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

13. The Purges

A Stranger
in an
Unholy Land

Chapter XIII
The Purges

"It's a fine line between faith and denial,
And it's a lot better on my side of the line."

Rose - Lost Series 1

...The statement provided by Antonin Dolohov, under the influence of Veritaserum, during his three−day incarceration in Azkaban prison (01/09 − 03/09 1996) also mentioned a Death Eater spy in close proximity to the Minister of Magic. Following the Death of Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge in the nuclear attack of 30/10/1996, it was believed by some that the spy had been neutralised. However, You−Know−Who is not known to be rash and could have chosen anyone to deliver the device; compromising his source would serve no purpose. This reasoning leads to the theory that there is still a Death Eater spy in close proximity to the Minister of Magic. It is the view of the Aurors that screening should commence on employees, beginning with department heads, looking for any relation or contact with Death Eaters, by a Legilimens and confirmed with Veritaserum. Such screening needs to be completed as soon as possible and as quietly as possible, lest the spy knows the test is coming.

Kingsley Shacklebolt potted his quill and glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to eleven and his stomach was beginning to rumble. It hardly seemed professional that his stomach would dictate his schedule, but since he had skipped breakfast to get started on the report, he figured that he could afford a break, though first he needed to contact Dumbledore to have him check over his report. It reminded Kingsley of primary school, having the teacher checking over his work, looking for spelling errors, or in this case, sensitive information, but he knew that it was necessary and his pride was not a major concern of the Order of the Phoenix.

He got up and walked into the screened−off area of the new Auror Complex. It was still under construction and the intoxicating smell of paint−thinner and other solvents filled the air. Scaffolding was still up around most of the walls and half the people in the room were workmen. Kingsley shot them an annoyed glance. He did not feel comfortable having all these men in a room that should be secret. They were checked for Death Eater relations, but it was so easy to steal something and sell it simply for money. Still, that was not his concern. The screened−off area he was heading to was the kitchen. It contained a kettle, a few bottles of milk under an area−affect Cooling Charm, and a sink.

Kingsley put the kettle on. He then sped it up with his wand so the kettle began to whistle, so it covered the sound of his voice. He checked that he was alone and then satisfied, removed a small piece of cardboard from his pocket and held it up in front of him like a mirror. To any normal person it would appear to be a common Chocolate Frog Card: an Albus Dumbledore Chocolate Frog Card. This was how the Order communicated with each other in secret. No one questioned their presence since although they would never admit it, many grown men still collected them, so they didn't raise suspicion, even in the pocket of a high ranking Auror. At present the card was blank.

"Albus Dumbledore" whispered Kingsley into the card. He waited a few seconds, but still the card remained blank. Odd, thought Kingsley. Albus always answered his card. Kingsley tried again, but still there was no answer. Albus was on call twenty−four hours a day. Why wasn't he answering? Kingsley couldn't shake the idea that something was wrong. It was an odd feeling he had had all morning and was unable to shake. In absence of Albus, Kingsley tried his second in command.

"Minerva McGonagall," whispered Kingsley, his lips inches from the card. There was a second's pause before Minerva's face appeared in the card, though the name remained Albus Dumbledore. Kingsley breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared that she too would not pick up.

"Minerva, have you seen Albus?" he asked, cutting off any greeting. "He's not answering my calls."

"He's not here," said McGonagall, sounding worried. Why was she so anxious? Was something really wrong? "No one has seen him and no one can reach him," she continued. "He had a meeting with the Minister at half past eight this morning, and was supposed to be back before half nine, but he hasn't returned. The Ministry claim they do not know where he is, and I cannot reach the Minister either. I've had to cancel my lessons to take over as Deputy Headmistress."

"No one has seen him at all?" asked Kingsley thoughtfully. Something was definitely wrong. Someone as powerful and famous as Albus Dumbledore couldn't just disappear, especially inside the Ministry of Magic. Kingsley smelt a rat.

"Not since the Minister this morning," said Minerva.

"And you can't reach him either?" asked Kingsley.

"No," said McGonagall, shaking her head in the card. "Naturally I called there when he was not back by ten. The Minister is 'unavailable', or at least that is what they said, though I did get word that the Wizengamot convened shortly before ten this morning. That might have something to do with it."

"Maybe," said Kingsley. "But I don't like it, and the Wizengamot are not scheduled to meet this morning. This doesn't feel right − I'm going to ask Crouch myself."

"Call me when you know," instructed Minerva before disappearing from the card. Kingsley pocketed the card and poured himself a cup of tea to keep up the appearances, and justify nearly a full minute of annoying whistling to anyone who had been disturbed by it. He then headed straight over to the lift, stepped in and pressed the appropriate button. A short walk later and Kingsley arrived in the Minister's own department. He entered without knocking, as he always did. He would usually knock on the office itself, but not on the department door − there was no need. The first thing he noticed as the doors slid open was the lack of people. The six secretaries were absent, their desks perfectly organised, but clearly no one had worked here since they left last night. Why was there no one here at eleven in the morning? Kingsley checked that his wand was ready up his sleeve, just in case. He had a bad feeling about this.

Kingsley glanced up at the office on the far side of the room, through its glass wall. He could see two figures moving up in the office, though their faces were obscured by their hoods. One thing he did know was that neither of them was the Minister. Kingsley ducked behind a desk from which he could see what was happening without being seen himself. Something was wrong. Who were these people? Where were Crouch and Albus? Every instinct told him that whoever was in there was hostile. Kingsley drew his wand, ready in case his fear was justified.

Just then, the door to the office opened; Kingsley felt his stomach sink and his muscles freeze in terror. The Dark Lord himself had just emerged from the office. He wore black robes darker than the darkest night. His hood was up, but the whole room seemed to chill, as if he were a Dementor. Kingsley recognised his face from his arrest, but had hoped never to see that face again. He could just about see the red eyes burning with hatred under the hood. His voice was high as he spoke to his companion, but it came in a tone of pure ice that made Kingsley shiver where he hid.

"The authority is now yours," he said as he descended the steps from the glass office, "Minister."

Kingsley watched in horror as a second figure emerged from the office, also wrapped in black. He recognised him instantly as being the son of the Minister. Barty Crouch Junior's hay−coloured hair was slicked back over his ears, a wide yet maniacal smile spread over his face.

"Thank you, Master," said Crouch, bowing slightly as he followed his master down the steps from the office. "And thank you for the honour of disposing of my blood traitor father."

"I had that pleasure many years ago," said Voldemort, reaching the bottom of the stairs. "Why should I deny it to my most faithful servant?" Crouch bowed again. Kingsley tried to slow his breath, in case he was heard. The Dark Lord was loose! Crouch Senior must be dead, judging by their conversation. Did that mean Albus was too? Was that why no one could reach him or Crouch, because they had both been murdered?

Crouch followed his master across the room, stopping by the door. "But what of Dumbledore's Order?" he asked. "They will not accept this change lightly. Potter will certainly know about me."

"With their leader gone, the Order of the Phoenix will be in disarray," said Voldemort calmly. Kingsley only just managed to hold in his gasp. The Ministry didn't acknowledge the Order's existence, but the Dark Lord knew it existed and who its leader was. How could he possibly know? "Even with a new leader," You−Know−Who continued, "they have no authority to overturn the Wizengamot, over which I have control. They are a vigilante group, terrorists, nothing more − that is what you will tell the Daily Prophet. I control the Ministry and the Wizengamot. Only one thing stands between myself and victory, and that's Hogwarts."

"What would you have me do?" asked Crouch, looking eager to serve.

"With the old man gone, the Order will most likely be under the control of Minerva McGonagall and Nicolas Flamel," said Voldemort. "I know they are the inner core of the Order. McGonagall shall be our next target. I want her power limited and her contacts watched. Do as you see fit, but I want her watched, not apprehended. She will know she is being watched, but she must feel safe enough to try and salvage the Order of the Phoenix. I want to know every move she makes. Get in touch with Lucius and the Board of Governors. He should be able to get you a foothold on the school. As for the Order here in the Ministry, do what must be done. You have twenty−four hours to install loyal department heads in every department. I want the Order of the Phoenix eliminated from the Ministry." Did that mean he knew who was in the Order? He knew Dumbledore, so he may know others. If he did, they could cripple the Order.

"Do you wish them killed?" asked Crouch Junior matter−of−factly, as if human life had no value.

