, Sir…" a voice interrupted Snape. Pansy was on to what he was doing.

"Stop interrupting, Parkinson," Snape brushed her off.

ACCIO WAND, he tried again. The wand leapt into his hand.

Finite Incantatem! he thought, aiming his wand at his feet. The spell vanished and he fell towards the ground.

WIngardium Leviosa! he thought, aiming his wand at himself. He stopped falling an inch above the ground so that Snape didn't hear him landing. Harry righted himself and landed lightly, removing the spells. He had a deep desire to stab Snape in the back and hex him with the most embarrassing spell manageable. Maybe he should transfigure his robes into a tutu. However, he knew he shouldn't, not here. He could embarrass Snape more by undermining him. He was definitely going to set up the DA now; Snape's attitude had seen to that. Harry sat on the edge of Snape's desk, glaring at his back.

He glanced down to see what was on the desk. Snape was not one to have photographs or anything remotely sentimental on his desk. All Harry saw aside from stationary was a rather worn looking textbook that had definitely seen its fair share of use. What intrigued Harry was that it was not stamped with the letters S.S., but rather E.P. Pince, perhaps? Harry assumed it was second hand or that Madam Pince's first name began with E and it was library book.

"So take heed," Snape was saying. "Varying your spells is the key to good duelling."

"For example," interrupted Harry. Snape whipped around to face him. Harry saw a flicker of surprise at the sight of him on his own two feet. "Sometimes the simplest spells are the best. Alohomora!" Snape sidestepped the spell, just as Harry had intended. The spell hit the cupboard behind him. The door flew open, hitting Snape sharply on the back of the head as it did so. Snape recoiled slightly.

There was a snigger from the back of the room as Harry pocketed his wand and strode back over to his seat. Snape shot him a look of daggers, but made no further comment. Harry was sure that he would call on Harry again later. Luckily, he was wearing his armour beneath his t-shirt, as he had predicted Snape would use him as a test-dummy.

After that the class was divided into pairs to practice. As it happened, there was an odd number so Harry ended up partnering Hermione, much to Snape's disgust. As usual Hermione was the first to get it. Harry didn't dare use anything strong against her. It took about eight goes for her to get it, with a few words of advice from Harry. He felt a tingle of pride as he helped her to do the spell. After all the years of her helping him, he was repaying her, after a fashion.

As the bell rang at the end of the lesson, Harry slipped quickly out of the room and headed up to Dumbledore's office, his mind already planning the first meeting of the new DA. Harry entered Dumbledore's office several minutes later, to find the inner circle gathered. He had just closed the door when it opened again, admitting a rather irate Snape.

"How was the lesson boys?" asked Flamel, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Much as I expected," said Harry icily.

"So you still wish to go ahead?" asked Dumbledore. Harry nodded.

"Are we in the middle of something, here?" asked Harry.

"Yes," said Snape. "We are, you are not, so leave."

"Severus," Dumbledore cautioned him. "Harry, do join us. This affects you too." Intrigued, Harry closed the door behind him and then leaned against the shelves around the edge of the room. Was this a secret Order meeting? After a few moments, Dumbledore continued. "This Sunday, as in the seventeenth of November, which happens to be the Minister of Magic's birthday. As such, the Ministry are holding a celebration. Most of high society will be there. The entire bottom floor of the Ministry will be converted into a ballroom for the celebrations."

"Right," said Harry slowly, unable to see the significance, unless Dumbledore wanted a surprise party.

"When you were with the Minister last Wednesday, did he mention Operation Black Watch?" asked Dumbledore. Ah, that sounded a little more relevant.

"Nope," said Harry. He didn't recall any mention of it, or anything to suggest a secret project.

"It's his latest plan, but we don't know what it is," said Dumbledore. "Kingsley?"