"No," said Voldemort. "Not for now. Once victory is complete, their executions will mark my inauguration. I will send you a team of my Aurors. Move the old man to the island and your late father to the mortuary at St Mungo's for a post mortem. After that, you must play the grieving son."

"As you wish, Master," said Crouch.

The door opened and Voldemort glided silently out of the door, followed by the Minister of Magic. Kingsley emerged from his hiding place feeling weak at the knees. His head was spinning, just trying to absorb all this new information. The Order was compromised. Voldemort knew everything, and worse, he was in control of the Wizengamot and the Minister. The Wizengamot had convened this morning, according to Minerva. They must have elected a new Minister, Crouch Junior. You−Know−Who controlled the Wizengamot, so that meant they had held a corrupt election. Still, all was not lost; a vote of no confidence could remove the Minister from office, but that required a majority vote from the Department Heads. Amelia Bones, Arthur Weasley, Dawlish, Cornelius Fudge could be counted upon and maybe another half dozen. But in twenty−four hours Crouch Junior would have replaced all Department heads with Death Eaters. In twenty−four hours, Voldemort could have complete control of the Ministry. Harry Potter had been right − this was the beginning of the end!

Kingsley slipped out of the room and down the corridor, pulling the Chocolate Frog Card from his pocket. His head was spinning and his heart pounding in his chest. It was finally happening! How the hell had they missed the signs? Was it already too late? He had to get to Amelia, no, Arthur was closer. In a Vote of No Confidence, only Heads of Department serving at the time of the vote being called for would be included in the vote and they had a chance of removing this corrupt Minister. If they didn't act very quickly, the Dark Lord would replace Heads of Departments with his own men. After that happened, all was lost. He also had to let Minerva know she was being watched and that the Ministry was going to interfere with Hogwarts. If Voldemort got his hands politically on Hogwarts and the Ministry, it would make life for the Order impossible. After what he had just heard, he knew that they were all in danger. Had the Order been penetrated? Was it Potter? Was it all an act? Questions plagued the Auror's mind.

"Minerva McGonagall," panted Kingsley into the Card, hurrying along the passage towards the lift. Come on, he silently cursed into the blank card.

Minerva's face appeared in the card. "Yes, Kin −"

"Minerva," the Auror cut her off. There was no time for manners. "Voldemort's taking over! Albus and Crouch are..." Kingsley never finished the sentence, for as he rounded the corner, a foot came swinging out of nowhere, hitting him square on the jaw. His momentum carried him forward and the foot drove his head backwards. He did a complete back flip in and the air and landed hard on his chest, his forehead crashing into the floor, unleashing coloured spots over his vision. He lost his grip on the card as he hit the floor. He had bitten his tongue as he had been hit and his mouth was full of blood, and his tongue stung in his mouth. His eyes grew wide as he looked up to see his attacker. The man was dressed entirely in black, with his hood up and a black veil across the bottom half of his face. He was wearing armour, much as an Auror would, except in midnight black rather than scarlet. Kingsley's eyes widened as he read the single word in white written across the man's chest:

AUROR

These were Crouch's new Aurors! It had begun; Voldemort was taking over the Ministry of Magic. No! He could not let them get away with this! He had to get the word out. He was the only one who knew what was going on. He could not let himself be taken. If the Order were unprepared...they would be exterminated.

With a flick of his wrist, his second wand came free from the holster on his right forearm. Before the Auror in Black could react, Kingsley had fired a Stunner right into the man's chest. The man collapsed in a flash of red, and Kingsley was back on his feet before he hit the ground, adrenaline pumping, ready for battle.

Where had the sodding card gone? He had to contact Minerva or Arthur by the card. The chances were if Crouch was on to him, (and he probably was since he had sent an Auror after him), then his path would be blocked. He saw it lying on the floor where he had dropped it, but when he stooped to pick it up, it burst into flames. Kingsley recoiled and turned back to face the corridor. To his horror, he saw three more Aurors in black marching towards him, wands levelled at his chest. Thinking quickly, Kingsley muttered some well−chosen words and a cloud of smoke shot out of his wand, obscuring him from the Aurors. With that he turned and ran, just as several jets of light came shooting through the fog, narrowing missing the fleeing Kingsley. He had to find a way to communicate with the outside world. If he could get to Tonks, Moody, anyone, he could get the word out. Dawlish, Potter and Black were out on assignment. Kingsley wondered if they too were meeting this horrid fate. He bolted down the corridor, turning left at the T−Junction. As he turned the corner he skidded to halt. Three more Aurors were coming down the corridor towards him. He spun on his heel, ran back around the corner and set off in the opposite direction towards the lift. He glanced to his right as he passed the junction, just in time to see three figures emerge from his field of smoke as the other three rounded the corner. There were six Aurors behind him, marching three abreast. All six's footsteps were perfectly timed as they marched, rather than ran down the corridor. They were in no hurry, and the precision of their steps echoed in Kingsley's ears as he ran. It wasn't much further; he was almost at the lift.

PING!

Suddenly the lift doors opened in front of him. Kingsley gasped as he saw who was inside. Barty Crouch Junior, the new Minister of Magic, stood in the centre with an Auror in Black on either side of him. A cruel smile was plastered over his face as he stepped calmly out of the lift. Kingsley skidded to a halt. He was surrounded. He glanced around, looking for a way out. There were no doors, no ventilation shafts, no means of escape. He could see six behind him and three in front. There was no way out. He could hope that they all fired and took each other out, but there was little chance of that. He had failed. Now who would warn the Order?

"Ah!" Kingsley cried out in pain as a curse hit him on his calf. One of the Aurors behind him had fired. He fell to his knees, biting back the pain. He found himself looking up into the manic eyes of the new Minister of Magic. Kingsley's eyes grew wide as Crouch stared coldly down at him.

"Take him," said Crouch simply.

Kingsley never heard it coming; he was unconscious before he felt the impact of the spell.

"We must move quickly," said Crouch to his Aurors, as Kingsley lay unconscious at his feet. "You all have your targets. Let's make this quick and quiet. MOVE!"

XXXXXXXXXX

"OW!" yelped Nymphadora Tonks, as the Healer removed a chunk of glass from the small of her back. She was lying facedown on a metal table in the middle of the Medical Centre at the new Auror Complex. It was a cold room that stank of cleaning potions. The clinical smell of hospitals was not something Tonks liked, and having a Healer, who gave every impression that this was his first assignment after getting his qualification, digging around inside her back was even worse.

She had been called to an incident in which a man had broken into his ex−wife's house and tried to kidnap his children of who he had no custody rights, and was threatening to kill his ex−wife. Tonks had gone in to negotiate and after the conversation had gone pear−shaped they had resorted to violence, which ended up with her being blasted through a window, a few fragments of which were currently being removed from her back. She gritted her teeth as the final fragment was clumsily removed from her flesh.

"All done," said the healer, smiling. At least he thought he had done a good job − Tonks didn't agree. "I just need to clean the wounds before I close them."

While I'm here, give me a bloody massage, thought Tonks bitterly. She was normally a friendly person, but some things really made her mad, and a mad Tonks was very different to a happy Tonks, to say the least. Being blasted through a window was one of those things that made her mad. However, having an idiot dig around inside her back afterwards pushed her beyond mad into thoroughly pissed. She just hoped this incompetent Healer got the right potion and didn't pour acid over her.

Suddenly a voice came over the intercom.

"Healer Fletcher, Healer Fletcher, please come to main room fourteen−C."

"I'm sorry, Miss Tonks," said the Healer, sighing deeply. "I must go. I'll be back as soon as I can. Just don't move."

Tonks thought to answer, 'Don't bother, I could do a better job myself', but chose to hold her tongue, resorting to a simple 'fine'. The Healer quickly ran out of the room, leaving Tonks by herself. She shook her head in frustration and sat up. She twisted so she could see the damage in the mirror. There were three large gashes where large shards had dug in dangerously close to her spine, and a few smaller scratches on her shoulder blades. She re−clipped her bra and pulled her robes back up over her shoulders. She wasn't having any more of this clown. Since she had the rest of the day off, she decided to report to Hogwarts, see what was happening. On the way, she could get Poppy Pomfrey to close the wounds and stitch her up properly.

Suddenly there was a quiet crash outside the room. It was only a quiet tinkle, as if someone had knocked over a glass and it had smashed, but Tonks' sharp ears picked it up.

"Hello?" called Tonks, jumping down from the table. She ignored the pain in her back as she walked to the door. The double−doors were white, with a small window in each one. Pushing them open, she stuck her head out into the corridor. She was in the Ministry; there couldn't be any danger. Even the workmen went through intense security before entering the Auror Complex. She glanced either way down the corridor. It looked very sterile, the floor, walls and ceiling all pure white, and the floor shining brightly. To the left of the door was a trolley full of phials of potions. One of the phials was lying on its side, broken and in a puddle of mauve liquid. Tonks glanced either way to find that the corridor was deserted. She knelt down to look at the floor. It had been recently cleaned, so she could see the smears where someone had trodden. She could see the prints of a heavy boot, as well as the prints from the soft shoes that the Healers wore. Someone in boots had been standing here and it wasn't her. She glanced around one more time before standing back up.

Tonks sighed in frustration. It was probably a workman. They were all perverts, constantly eyeing up her up, as well as Rachel Shepherd and a few other female Aurors. Tonks swore that if she got one more catcall or wolf−whistle, the builder responsible would find himself on the end of the worst hex she could come up with. It must have been one of them that had upset the phial. One of them had probably been trying to catch a glimpse of her boobs.

"Bastards," muttered Tonks.

She stood back up and turned to leave, but before she could take a single step, she caught a flash of movement from something black in the corner of her eye. She turned just in time to see a glowing red baton come crashing down towards her face.

"Bug..." then everything went black.

XXXXXXXXXX

Amelia Bones entered the Auror Complex, having just come from the Wizengamot. They had just had to vote on a new Minister of Magic. Her head was still spinning from what had happened. She had been summoned urgently to the Wizengamot's courtroom before nine in the morning. She had been told that Crouch was dead and that he had been murdered by Dumbledore, as if she didn't have enough to worry about with Wizengamot Elder Hyacinth Warren's daughter being kidnapped. There was no way Dumbledore had murdered Crouch, and Amelia knew it. Something was just wrong, and she didn't know what. She herself had been nominated to replace Crouch as Minister, which was flattering, but also meant that she was not allowed to vote. Surprisingly, of the other two Order members on the Wizengamot, Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden, Tiberius was also up for nomination. This was suspicious in itself, since A, no voting for nominations had been taken; B, it was the two of them against Bartemius Crouch Junior, who wasn't even on the Wizengamot, nor was he a department head; C, it had been less than an hour since Crouch had died; and D, with two Order members nominated, it only left one Order member able to vote, while those suspected of Death Eater links were free to vote. Crouch had won with a vast majority, and had taken over his father's role. Harry Potter had identified him as Death Eater, but his father would hear nothing of it, so no investigation was ever launched. What followed the election was a ninety−minute lecture on what was going to happen with regards to the war. Amelia now needed to speak to whomever was now in charge of the Order, for chances are were they did not know that Dumbledore had been arrested.

Who is now in charge of the Order, anyway? she wondered.

Amelia marched into the main floor of the Auror Complex. Where the hell was Kingsley? She couldn't see him anywhere, and she knew he had come in early today. Where was Tonks, for that matter? Black and Potter were on call, Dawlish was with a source, Moody was in class, but where was Kingsley? Something was nagging at the back of her mind. Something felt wrong. Her stomach was tight and a chill went down her spine.

"Okay, listen up!" called Amelia Bones above the racket, bringing the room into silence. "I know we are under a lot of strain with Catherine Warren's kidnapping, but I have some bad news for you. There is no easy way to put this, so I am going to be blunt. The Minister of Magic is dead. We don't have all the facts, but it appears he was murdered this morning by Albus Dumbledore, who has been arrested." There was a gasp around the room. Jaws hung limp, as no one could believe the news. Most of them had been taught by Dumbledore, and although Crouch was a tough bastard, he was a liked and respected man.

"The Wizengamot convened this morning and a new Minister has been elected," continued Amelia. "Bartemius Crouch Junior has taken over his father's job. I know this all comes as a shock, but we need to stay focused. Where are we with the Warren kidnapping?"

"Sirius Black has Susan Hart in custody," said Kimberly Tanner. "We have reason to believe that Catherine Warren is being held by her husband, Connor Hart."

"Adam, we need an address on him," said Amelia. "Liam, assemble a strike team. Stun−batons only. Remember that Catherine is the daughter of a Wizengamot Elder, let's bring her back alive."

Everyone began to move quickly as they went about the task set. Amelia turned and went straight into her office and sank into her chair. She needed time to deal with this, but she also needed to contact Minerva. With a flick of her wand she closed the door. She leaned back in her chair, and began to wonder just how this had happened.

How on earth had Dumbledore been arrested? There was no way he would kill anyone; he resented killing in all its forms. And then there was the matter of the next Minister. The Wizengamot had been called within ten minutes of Crouch's death and a new minister elected within an hour. Normally there would be a period of mourning and a funeral before the new minister was elected. This had happened far too fast, and within another half−hour, the Black Watch had been assembled, apparently by Crouch Senior's order − honouring his last request, as his son had phrased it. Most worryingly, not a single Order member was on the Black Watch. Something felt wrong.

Then there was Dumbledore. No way in hell did he kill Crouch. They had disagreed in the past, but they were friends. He would not want Crouch dead. Thinking tactically, without emotion, keeping the Minister in play was the best move. There was no possible way it would be an advantage to have Crouch killed. Also, how had they arrested him? He was too powerful to be taken in a duel, so he must have surrendered. If Dumbledore was innocent, he would not just allow himself to be arrested. He had not been sent to Azkaban, for Amelia did not sign off on it, and would have been told if he had. She had not been told of a trial either. Dumbledore would demand a trial. He had done nothing as far as Amelia could see. What was going on?

She pulled out her Frog−Card and was about to call McGonagall, when suddenly the main doors to the Auror Complex flew open and in marched eight Black−Watch Aurors, in rows of two.

They were dressed in pure black, with 'Auror' written in white across their chests. They're a disgrace to the word, thought Amelia bitterly. Is this news of Dumbledore though, she wondered. All movement in the room came to a halt as the Black−Watch marched down the central aisle towards Amelia's office. They were like a black snake making its way through a sea of scarlet. For some reason a chill ran down Amelia's spine as she watched them approach. She didn't know why, but she suddenly felt scared.

Calm yourself, Amelia, she thought to herself. You're a grown woman.

The first Auror, and it pained Amelia to think of them as Aurors, pushed open the door to her office and marched in.

"Ma'am, come with us, please," said the Auror bluntly, his mouth hidden behind the veil.

"What's this about?" she asked. Deep inside, she already knew, and knew it was too late for her. She could not contact the Order. There was no one else here. Kingsley and Tonks must have already been taken. Perhaps Moody and Dawlish as well. The Order was being hunted down, and they had never seen it coming. Checkmate.

"The Minister wishes to see you," said the Auror.

Knowing it was futile to resist, Amelia rose from her chair and allowed herself to be escorted from the room. She felt fresh air on her face as she left the Auror Complex for no more than a second before she saw a flash of red light out of the corner of her eye and everything went black.

XXXXXXXXXX

'THE EXAM LASTS ONE HOUR," shouted Alastor Moody as he hobbled between rows of desks in the gymnasium. There were approximately one hundred and fifty applicants, who now sat at desks that had been spread out in rows over the floor of the gym. If they were successful, they would go on to the physical exam. Alastor knew he was looking at the next generation of Aurors. He wondered how many were under the influence of Voldemort, and how many would make it to the Aurors. "YOU MAY BEGIN!"

There was the usual rustle as the parchments were opened and the quills picked up. For the last decade since his retirement, Alastor had been training Aurors, and over the years he had seen fewer and fewer Aurors making it through to the end, not to mention fewer applicants applying. People were scared and lacked the will to fight. He was training the front line in defence, but he could only train those who applied. When war came, some people felt patriotic and others felt afraid, and more and more people fell under the latter category.

He hobbled down one aisle, his magical eye revolving quickly, looking for anyone cheating. He could have used a charm to prevent it, but he felt it was good practice to find cheaters himself.

About five minutes passed in silence as the applicants took the exam. After six minutes, the whole exam was interrupted. The doors burst open to reveal eight men dressed in black. Moody's wand was out in a second and aimed. He cursed himself for not seeing them coming; his eye had been looking for cheaters and he had not checked the passage outside. He had slipped up. Idiot! He glanced at the men in black. Each had 'Auror' written across his chest. Moody's eyes narrowed at the sight. These were no Aurors; these were...something else.