The Auror leaned forward in his chair, and cleared his throat. "The words he used were, 'a major change to security in the Ministry, and a re-vamp of the Aurors'," said Kingsley, rubbing his hands together. "He said the time for half-measures was over. He is planning something big, and it affects the Aurors, but beyond that we have no clue."

"He said the same to me," said Harry, beginning to piece it together. "About the time for half measures being over. I think his words were, 'the day of the diplomat is over'. I'd assume he's now planning something more forceful." Crouch was up to something, but Dumbledore didn't know what it was. Knowledge was power and so it unsettled the old man not knowing.

"We are worried he is about to do something both rash and very foolish," explained Dumbledore. "As such, we are putting a number of the Order at the party. During the celebrations, one of us will slip away and enter the Minister's office. We need to know exactly what Operation Black Watch is. He called it his final solution, so it will be big, but it may also be rash as well, as his government is failing. One wrong move here, and the government could fall."

"Lily, James," said Flamel. "can we get you and your family there?" Families are less likely to arose suspicion.

"Of course," said Lily, nodding. "But Rose and Harry are not going to be your little spies, Albus."

"Of course, my dear, I would not want to put your children in danger," said Dumbledore. Harry resisted the temptation to cough the word 'bullshit', not wanting to swear in front of his mother. "Kingsley, I believe you should be the one," continued Dumbledore. "Frank is in charge of security, so you can arrange your insertion with him. James, are you alright to be the fall-back option, in case Crouch wants Kingsley with him at all times. Third choice is Nymphadora. You can arrange your method of entry with Frank."

"Got it," said James.

"So, Harry," continued Dumbledore. "At six thirty on Sunday evening, you need to be ready for this ball."

"Yeah, no worries," said Harry. "How old is Crouch, anyway?"

"Eighty-one," said Dumbledore.

"Though you wouldn't think it to look at him," said Flamel.

"That's a lot of candles," said Harry absently. "Must be a huge cake. What kind of ball is this anyway?"

"A masquerade," supplied Snape. "How ironic," he added clearly referring to the mask Harry had had to wear most of that week, though had chosen not to wear at the Defence lesson. His face was now back to normal, with no sign of ever having been burnt. The mask he had kept for sentimental value.

"A masquerade," said Harry, a thought occurring to him. "How good is security? It's just that it seems quite poetic that Death Eaters in masks would appear at a Masquerade. I know that the seventeenth of November isn't exactly a famous day, and that he loves anniversaries, but this is almost crying out for it."

"Security is fine," said Kingsley. "However, such people as the Malfoys, Parkinsons and Averys are on the guest list. They will be searched upon entering, but they will be present."

"So behave yourself," added Snape.

"Harry," said Dumbledore. "I have some things to go over with Kingsley. We can make arrangements for your club at a later date."

"Of course," said Harry ,turning to leave. ".

-----

From the London Evening Standard…

MYSTERIOUS PLAGUE SWEEPS THROUGH WEST-END!

Following a series of recent deaths - mainly in the West-End of London - the Metropolitan Police Department have called in the CBRN (Chemical, Biological, Radiological and Nuclear) response teams, for fear of a new virus having been released in London and other major cities. Security chiefs have yet to comment, but the Security Service, commonly referred to as MI5, have commented that an investigation is underway into a series of mysterious deaths in several major UK cities.

The victims are of all ages, sexes and races, and have so far left the coroner and the police clueless. The bodies are said to have no signs of injury, nor anything to suggest illness. As one paramedic commented, 'they seem to have simply died'. The only odd thing about the victims, aside from the absence of a cause of death, was a terrified expression and often evidence of having been crying.

It is believed that the UK may be experiencing an epidemic of a new form of virus, so far undetectable. While this might explain the randomness and condition of the victims, it is not suspected that this is a weaponised virus, as it has been present for a number of days and the death toll is still relatively low, compared with all government scenarios for a biological attack on the British Mainland. The geographical locations of the deaths are sparse and random, which does not fit the profile of an airborne virus. Therefore it must be transmitted by another means. The Department of Health has issued a statement advising against unprotected sex, tattoos, and any recreational drugs, especially those involving a hypodermic needle.