"Master Moody," said the first Auror. "Come with us, please."

"Aurors, hey?" snarled Moody, hobbling over to the Aurors. "You don't know the meaning of the word. And, you are interrupting my exam. Either sit down and take the damn test or get the hell out of my exam hall."

"The Minister wants to see you," snapped the Auror, his hand approaching his wand. "You will come with us."

Moody glared at the man, both his eyes glaring into his. His magical one could see through the veil; he recognised the man. Moody had trained him, and knew exactly what he was like. He had an aggressive streak and an affinity for violence − hardly the perfect Auror.

"After the exam, I will come to see the Minister," said Moody.

"You will come with us, now!" snapped the Auror.

Moody glanced at his fellow exam supervisors and nodded. For the sake of the exam, he would comply.

"So be it," sneered Moody. He didn't want to go, but to save the applicants from a repeat exam, he complied. He hobbled outside the door and into the corridor. He walked in front, with the Aurors behind him. His magical eye was rolled back into his head, watching them out the back of his own skull. He was not the least surprised to see the Auror raise his wand, nor a jet of red escape it.

"Protego!" snapped Moody, wand in hand. The shield snapped into place and the curse bounced back, straight into the chest of the Auror who had fired it. He keeled over backward, landing on the three Aurors behind him. Moody spun to face them, spinning on his wooden leg. Years of walking on it had given him enough practice with balance. He played up the hobble to make people view him as weak.

"Stupefy!" hissed Moody. He twisted the handle of his walking stick and a Stun−Baton came loose from inside the wood, glowing a healthy scarlet.

"Didn't I teach you never to attack from behind," sneered Moody. He held the baton in one hand and a wand in the other. All thoughts of his walking aid had left him. He didn't need it anyway. "Especially me! Paralysio! Sheskya! Reducto!"

Three curses left his wand inside of a second, slamming into the shield of the first standing Auror. The Paralysing Curse destroyed the shield, allowing the following curses to get through. Two Aurors fell under the barrage. Moody spun on his real leg, raising the wooden one in a spinning kick. The heavy wooden foot slammed into the nose of the nearest Auror, shattering the skull and killing him instantly.

"STUPEFY!"

Moody sidestepped the curse, swinging the Stun−Baton as he did. The Auror ducked the swing and aimed his wand at Moody, who swung the baton back towards him. It connected with his arm just before he managed the curse. The Auror collapsed in a shower of sparks. Four down, four to go.

By this time, the first two who had been knocked down by the first Auror's fall were on their feet.

"Stupefy!" hissed one of them. Moody noted that they were trying to take him alive, not kill him, but he fought just as fiercely.

"Accio Auror!" he shouted. Another Auror was pulled forward, into the path of the incoming curse. Moody launched his human shield at the Auror who had fired at him. The body landed on the man, pinning him to the floor. Moody silenced him with a Stunner. That left two still standing.

"Who wants it first?" growled Moody. Suddenly he felt an impact in his back. His magical eye shot around to see Barty Crouch Junior standing at the end of the corridor, his wand aimed at Moody. Alastor's limbs froze solid and he keeled over, hitting his head on the hard floor.

"Idiots!" hissed Crouch Junior, coming closer to them. "I said be quick and quiet, not start a bloody battle. Wake the others and put this cripple with the others. Potter, Black and Dawlish will be back soon. Get the Weasleys and prepare for their arrival."

That was all Moody saw before a flash of red light plunged him into darkness.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Father, I didn't know anything about this," protested Percy. "I know I should, but..."

"Yes, you should," said Arthur, cutting his son off. They were both in Arthur's tiny office, in the middle of an argument. "That is why we risked so much to get you a place there."

"No, father, what I mean is I should have been told, not I made a mistake," said Percy, affronted. He knew that they had pulled strings to get him into the Minister's office, but he didn't like the idea that he could not have done it on his own.

"What do you mean?" said Arthur, calming slightly.

"I mean that the Wizengamot was convened in secret and no word was sent out of Crouch's death until a new Minister was elected. My job would have been to conduct voting to find candidates from different departments, but it never happened."

"You weren't asked to do it? Someone else did?" asked Arthur.

"No, I mean it was never done," said Percy. "No vote was taken. Three candidates were picked, seemingly at random. Admittedly we were fortunate, two of them were members of the Order, but there was no picking process; as far as I can tell they were just...random."

"A random pick selected two Order members?" asked Arthur rhetorically. "Not likely. Whoever picked them did it for a reason. The Order must be compromised."

"Merlin," breathed Percy. He realised that he should have made this connection. He also wondered why his father had never risen through the ranks with a mind like his.

"Not only that," continued Arthur., "If the election was rigged as badly as you said it was, then we can assume the winner is dishonest at best, a Death Eater at worst. The Order needs to keep Crouch Junior under a very close eye."

"We should tell Minerva," said Percy.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

The door opened and two men in black stepped into the room. Percy was about to ask them to come back later, when he realised that they were Aurors, as given by the names on their chests. Since when had Aurors worn black or covered their faces? What was going on?

"Can I help you?" asked Arthur.

"We just want a word with you," said one Auror, while the other closed the blinds.

"What's going on?" asked Percy.

He never got an answer, for as soon as the blinds were closed, the Aurors opened fire.

XXXXXXXXXX

Minerva McGonagall paced her office at Hogwarts, throwing irritable irritated glances at inanimate objects around the room. What on earth was going on? First Albus disappeared off the face of the Earth; then she got an interrupted Frog−Card call from Kingsley, of which she had not understood a word. He had not picked up when she had called him back, and now she couldn't get hold of Amelia. If anyone could tell her what was going on, it was Amelia. As Head of Law Enforcement, she would be able to find out, but she could not get a response on her Frog−Card. Minerva had tried three times.

After pacing two more lengths of the room, Minerva pulled the card out again. She held it up to her face, "Amelia Bones," she said.

The card remained blank. Minerva could have screamed − such was her frustration. First Albus, and now Amelia. Maybe Alastor would know where they were.

"Alastor Moody," she said. She waited for ten seconds, but still she received no answer. What was going on at the Ministry? Why was no one answering?

"Nymphadora Tonks," she said. Again the card remained blank. Was her card broken, faulty or something? No, Albus had made them and it had never broken in the years she had had it. So what was wrong?

"Sirius Black," she said. There was a pause and then Sirius' face appeared in the card. At least she knew the cards worked, but that didn't ease her mind.

"What can I do you for, Minerva?" said Sirius, wearing his usual lop−sided grin.

"Pay attention, Sirius," snapped McGonagall in the voice she used to use to tell him off when he was at school. "This is serious. Albus has disappeared and I can't raise Amelia or Kingsley."

"Maybe they are in a meeting, and can't answer," suggested Sirius in a much more sober tone. The voice had had its effect.

"All of them?" asked Minerva, shaking her head. "No, they would have let us know."

"I'll make a few calls," said Sirius. "See if I can find out what's going on. Call you back in five."

It was the longest five minutes of Minerva's life. She continued to pace, not caring about the wear on her carpet until she made the mistake of touching the metal fireguard and giving herself a static−electric shock. This only served to add to her frustration. She cursed a word she would never have used in front of anyone, before hearing her name coming from her card.

"Minerva, something is very wrong," said Sirius, looking worried. "I can't get a hold of any Order Auror except James and Dawlish. The three of us have just received an emergency message from the Aurors, calling for us to return to the Complex. I called ahead and no one at the Ministry or the Complex knows anything about it. Only myself, Dawlish and James. I spoke to Rachel at the complex. She's not in the Order but she's a good girl. Apparently Crouch is dead and Dumbledore has been arrested. Barty Crouch Junior has been appointed Minister of Magic and a new team of Aurors called the Black−Watch has been formed. Amelia and Moody have been arrested, along with Percy and Arthur Weasley. Minerva, the Order is being exterminated; we are dropping like flies." Minerva's blood ran cold at Sirius' words. With every sentence she felt weaker, until she had to lean on the desk as her knees gave way.

The Order was compromised! Albus would never murder Crouch, but he was dead nonetheless. Barty Crouch Junior was a Death Eater according to Harry Potter, so it was safe to assume that He−Who−Shall−Not−Be−Named was behind this. Albus had been taken, but was he alive? Were they all dead? How had this happened?