-----

A Masquerade, thought Harry as he followed his parents out of the lift and into the ballroom. Part of him was glad, as it hid his face and protected him from the stares of the other guests. He felt a tad silly, dressed as he was in long black robes topped with an extravagant hat that rose to a point behind him like a witch's hat. A black mask complete with beak covering his face, except for his mouth. The theme of this masquerade was animals, ironic given Harry's lessons with McGonagall. He had considered going in red as a Phoenix, but had decided to keep that under wraps. As such he was a raven. He knew he would get comments about crows, rooks and even blackbirds, though a blackbird ironically has a yellow beak, not a black one, so he clearly was not a black bird. It was thanks to the Muggle book on birds that he had been reading for his phoenix studies that he knew so much about the Crow family.

He trailed a few paces behind his parents and Rose. The young lady was dressed as a unicorn in robes of pure white, her hair covered in glitter, and a shiny white mask with a large horn on top. Harry had annoyed her thoroughly before leaving by using his mother's bangles as hoola-hoops and trying to throw them over her horn.

James was predictably wearing a head-dress of antlers over dark robes, and Lily rather amusingly had come as a cat with whiskers and little ears, though she had resisted the urge to wear a tail.

Harry's eyes darted around, looking at the other people in the room. There were well over two hundred at present and the room wasn't even half full. Harry's eyes were peeled for the familiar white mask and black robes. It seemed so poetic for Death Eaters to be at a Masquerade.

"Hide your face so the world will never find you," sang Rose softly next to Harry.

"What?" asked Harry.

"It's a song," said Rose. "From the Phantom of the Opera. We saw it in London over the summer. There's a song called Masquerade. Ooh, free drinks." She disappeared through the sea of people in costume towards a table with a wine fountain and lots of bottles of other drinks. Harry hoped Rose wasn't going to get smacked off her face. He didn't want to carry her home or have her puking all over the place. In truth, Harry was impressed by the Wine Fountain. He had heard about chocolate ones; they melted chocolate so finely that it was as viscous as water and pumped it out of the top like a fountain and then it overflowed to the level below in a cascade-like system. It looked really impressive, though the only time Harry had seen one, it had been at a wedding of Aunt Petunia's old school friend. Dudley had been asked to leave because he kept sticking his fingers in the fountain and stealing chocolate despite the big sign that read 'DO NOT TOUCH'. Oddly enough, Petunia never spoke to that 'scandalous woman' after she 'had the nerve to ask my "perfect Diddikins" to leave'. Anyhow, being magical, this fountain was more impressive in that it actually squirted wine out the top into the air like a real fountain and was five stories high, not three. Also, people held their glasses out and took wine from the fountain rather than not being allowed to touch it. Harry decided to indulge himself. He scooped a glass-full out of the bottom tier of the fountain. It was warm and fruity; Mulled wine - not bad, he concluded after tasting it.

"Take it easy," said a soft voice behind him. His mother was helping herself to a drink. "I have no wish to have to carry you home." Harry couldn't help but smile. He was tempted to point out that she was accusing the wrong offspring, but he knew Rose would hate him for it so he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he merely nodded. His glass full, he walked away from the table towards the dance floor. The room was filling up and his movement through the sea of people was becoming slower. The chatter of voices filled the room, drowning out the music if you were not within twenty metres of it. The thirty piece orchestra was playing in a small area to the side of the dance floor.

Looking up, Harry saw Crouch standing at the top of the stairs by the lift. He wore a mask which Harry was sure was supposed to be a lion. The king of beasts – Crouch had an ego the size of Big Ben. Harry was tempted to go and say hello, but thought he'd leave it. He had a sneaking suspicion that Crouch would insist on introducing him to a load of high-fliers in modern business. Harry had no wish to go around shaking the hands of creepy old men.