"Sirius," said Minerva shakily., "Retreat. Come to Hogwarts; do not be seen. I'll send out the emergency abort signal. Let's just hope James and Dawlish haven't responded to the Ministry's signal yet. Hurry, Sirius."

"What about Rachel?" he asked. Minerva noted that he seemed to care about her, but they had to prioritise, and she was not a member.

"She's not in the Order," said Minerva. "And if she is indeed willing to help, we need a contact on the inside. She must stay in place."

With that, Minerva broke the connection. She took a deep breath before doing the one thing she hoped she would never have to do.

"Attention all members," said Minerva into the card. The card did not show one face, but many, so many in fact that they became more like dots than faces. "Attention all members," she repeated. "The Order has been compromised. Abort missions, walk away, repeat, walk away. Albus Dumbledore has been arrested and the Order are being hunted, everyone is to walk away and meet at Headquarters in one hour, do not been seen. No one is to approach the Ministry or the Auror Complex. If you are not at Headquarters in one hour, you will be assumed to be dead and the Order will disavow all associations with you, and your Frog−Card will be remotely destroyed."

She broke the connection, pocketed the card, and took a few deep breaths to try and calm herself. This proved futile. She had to get to the Great Hall, to A, make an appearance; and B, announce the arrest of Albus Dumbledore. No, better not. There was no way she could legally know about it yet. Better to wait for official word. The Order had lost enough members today; compromising herself would not help. But what if she already was compromised? What if they were on the way to arrest her right now? She had to act quickly. She was known to always look calm, as the ice queen, but image was insignificant now. Minerva sprinted out of her office, looking flustered, but not caring. She was about to set a personal record time of running to the Great Hall.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry Potter was becoming a more familiar sight around Hogwarts and people were beginning to get more comfortable having him around. He was not present very often, but no one really batted an eye when he was.

Harry was very frustrated at the moment. He needed to talk to Dumbledore about the proposed Duelling Club, but he hadn't seen him all day. McGonagall had said he was at the Ministry and to wait until he got back. That had been this morning. McGonagall had missed his Animagus training, and Harry was getting more and more frustrated. He himself was supposed to have a meeting with Crouch and Dumbledore this morning to discuss the Duelling Club, but when he had woken up this morning, there was an owl waiting for him carrying a note say that said that the meeting had been cancelled. For some reason, Dumbledore seemed to have gone anyway.

He marched into the Great Hall ten minutes into the lunch break and quickly made his way to where Rose, Ginny, Hermione and Ron were sitting, taking a seat beside his sister. "Morning," he muttered, grabbing a slice of quiche.

"Harry, how's it going?" asked Ginny as he sat down. She sounded jovial and wore a wide grin.

"Why are you in such a good mood?" said Harry, his bad mood not breaking.

"Because we have the afternoon off," said Ginny, dancing in her seat. "McGonagall cancelled her lessons this morning and we just heard this afternoon as well. Fancy a fly?" Harry found that he was not remotely interested in flying at the moment, or Quidditch at all for that matter. In fact, he was more worried by McGonagall and Dumbledore's absence.

"She cancelled all her lessons?" asked Harry, looking worried.

"You say it like it's a bad thing," said Rose with a grin. "Lasagne, Harry?"

"Have you see McGonagall or Dumbledore all day?" asked Harry, declining the offered lasagne with a gesture from his hand.

"You think something is wrong?" asked Hermione, reading his expression.

"Something's amiss," said Harry. "I had an appointment with Crouch and Dumbledore today to discuss the defence of Hogwarts. I got an owl cancelling it this morning, but Dumbledore still went to the Ministry. He hasn't been seen since. McGonagall is cancelling lessons. Coincidence? I've a bad feeling about this." It turned out that his fears were justified.

"Attention all Members," said a voice. Harry felt something vibrating in his pocket. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his Frog−Card. McGonagall's face was in the card. Harry listened to every word she said, blood draining from his face. As she finished, Harry pocketed the card, as white as a sheet.

"What's wrong?" said Rose. "You look like you've seen a ghost." Harry tried to speak, but all that came out was something that sounded like 'wibbalossum'. His lips were trembling. He took a deep breath to try and calm himself.

"McGonagall just told the entire Order to abort and walk away," said Harry. "This is not good."

Just then McGonagall came running into the hall through the back door, and leaned over the back of the chair between Snape and Flamel, whispering frantically in their ears. Harry saw his mother get up and go over to listen. They spoke for a few seconds, before McGonagall beckoned Harry to go and join them.

"Be right back," said Harry. He jogged to the table, noticing that everyone was watching him on the way. As he reached the table, Snape cast a sound bubble around them, ensuring that their conversation remained private. That done, he gave a nod to McGonagall, signalling it was safe to talk.

"You all got the message," began McGonagall, struggling for breath inside the bubble. She looked like she had just run from her office. Her speech was broken, interrupted by her constant panting. "In a nutshell, Crouch has been murdered and they are blaming Albus. We know he never murdered Crouch, he doesn't have it in him, but he has been arrested." Harry couldn't believe it; Dumbledore hated killing. He would never kill. This was a lie, but it did explain why he was not here. If he had been arrested, it was a devastating blow to the Order.

"Can't Kingsley and Dawlish help?" asked Lily immediately. "Amelia at least should be able to..."

"That's just it," said Minerva. "This morning we have lost contact with Kingsley, Amelia and Tonks. Sirius made an inquiry and apparently Moody and Arthur and Percy Weasley have been arrested as well. We've learned that this morning the Wizengamot convened. We can assume they bent some rules to elect a new Minister."

"Who?" asked Snape.

"Barty Crouch Junior." Harry felt his stomach sink.

"He's a Death Eater," he said. He still remembered the manic expression on his face the last time they had met.

"Yes, he is," said McGonagall. "We can assume that since the Wizengamot elected him, they too are corrupt. Like it or not, You−Know−Who now has both the Minister and the Wizengamot in his pocket. Politically, he is running the show."

"Surely the Aurors won't sit back and accept this," said Lily.

"They've assembled an elite team of Aurors loyal to Crouch and presumably You−Know−Who," said McGonagall. "They have named themselves the Black Watch and they are running the Aurors now, removing anyone in their way. It was them that made the arrests. You−Know−Who has effectively formed his own SS, and we can assume a civilian Gestapo will shortly follow."

"Is James alright?" asked Lily, looking pale.

"Luckily I was able to alert the Order," said McGonagall. "Dawlish, Sirius and James have all walked away. They will be here within the hour." Harry breathed a sigh of relief. At least his father was safe, though that was more than he could say for Ron's. How could they have let this happen? They never even saw it coming.

"Are the prisoners alive?" asked Flamel.

"We don't know," said McGonagall, shaking her head, a note of panic in her voice. "We've lost all contact."

"Dumbledore would not allow himself to be arrested," said Harry. "When Fudge tried it in my world. He took out four Aurors like that," − he snapped his fingers − "and that included Dawlish. If they took him, they did so by force, and that can't be good. If he isn't dead, he can't be in a good way. Think of how much it would take to keep him prisoner." McGonagall nodded in response.

"I've ordered the abort before we lose any more," she said. "We are meeting in an hour to decide what to do. However, we have to assume that there are arrest warrants out there with our names on them."

"Why?" asked Lily.

"Hope for the best, prepare for the worst," said Snape. "We have to assume that this Black−Watch are coming to arrest us. If we are taken, the Order will fall. How do we prepare for that? We can't have a firefight in front of the students; the crossfire could potential kill someone. We cannot fight this by legal means, since the Dark Lord now controls the Ministry; we must seek other methods, but we can't plan anything with such short notice."

"I can run," suggested Harry. "But I don't know what I'd do. Professor Snape, you have to stay to maintain your cover. Sirius can run too; he's a natural survivor and an Animagus, which will help. We could rendezvous with dad and Dawlish an from there...we'll think of something."

"Running is not a good option," said Snape. "We would remove ourselves from the only place of safety and would cut ourselves off. We would lose all access to information." Snape had a point. If they went into hiding, they would not gain enough to be able to fight back. However, if they stayed, they would be arrested. They were between a rock and a hard place.