"Mr Potter," said a voice to his left. Harry turned and came face to face with a rabbit. Tall, white, furry ears protruded from the top of the woman's mask, giving her an amusing appearance. The scrawny figure, sickeningly sweet voice and bright green quill gave away her identity.

"Miss Skeeter," said Harry, bowing slightly. "Shouldn't you be a beetle?" he added coldly. The affect on her face was instant. Her eyebrows became visible above the mask as they shot towards her hairline. Her jaw dropped and she coughed and spluttered into the drink she had been sipping. Coughing profusely and wiping the spilt wine from her chin, she shot him an angry glare. Harry managed to keep a smile off his face, keeping it straight and business-like. "Your secret is safe with me, unless you wish to start a slander campaign, in which case I should warn you that I have a big mouth."

Rita Skeeter gave him an appraising look before responding. "Harry, my boy," she said, taking his arm in hers. "Let's not ruin a perfectly fashionable party with squabbling." He could hear the falseness in her girly voice, but didn't comment. "I'm here for the Minister."

"You've got that infernal quill," said Harry icily. "So you're clearly here on business." Careful, Harry, he reminded himself. You have enough enemies here without adding to the list.

"Business and pleasure," corrected Rita. "There is nothing wrong with enjoying your job."

"So why are you talking to me?" asked Harry.

"All business," said Rita. "You are the story of the year, if not the decade, and your silence thus far has made you –" she leaned in close to him, so he could smell her awful perfume, which reminded him of the Duck Bleach that Aunt Petunia used to clean the toilets with. "- highly desirable," she concluded.

"Really?" asked Harry in a facetious voice.

"Whoever gets your first interview since your change or heart will be guaranteed top-dog at the Journalism Awards at the end of the year," she continued. Brilliant, thought Harry. Very subtle.

"And you would like to be that person, wouldn't you?" asked Harry, feigning ignorance.

"Am I that transparent?" she asked. "Come on, Mr Potter, a few words - you have lots to tell. In fact, why not forego the Prophet. How about you and me sit down and write your biography, from start to finish - how you grew up, your decision to leave, your time on the devil's right hand, the Dark Knight, your redemption, your saving Hogwarts and the Ministry, your reappearance as the White Knight. We could call it A Knight's Tale, or perhaps The Light at the End of the Tunnel. Can you imagine the profits, and the celebrity status, Harry, you don't mind if I call you Harry, do you?" Harry felt a flush of anger. She wanted to put his life under a magnifying glass, slander him in front of millions and reap the profits. She was so cold, with the morality of a scorpion. He hated her so much.

"What little I remember of my life," said Harry in a clipped voice, resisting the urge to hex her, "wouldn't make a very good tale. Your offer is very kind, Miss Skeeter, but I must decline. I'm far too young for a biography. Enjoy the party, though, and bear in mind that if you try and follow me, Insect Repellent will be the least of your worries."

With that, Harry strode quickly away, leaving a rather irate-looking Rita Skeeter standing by the window. Harry saw Kingsley and Frank talking as he passed. So, Kingsley was about to set off on his mission for the illusive Operation Black Watch; part one was complete. Let's just hope he makes it, thought Harry.

He waked back over to his mother.

"Where've you been?" she asked as he arrived. Rose was next to her, helping herself from a trey of Ferraro Rochet from a man in a penguin suit and white silk gloves. The butler offered Harry the tray but he declined.

"Hang on," said Rose. "I'm going to see Susan Bones, back in a jiffy."

With that, she set off through the crowd, munching on a mini spring roll.

"With a little alcohol," said Harry absently. "The behaviour reflects the madness within."

"Something you'd know all about, wouldn't you, Potter," drawled a cold voice behind him. Harry knew who it was before he turned. He stared into a pair of steely grey eyes.

"Are you lost, Malfoy?" asked Harry, turning away.

"Of course not," said the Slytherin, grabbing Harry's wrist. Harry didn't hesitate; he twisted Malfoy's wrist sharply, causing him to let go.

"Don't touch me," he said icily.

"Of course," said Malfoy quickly, a glimmer of fear crossing his face and disappearing as quickly as it had come. He rubbed his wrist in pain.

"Enjoying the party, Potter?" asked the blond.

"More or less," said Harry frostily. "Though watching fat old politicians in stupid costumes getting merry and dancing badly is not my idea of fun. So how is the old man?"

"Father?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Last I heard he'd been fined for wasting Wizengamot time."

"An inconvenience," acknowledged Malfoy.

"Next time he tries to kill my sister, his bank balance will be the least of his worries. Tell him to keep his pointy little nose out of that which does not concern him."

An expression crossed Malfoy's face that Harry had not been expecting - for a second he looked like Christmas had come early. Harry could see he was now very pleased.

"So there is something happening off the record, then," said Malfoy more to himself. Harry froze. Did this mean Malfoy knew he was lying, that he was from another world? Jesus, if Malfoy knew, Lucius would, and then Voldemort. Harry felt a chill run down his spine and his hand move towards his wand.

Malfoy saw his hand move and quickly raised his hands, showing a surrender. "Easy, Potter," said Malfoy, looking a little worried. "Your secret's safe with me." Oh, great, thought Harry. What does he want? Is he going to try and blackmail me? Malfoy was unpredictable and had little to no morals. He wouldn't hesitate to give him up if Harry didn't go along with him. There was a chance that Malfoy would need to be silenced. Given his experience with the twat over the last few years, Harry thought that he would feel relieved that he had an excuse to finish off Malfoy, but he didn't. He was spiteful, the son of the Death Eater, but a kid none the less. He wasn't even of age he was a Hogwarts student as well. Harry didn't like the idea of seriously hurting him.

"You see," continued Malfoy, the arrogant smile plastered on his face. "I know what's going on."

"Do you?" said Harry, resisting the urge to go for his wand. He also knew he could not act here. Malfoy was safe and he knew it. Harry was at a loss for what to do.

"This is how I see it." Malfoy took a deep breath before continuing. "The Dark Lord knows that Dumbledore's little helpers are everywhere, but he doesn't know who or how many. He needs someone who can go into Hogwarts and enter Dumbledore's circle of trust. You are the ideal candidate. You have the emotional attachment of your parents, you're an inner circle Death Eater with valuable information, and you're a highly lethal soldier with battle experience and you're a Hogwarts student. This has to be off the record, so Dumbledore never finds out. Even my father and Aunt Bella don't know about it - only you and the Dark Lord. That is why you remember that story about using an unforgivable that you told to the Abbott girl; and then the Dark Lord only sends four vampires when he could have sent an army"

Harry listened in silence as Malfoy spoke. He could see what the Slytherin was getting at, and the logic behind his assumption. Malfoy was not as stupid as Harry had always given him credit for. He was wrong, but his deductive powers were quite good. Harry stood motionless for a few moments. This was an opportunity, he realised. It was risky and Malfoy would pay the price if it went wrong, but it could help to end the war more quickly. Malfoy was known to pass information to his father. If Harry could convince him to work the other way...this was definitely an opportunity for him, but he had to remember that this also had to be for Malfoy. If he honestly believed him to still be the Dark Knight, then he was taking a risk telling him that he knew about him. The other Harry would have slit Malfoy's throat by now, without thinking twice. If Malfoy was taking a risk with his own life, he must want something pretty badly. What was it? If this was going to work, Harry had to act like the other him. He hated doing it, but it had to be done.

"You see a lot, Malfoy," said Harry softly, gazing across the room at the Minister of Magic. "Who else have you told?" He felt it best to intimidate him a little first. He couldn't make it too easy, or Malfoy might see through his plan.