"I must stay," said McGonagall. "I cannot leave the school to who knows what fate. Crouch will have Death Eaters here teaching all manner of Dark Arts. With Albus gone, I am acting Headmistress. If this results in my arrest, so be it, but I cannot leave the school to its fate."

"Self−sacrificing acts are not practical," said Snape. "That won't help anyone, Minerva."

"Do you have a better plan?" asked Flamel, speaking for the first time. The former Death Eater didn't respond.

"If Harry goes," said Lily thoughtfully. "They will take myself and Rose−Marie to lure him back. They used her once to get at him. I can't put my daughter at risk. I don't like letting Harry run around, but I trust him to take care of himself, but I can't let you put Rosie in danger."

"Rose can come with me," said Harry. "Myself and Sirius can protect her." He didn't know what he'd do with her, or whether she could keep up. He didn't know where to go either, come to that, but just like his mother, he wanted to keep her safe.

"Remember, this is the worst case scenario," said McGonagall. "It hopefully won't be necessary, but I agree. If we are arrested before the meeting in an hour, Lily, Severus and myself must stay in place. The rest may run − Harry and Sirius will take control, and Miss Potter will go with them for her own safety. Harry, tell Rose−Marie only what you must. We don't know who is listening. Are you armed?"

"Yes, Professor," said Harry; he had both his wands on him.

"Okay, we meet again in one hour," she said. "Good luck, my friends."

After a nod from McGonagall, Snape removed the bubble. Harry noticed that the rest of the school were talking, or at least they had been. The noise died down, as if they expected McGonagall to tell them what was going on. They were to be disappointed, as the teachers merely returned to their tables as if nothing had happened. There was a moment's silence, as it occurred to the school that no one was going to say anything. Harry walked slowly back to his seat, replaying the conversation in his mind. Things had just gone from bad to worse, and he feared there was more to come.

As Harry reached his place on the Gryffindor table, he noticed that everyone seemed to be leaning towards him, trying to hear the conversation. They all assumed he would tell them exactly what was going on.

"What was all that about?" asked Rose.

Harry knew that far too many people were listening for him to answer. "Pass the ketchup, please," he said casually.

"What happened?" asked Ron.

Harry shot him a glare and stood up to reach the ketchup, bringing his head close enough to whisper to Ron. "Wait until people move away." Ron glanced around and then nodded. Harry poured a blob onto his plate.

"How far are you with Snape's essay?" he asked Hermione, as if he hadn't a care in the world. It took another minute of aimless conversation before they were comfortable enough to talk.

"What happened?" asked Rose, leaning in close. Harry checked that there was no one listening and then replied.

"Let's just say, I hate being right all the time," he said. "We just lost half the gang. Someone is hunting us down."

"What?" gasped Ron.

"Louder, Ron," said Harry angrily, "I don't think Malfoy heard you." The other boy shot him a glare, but then sat lower on the bench. He leaned in close to whisper.

"So what's going on?" he asked.

"Well," started Harry.

He was cut off as the doors to the Great Hall were suddenly flung open, slamming into the walls with a deafening bang. All eyes turned in that direction as six figures in black entered the room. Four of them had their hoods up, with veils covering their faces and the word 'AUROR' written across their chests, but these were no Aurors. They were the new Black Watch, he realised. What scared Harry the most were the two figures in front with their hoods down − Harry knew both of them, but wished he didn't. In his world, both of them had tried to kill him. The first was Barty Crouch Junior, the new Minister of Magic. He wore jet−black robes with a black cloak fastened with a golden broach. The other was Augustus Rookwood, the Ministry Worker and spy for the Dark Lord, who had tried to kill Harry in the Department of Mysteries last year. He also wore black, but not as grand as Crouch. Both were Death Eaters and both were bad news. Harry freed the stun baton from its holster inside his robes. He muttered a quick enlargement charm, lengthening it to the length of his sword, in absence of the real thing.

He stared into the hazel eyes of Barty Crouch Junior as he passed. Their eyes locked for an instant, just enough time for Crouch to shoot him a glare. The last time he had seen Crouch, the man had been under the effect of Veritaserum. Harry could picture it in his mind. Crouch's eyes had been vacant and glazed, yet he still held the poise of evil. Harry remembered his maniacal expression and the sound of his laughter as he told Dumbledore that Voldemort had returned. Harry still remembered it as if it were yesterday; it was not the sort of thing one forgot.

McGonagall, looking distinctly pale, was already walking down the centre aisle to greet them. She was moving rather shakily, and Harry had a nasty feeling that they were here to arrest her. He tightened his grip on the Baton and freed his wand, ready for action. Rose made to do the same, but Harry shook his head.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" McGonagall asked shakily as she approached Crouch and Rookwood. Crouch never broke stride.

"Please take a seat, Professor," he said as he marched to the front of the room. McGonagall fell into step beside him. "I bring news of your Headmaster." He stopped as he reached the front. McGonagall continued, returning to her seat. Taking out his wand, he cast the Sonorus Charm on himself.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," he began. "MY NAME IS BARTEMIUS CROUCH JUNIOR. I REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT MY FATHER, BARTEMIUS CROUCH SENIOR, THE MINISTER OF MAGIC, WAS MURDERED THIS MORNING." He paused, allowing his words to sink in. A wave of gasps swept around the hall. Harry could hear people asking questions, and wondering how the most well protected man in Britain could have been killed.

"THIS IS A TRAGIC LOSS," continued Crouch. "AND NONE FEEL IT MORE THAN I. NOT ONLY WAS HE A GOOD FATHER, BUT HE WAS A PATRIOT WHO SERVED HIS COUNTRY WELL. WE WILL MISS HIM, AND HIS MURDERER WILL NOT GO UNPUNISHED. YOU WILL BE GLAD TO HEAR THAT WE HAVE ALREADY ARRESTED THE MAN RESPONSIBLE: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE."

There was a tremendous gasp that went around the hall. Most couldn't believe it. The buzz of chatter was instant. 'How was this possible' was the question on most people's lips.

"What?" gasped Rose.

"It's bollocks, but shut up and listen," hissed Harry. Crouch was far from done.

"I KNOW THIS MAY COME AS A SHOCK TO YOU WHO KNEW HIM. HE TAUGHT ME WHEN I WAS A STUDENT HERE. HE NEVER STRUCK ME AS A MAN CAPABLE OF THIS, BUT THE FACTS ARE CLEAR. HE WAS ARRESTED SHORTLY AFTERWARDS, AND HIS CO−CONSPIRATORS ARE BEING ROUNDED UP AS WE SPEAK."

So he was here to arrest McGonagall. Harry tightening his grip on the baton and drew his wand, ready in case it all kicked off.

"Rose," he whispered. "If it all kicks off, come with me. We will have to leave."

"What?" she asked.

"Trust me," smiled Harry. "Keep your head down."

"I WANT YOU ALL TO KNOW THAT THE SITUATION IS UNDER CONTROL," continued Crouch. "THE WIZENGAMOT CONVENED AND VOTED THIS MORNING AND I HAVE BEEN APPOINTED MINISTER OF MAGIC. IN MY FATHER'S STEAD, I HAVE CONTINUED HIS FINAL POLICIES BY THE FORMATION OF THE BLACK WATCH, WHO ARE HERE TO PROTECT US ALL." He gestured to the Aurors in black behind him. "THIS NEXT GENERATION OF AURORS WILL ENSURE THAT THIS MURDEROUS ACT WILL NOT GO UNPUNISHED. THEY WILL ENSURE A BRIGHTER FUTURE FOR US ALL. FINALLY, WE HAVE THE POLICING FORCE WE NEED. NOW, FOR MY SECOND ACT OF BUSINESS. ONE OF MY MAIN CONCERNS IN THIS HORRIFIC WAR IS THE PRESERVATION OF OUR YOUTH. THE SECURITY OF HOGWARTS IS MY NUMBER ONE PRIORITY. AS SUCH, I AM APPOINTING PROFESSOR ROOKWOOD, HERE," − he gestured to the man next to him − "AS THE FIRST HOGWARTS HIGH INQUISITOR. WE WILL MAKE SURE HOGWARTS CONTINUES ITS FINE TRADITION AND STANDARDS. LET US NOT FORGET WE ARE AT WAR, AND DESPERATE TIMES CALL FOR DESPERATE MEASURES; AS SUCH, PROFESSOR ROOKWOOD WILL INTRODUCE A NEW CLASS. NOT ONLY WILL HE BE YOUR HIGH INQUISITOR, BUT YOUR VERY FIRST DARK ARTS TEACHER."