"No one, honest," said Malfoy quickly.

"Good for you," said Harry icily. "So you are offering to keep my secret for me. Sounds a little like blackmail to me, Malfoy, and that hurts my feelings. You don't want to hurt my feelings, do you Malfoy?"

"No!" said Malfoy quickly. "I don't mean it like that. I just want to help."

"And how exactly can you do that?"

"I don't know," said Malfoy. "What do you need?"

"Negotiating, are we?" said Harry with a small sneer. "And what do you get out of it, little Dragon?"

"Nothing," said Malfoy matter-of-factly.

"There are no selfless acts in this world," said Harry. "Especially from a Slytherin, so out with it."

"Fine," said Malfoy. "I want to be somebody. I'm sick of my father treating me like a means to an end. Putting me at risk to get into the Dark Lord's good books." Harry could understand that. Malfoy always wanted to be the top dog, and he would screw his own father, albeit a ruthless bastard of a father, over to get it.

"So you don't want to take a risk?"

"Not without the possibility of my gaining something from it," said Malfoy.

"In other words," said Harry, reading between he lines, "you want me to guarantee you a place in the inner circle, above your father, upon completion of this operation?" Malfoy would make a good politician. He had no morals and when the opportunity came he would screw over anyone to get ahead.

"In a word, yes," said Malfoy.

"I take it the Sorting Hat had no trouble placing you in Slytherin," said Harry softly.

"Didn't hesitate," said Malfoy proudly.

"It wanted to put me there," said Harry emotionlessly. "But I asked it to put me in Gryffindor with Weasley, whom I met on the train. Me and my bloody big mouth." Malfoy gave a small laugh.

"Okay," said Harry, turning to face Malfoy. "Here is how it works. You speak only to me on this. Not a word to your father, mother, or aunt. You don't tell Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle or that ugly, scrawny one whose name I can never remember."

"Zabini?"

"Probably," said Harry. "You do not tell them that you are on a task for the Dark Lord or that you have a secret. It is life as normal, so resist your tendency to brag. Wait until you are initiated. When I need something, I will contact you. Until then you keep them off my back, but be subtle. Remember I am still Judas as far as they are concerned. And one more thing, if you even think about telling Dumbledore or anyone else, I'll kill you, your mother, your father and your owl for the trouble you've caused me, is that clear?"

"Crystal," said Malfoy quickly. He had paled somewhat, but he still seemed quite pleased with himself.

"Making friends, Draco?" asked a silky voice to Harry's left. He turned to see the majestic form of Narcissa Malfoy sweep by to join her son. Unlike her husband her face was not constantly marred by a sneer. She was slender in build with a thin yet soft looking face. Only her eyes were cold. She seemed very elegant, but her blue eyes were the colour of ice with all the warmth to match. She was how Harry visualised he Ice Queen when he had read the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

"Just getting reacquainted," said Draco, smoothly.

"Just like old times," said Harry, icily. "And Lady Malfoy, I never did get to thank you for trying to break me out of my trial, even if you did leave me to burn in the process."

"I don't know what you mean," said Narcissa calmly, sipping her cocktail, and giving him a seemingly innocent smile.

"Of course not," said Harry. "How foolish of me."

"Are you enjoying the party," he asked,

"This Ministry to-do's are always the same," she said.

"Your sister planning on attending?" asked Harry.

"She's over there," said Narcissa calmly, pointing over Harry's shoulders.

Harry whipped around his hand flying to where his wand was concealed. He had only surrendered one of them to the security check. His eyes flicked through the crowd, looking for a head of black hair. With all the masks it was impossible to see anyone. God damn it, what was she doing here? Who was she here to hurt? Were there more Death Eaters coming?

Suddenly, Harry's eyes fell on a familiar figure, or rather and mask topped by a familiar head of bubble-gum pink hair. She was talking to a taller and older woman with wavy brown hair dressed in black and white, presumably as a badger. She looked slightly like Narcissa, but with a warmer manner. Suddenly Harry realised what she meant.

"I meant your other sister," said Harry icily to Narcissa, trying not to blush for his mistake. "Bellatrix, not Andromeda."

"Haven't seen her in months, old boy," said Narcissa, a smirk plastered over her face. "Though a word of advice, Harry. She is out there, she is insane and she is dangerous, so in the interest of self-preservation, I would be very careful about setting foot in public, if I were you."

"Thank you Narcissa," said an icy voice as a hand landed on Harry's shoulder. "I may not have married for money, or have the allegiance of a homicidal sister, but I can look after my family, thank you very much." Harry could tell it was his mother, more from her touch than from her voice.

"Lily," acknowledged Narcissa, bowing slightly. Lily's head sank a fraction of an inch in response. "How are you?"

"I've been better, not that you care," she snapped.

"True," said Narcissa coldly. "But manners cost nothing." She ran a finger gently around the edge of her glass. "Not even crystal," she noted absently. Her calm only served to infuriate Lily.

"Not that you ever think about costs with that husband of yours," said Lily. "How can you sleep at night, in the bed of yours, surrounded by a house bought with blood money?"

"That's a very serious allegation," said Narcissa calmly in her best QC voice. "And where Lucius' money comes from is none of your concern,"

"Perhaps," said Lily. "The money may help, but don't you ever regret it?" Her voice was no longer laced with anger. It was soft, and almost pleading in tone. "You've not lived a day since you married him. You're another trophy to him, a means to a heir nothing more."

"How dare you," snarled Narcissa, her calm evaporating in an instant. "You have no idea what we have!"

Harry knew there was a lot of history to this, and now was not the time for a catfight, which was quite ironic given Lily's cat costume. Harry's eyes met with Draco's. He nodded towards Narcissa. He got the message.

"Come on, Mum," said Harry, taking Lily by the arm.

"Come, mother," said Draco, wrapping his arm through his mother's a guiding her away. Lily resisted at first, but then gave up and allowed Harry to lead her away.

"What was all that about?" asked Harry, as he guided Lily through the crowd.

"Long story," she muttered. "Excuse me. " She pulled away from him, heading towards the loos.

"You'd better give her some space," said James, arriving at his side.

"What happened there?" asked Harry. "One minute she's happy as Larry, the next she's an ice queen."

James whistled to himself, looking awkward as he stopped moving.

"Those two were once inseparable," said James. "Back in the day. Never saw one without the other, despite one being a Slytherin and the other a Gryffindor. Things went a bit tits-up half way through the sixth year. You'd better make sure they don't meet again. If you want to try and stand between them, you're welcome, but you're a braver man than I, if you do."

"Now," said James, straightening himself up. "Where's that sister of yours got to?"

"I'll have a look for her," said Harry. He started off towards the other side of the room, where the drinks were bring served. He had gone five paces when he walked straight into someone.

"Sorry," muttered Harry.

Crouch ignored him and continued moving quickly towards the door. He was followed by about eight Aurors, including Kingsley. Their faces were stern, and eyes wide. Something was happening and it was important. The Aurors all seemed to be making for the door with the Minister. What was going on? Why wasn't Kingsley trying to break into the Minister's chambers? If he wasn't then James or Tonks should be. But why would Kingsley abort? Harry was about to follow when a hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to see his father.

"Harry," James said quickly. "Something important is happening. Take Rosie and your mother home, now. I'm going to find out what's going on. We're aborting the mission. This is serious if it takes the Minister away from this party. He's had it planned for months and even rearranged a meeting with the President of the United States for this. If he is changing it, this is big. Please, go now."

"Okay," said Harry. "But don't you want me to try and get into Crouch's office?"

"We're aborting," repeated James. "Go, now!"

"Okay," said Harry. He quickly made his way over to his mother, who was sitting with Rose on a seat on a corner.