Harry glanced over at the Slytherins, who were whispering excitedly. There were those at all tables who looked as though they were intrigued by the idea, but most looked unable to believe what was being said. Dumbledore, a murderer? It was obviously BS, couldn't they see it? Some people hadn't even heard this last bit and were just thinking of Dumbledore's arrest. The chatter had reached fever pitch before Snape released several loud bangs from his wand, bringing the hall to silence.

"So I am being replaced?" asked McGonagall, when she could be heard.

"Certainly not," said Crouch, acting affronted. "Professor Rookwood is the High Inquisitor, but you, Professor, are still Headmistress, with Professor Snape as your deputy, I believe. The Inquisitor is here to assist you, not to replace you. I am sure, as two mature adults, you can get along."

"You can't do this," said McGonagall. "The Ministry of Magic has no control over Hogwarts, we are a privately owned and run institution. You have no right to interfere."

"Firstly, we are changing the mandate," said Crouch. "And secondly, we have permission. The Board of Governors has voted to bring Hogwarts under Ministry control. I have the document here, signed by a majority of the board, and delivered by Lucius Malfoy. There is nothing you can do about it. Any questions?"

"Yeah," said Harry, rising to his feet. "Two." Crouch turned to face him, wearing a surprised but not fearful glance. The Aurors moved their hands closer to their wands.

"Oh, it's you," said Crouch in a bored voice.

"Firstly," said Harry ignoring him. "Are the Ministry aware that you are a Death Eater, and you hang out with the Lestranges?"

"Ah yes, my name was mentioned in your statement to the Aurors," said Crouch. "An investigation was launched and found nothing."

"Because your father was blinded by his pride and aborted the investigation," said Harry.

"Harry," said Crouch. "You of all people must know what accusations like that do when the press finds out. People still fear to be in the same room as you, the Dark Knight. You can try and spoil my image if it amuses you, but I have work to do, so I must be getting on. What's your second question?"

"What if, hypothetically of course, I were to say to you, 'you can't do this, this is wrong, get out of the school or I'll throw you and your entire entourage out myself, you slimy bastard', what would you say?"

"Well," said Crouch. "Hypothetically, I would reply that you are no match for my Aurors, and would hasten to remind you that I could have your pardon revoked at any time and you sent to Azkaban. I believe Professor Rookwood might also deduct points for your foul language, hypothetically of course. Now, if we've finished chatting, I have work to do. Professor Rookwood is now in charge. Oh, and one more thing Potter, I know that you were never expelled, but I also know that you do not attend lessons here, nor are you a member of staff. Your presence here is no longer appropriate. You can either start attending lessons like a normal student, or you can leave the school. It is your choice. Professor Rookwood, two Aurors will stay to aid you."

With that he turned and marched towards the door, two Aurors in tow. As the doors slammed shut there was a moment of conversation before it was silenced by a loud bang from Rookwood's wand.

"Classes are on as normal this afternoon," said Rookwood after a few seconds. His voice was an icy growl that was heard in every corner of the room. "You will receive your new timetables with added classes within a week. For now, I will evaluate each member of staff and the syllabus they are teaching." With that he turned to McGonagall. "Show me to Dumbledore's office," he ordered. It looked like he wasn't here to arrest them, Harry noted. But he hadn't decided whether this was better or worse.

"It won't open to you," said Harry with a smirk. "Only the true Headmaster can open the office, so that puts you right out of luck, pal."

"Shut up, Potter," sneered Rookwood before following McGonagall out of the room.

"Ronald Weasley, Ginerva Weasley, Draco Malfoy and Susan Bones," said McGonagall, as she guided Rookwood to the door. "Please wait in my office." She now had the job of breaking the news that their parents, cousin and aunt, respectively, had been arrested, and possibly killed, not that Draco Malfoy had any fondness for dear cousin Nymphadora. Harry was just glad he wasn't the one to have to tell them.

XXXXXXXXXX

MINISTER OF MAGIC MURDERED!

Early this morning before the Ministry of Magic returned to work, the Minister of Magic, Bartemius Crouch Senior, was found murdered in his office. Minister Crouch appeared to be the victim of the Killing Curse, which carries a life sentence in Azkaban for its use. The murder was carried out by none other than Albus Dumbledore, former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Motives for the assassination are unclear, but Dumbledore was arrested shortly after the murder.

It is suspected that Dumbledore was not working alone, and his army of terrorists, also known as the Order of the Phoenix, have been rounded up. Dumbledore had a network of spies in many departments of the Ministry, ranging from the Aurors to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts, feeding him top secret information and aiding in his treason. Within two hours of the murder, a further six arrests were made. This time, the Phoenix will not rise again.

Given the ongoing war, it was decided by the Wizengamot to forgo the formalities and elect a new Minister immediately. By ten o'clock this morning, Bartemius Crouch Junior, the late Minister's son, was elected to the post of Minister of Magic.

"My Father was a patriot who loved his country," said Crouch in a statement this afternoon. "I look forward to continuing his fine tradition. He last policy has already been passed, and I believe that to be a fitting tribute to a man who gave so much to this country. His legacy has been acknowledged and his murderer brought to swift justice by none other than the elite fighting force he himself envisioned." Crouch took over his father's duties this morning and has already made several changes to forward the war effort. He has introduced a new post at Hogwarts School, which will guarantee the continuing standards and safety of the students there. Augustus Rookwood, Hogwarts' first High Inquisitor, has been greeted with much enthusiasm and has been an immediate success.

The funeral for the late Minister will be one week on Friday, more details to follow.

Harry closed his copy of the Evening Prophet, not bothering to read the detailed account of the duties of the High Inquisitor, remembering all too well his experience with the blood−quill. This man was going to be worse than Umbridge. She had been cruel, but Rookwood was a full scale Death Eater.

"Can they do this?" asked Rose. They were all seated at dinner, now that Harry had been forced to join the student body. He could feel the weight of his new timetable in his pocket. He had the new Dark Arts class on Tuesdays and Fridays with Rookwood, beginning a week on Friday. He had been right in that Rookwood could not get into the Dumbledore's office, and now had made his own someone near the dungeons.

"They can," said Harry. "This was all discussed at the meeting. They really do have us backed into a corner. It was a brilliantly planned operation. Lucius Malfoy hands control of Hogwarts over to the Ministry, just as Crouch murders his father and somehow arrests Dumbledore. We have had to retreat. Dad's gone into hiding with Sirius and Dawlish. Most of the others have as well. We've set up a network of emergency communication, but I fear that many of them will desert, thinking it's hopeless."

"Isn't it?" asked Ron.

"No," said Harry. "We've got a lot of problems, but it isn't hopeless. We just have to cope with Rookwood for now, which is easier said that than done. I've met High Inquisitors before. They are above the law. Even if he wasn't a Death Eater, Crouch would not get an honest report of what is going on. If he crosses the line, we can't go to McGonagall as if she complains, there will be a new Educational Decree and she will be fired. Nothing can stop the Inquisitor."

"Not even you?" asked Ginny.

"By force, yes," said Harry. "But it does no good. He would be replaced and I would be arrested."

"Can't we go after the Minister?" asked Ginny.

"In theory yes," said Hermione. "If a Vote of No Confidence is called, and a majority of the Department Heads or Wizengamot say so, then the Minister can be thrown out."

"Amelia Bones disappeared this morning," said Harry. "Your father too, Ginny. It is only a matter of time before Crouch has replaced all Department Heads. He already controls the Wizengamot, as he controlled the voting this morning which I believe broke every procedure in the book."

"So what can we do?" asked Ron.

"The coin has flipped," said Harry. "We are not in control; Voldemort is. You read the Prophet; with him in power, we are the outlaws, the terrorists. The only way for us to take back power is in a coup d'etat, and that makes us no better than him. The world is many shades of grey, no? That is what was discussed in the meeting."

"So we sit and wait?" asked Ginny. "But what if Dad and Percy are..." she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

"We have no choice," said Harry. "I don't like it and I argued against it, but we have no choice. What I will say is this. I am 99 percent sure that your father is alive."

"Are you trying to cheer me up?" asked Ginny irritably. "Because it is not working."

"Fawkes," said Harry. "He hasn't regenerated or chosen a new master, which means that Dumbledore is alive. He is more of a threat that your father, and if he is being kept alive, it is safe to assume that they all are."