"We have to leave," whispered Harry into his mother's ear.

"Why?"

"Something has happened," said Harry. "Dad says to leave."

Lily nodded and helped Rose to her feet. The girl had had too much to drink and was swaying as she stood, with a lop-sided grin on her face. Idiot, thought Harry. He wrapped his arm around hers, guiding her towards the exit. She found it impossible to walk in a straight line, so the journey took twice as long as was needed. It took nearly fifteen minutes to get into the lift and out into the entrance hall. From there, they collected their wands, or rather the girls did and Harry collected the spare he had surrendered, whilst keeping his primary wand.

They Floo'd to the Three Broomsticks, Harry going at the same time as Rose to make sure she got out the right grate. From there, things got worse as Rose announced that she needed to be sick. Lily took her into the witch's toilets while Harry waited outside. His mind was reeling over what had happened. What could be so important that it could drag Crouch from a party that out-ranked the President of the United States?

It was nearly five minutes before Rose and Lily re-emerged, Lily looking rather angry and Rose looking rather pale. Rose stumbled on the stairs but Harry caught her, lifting her back to her feet. Lily gave her a sharp look, but said nothing.

"Come on, you little rascal," said Harry gently, remembering that you should always speak to a drunk like a child. He put an arm around her, holding her up as they set off up the hill. One and a half miles felt like twenty with her added weight and inability to walk straight. Her sparkling conversation was not up to its usual standard, but did cover the important topics of Snape's sex life, the reason for the figure of speech being "to borrow a cup of sugar and a saucer of milk" when it clearly made more sense to put the milk in the cup and the sugar on the saucer, and the ever important question of "what was Captain Hook's name, before Peter Pan cut off his hand?".

It took nearly half an hour to walk up the hill, and another ten before they got to the Entrance Hall. Harry didn't know how much she'd had to drink, but it had certainly had an effect. He wondered if she would have a hangover come tomorrow morning. He noticed that she no longer had her mask, having discarded it somewhere at the party. She was leaning on him, but even with his help, she wasn't exactly walking in a straight line. He considered levitating her or even carrying her, but she would probably protest loudly and wake everyone up. That was partially why Harry was with her - in case they ran into Filch. As long as Rose was with him, Filch couldn't do a thing about her being out past curfew.

Lily told Harry to take her to Gryffindor Tower, while she went to find out what was wrong.

Harry managed to get her up to Gryffindor Tower surprisingly quickly. They had to stop twice as she tripped over her own feet, but Harry was there to catch her. At last they ended up outside the Fat Lady. Harry threw his raven mask off, and then gave the Fat Lady the password. Harry realised as it opened that he couldn't get into the girl's dormitories, so theoretically, Rose would have to sleep on the sofa.

Sleep was not the issue as the portrait swung open. As soon as the hinges moved, the sound of music, parties and a ruckus pounded into their ears. Harry could see the common room alive with students and music. The atmosphere was jubilant as he helped Rose into the room.

They barely even noticed him as he lay her down on the sofa in front of the fire. She sat looking gormless for a few seconds before speaking.

"What's going on?" she asked in a slurred voice.

Good question, thought Harry. He could see several empty bottles around, just like at Rose's party, though this was most likely not for the Minister's birthday. A few feet away, Hermione was standing, sipping a drink. Harry tapped her on the shoulder, ducking a toilet roll thrown across the room, leaving a trail behind it.

"What's going on?" he asked her.

"You haven't heard?" she asked, looking flabbergasted.

"No…what?"

"We got him!"

"What?"

"It's all over the Wireless, listen!" Harry turned to the small box on the table. From it, a crackling voice made an announcement that nearly made Harry keel over.

WWN has just received a confirmed report from the Minister of Magic that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been arrested by Aurors!

---

Author's Notes

There's 11 for you. 12 is already online on my Yahoo!Group. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and don't forget to review.