"So why don't we rescue them?" asked Ron.

"Because we don't know where to start," said Harry. "They could be anywhere. If we miss, we only risk getting arrested. The Order is in chaos. We have been rumbled, and in walking away we essentially disappear from our covers. We are..." Words failed Harry.

"Screwed?" offered Rose.

"I wouldn't go that far," said Harry. It about summed it up, but he had to appear confident for their sakes. "For now, we must play this out and see what happens. This is only the second step. First came the bomb that blinded us, now he takes control in secret, but we don't know how this is supposed to end. We have two spies still functioning − Snape, and of course our double for Rodolphus Lestrange. We have one more source inside the Aurors, who seems to be on our side. We have to sit and wait until something happens."

"He's consolidating his power," said Hermione. "We must stop him."

"It's too late," said Harry. "He has control of the Ministry and Wizengamot. We are outlaws. He knows who I am and most likely McGonagall, Flamel, Dad, Sirius as well. And now Dawlish has retreated, him too. If we don't already have arrest warrants, it means he is watching us. He knows we are in the Order and is allowing us to go free. I want to know why. I also think it would be better if we were not seen together, Hermione."

"Why?"

"Arthur and Percy were arrested, and I am well known. That means that Ginny, Ron and Rose are going to be watched. If you seem too close, you may become a target and your parents are not protected. Hermione, can you do the Protean Charm? Could you do a set of galleons that if one of us changes the date of manufacture to the time of the next meeting, the others all change too and the coin heats up to alert us to the change?"

"Probably, why?"

"If we meet again, we must do so in secret. This order comes from McGonagall. Someone has been sent to watch your parents, but we don't want to get you hurt."

"Fine," said Hermione.

"If you come to see me, make sure no one sees you. Rookwood is not here to arrest us, but to keep an eye on us. Let's not make it too easy for him. Let him see what we want him to see."

"Which is?"

"Nothing at all. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get some book from the library because now I have to actually do some work."

"Do you consider yourself lazy?" asked Hermione.

"No," said Harry. "But with all that's going on, NEWTs seem so...pardon me for saying this Hermione, but they seem so unimportant."

"This will be good for you, Harry," said Hermione. "You need to keep up an education."

"It makes a change from trial by fire," he noted. "I suppose that since I've been here, I've considered this a holiday, rather than a change of school. When I go back, I'll need to know what's in the exams." He managed to stop himself adding 'if I am still alive to take them'.

He excused himself and left the hall. He found his mother in her quarters. As he entered the room, he found her on the sofa in front of the fire, an empty glass of something that smelt vile on its side below her hand, which dangled over the arm of the chair. She must have been holding it and dropped it as she drifted into sleep. As much as he needed to talk to her, he couldn't bring himself to wake her. Her fiery locks cascaded gently over her face, the tips blowing in her gentle breath. Her robes were pulled around her like a cocoon. One arm was draped over the side of the sofa, the other held lightly against her stomach. It was the most peaceful Harry had seen her since entering her life.

He pulled a blanket from the cupboard and draped it lightly over her. He felt oddly paternal towards her in her current state, which was deeply ironic given their relationship. She stirred lightly as the blanket touched her, but fell right back to sleep. Harry couldn't sleep and knew it. He had practiced his Animagus training earlier to the point of exhaustion and knew that he had an appointment with McGonagall in an hour, so he was not inclined to practice any more. He had only come back in order to fetch a Potions book. He had been told that he could enter any class he chose, so he had opted for those essential to an Auror. Somewhere inside, he still hoped of finding a way home, to do what he had always wanted, even though his head told him he was stuck here. He could get into Defence no problem, but God only knew about the others. Charms and Transfiguration wouldn't be too hard, he hoped. He needed to Owl−Order those books, but he knew his mother would have plenty of spare Potions books in her cupboard. He picked the top one up and opened it.

To his annoyance, he found the book to have been scribbled all over. Every recipe had been annotated to the point where it was difficult to read. Oh well, at least it was not covered in all manner of stains like the others. It was old, but clean. Its previous owner had obviously cared for it − who wouldn't if they had added this much to it him or herself.

Harry yawned involuntarily. He was absolutely knackered. He had fifty minutes before his next training session. He didn't feel up to it, but this was not the sort of thing one could cancel on. He headed to his annex off his mother's quarters, and to the large four poster bed that was his. Setting a magical alarm, Harry lay down on the bed for a 'power nap'. He knew that generally with a short nap, you woke up more tired than when you went to sleep. But he needed all the energy he could get for later.

XXXXXXXXXX

Just like the previous year, when Umbridge had taken over, a tense atmosphere had descended over the castle. It had been three days since Rookwood had taken over. The headmaster's office was sealed to him, which gave Harry hope, as it meant that Dumbledore, wherever he was, was still alive. As such, Rookwood had given himself an office in the East Wing of the castle.

The week had passed just as badly as any under the reign of Umbridge. While she had been a ratty old bag with a vicious streak, Rookwood was vindictive, spiteful, and a Death Eater, which meant that he held the school in a grip of fear far exceeding that of his predecessor in Harry's world. Monday hadn't been too bad. In fact, although he had whinged at the time, Harry now longed for it to be as peaceful as it had been on Monday. Rookwood had merely begun the appraisals of the existing members of staff. McGonagall agreed with Harry that he was trying to assess who was in the Order and who wasn't. Harry hadn't been in Snape's lesson when he had had Rookwood sitting in, but he had heard from the third years that Rookwood had been impressed. No surprises there. Flitwick had won over the High Inquisitor 'in his normal charming way', as Ginny had informed him, slipping in a none−too−subtle pun. Harry had been in one lesson that was being tested, and that was his mother's. While she didn't comment on his sudden appearance in the class, she did expect the same of him as anyone else. He had not told her about his past experience in Potions Class. He had been dreading this lesson for some time, mainly because he feared embarrassment, especially with being taught by his mother.

Luckily, something completely unexpected had happened − the annotations which obscured the recipes were a blessing in disguise. Harry, on a foolish whim, had followed those instead. More specifically, he had tried both ways in the preparation phase, and the written notes had yielded better results. As such he had continued to use them, resulting in a good mark at the end of the lesson, even exceeding that of Hermione, who looked annoyed with him.

"Well done for knocking her off her high horse," said Seamus over Harry's shoulder.

"That was not my intention," said Harry flatly. He had been trying to integrate Hermione into the conversation more over the last week, trying to bring her into the Gryffindor mainstream.

"Yeah, well," said Seamus, "I supposes when mummy teaches."

"Finished?" asked Harry.

His success in Potions continued to the next lesson on Wednesday, but the mood in the school was deteriorating fast. Rookwood was tightening his grip, handing out seemingly erratic detentions, and quashing anyone who questioned him. Silence became the new creed of the school within forty−eight hours. Any conversations were conducted in whispers in the corridor, lest Rookwood or the Inquisitorial Squad were close by. If they ever needed a DA it was now, but Harry had no time to plan one. Also, he remembered how his previous attempt had gone.

Harry was surprised that Trelawney had not been ousted by Wednesday, but it had only been two days. Maybe he just hadn't got around to her yet. The price of his continued presence of Hogwarts was that Harry now had to attend lessons along with the rest of the sixth years. Unfortunately, this brought him under the control of Snape, but that couldn't be helped.

Rookwood seemed to take great delight in punishing Gryffindors, especially Ginny and Ron, because of their father and Percy. This of course sent Ron's temper through the roof, and so he ended up digging himself a deeper hole. The expected Educational Decrees started to arrive, though they differed slightly from Umbridge's ones. Rookwood was much quicker to install his own prefects and within two days, several of the Slytherins were sporting the new Inquisitorial Squad badges, much to everyone else's horror. Pansy Parkinson in particular became infamous for docking points for stupid reasons. The only saving grace was that Malfoy didn't dare to take points from Harry; not yet anyway.

It was just after nine on the Monday, just over a week after the arrival of the High Inquisitor, that Harry sat in front of the fire in Gryffindor Tower, staring at the flames. Although he still lived with his mother, he had gotten into the habit of spending a lot of his free time in the Tower, mingling and doing his homework, something he had definitely not missed over the last three months. That night, he had finished his homework and was sitting with a drink, staring into the flames, trying to work out where it had all gone wrong.

How had they not seen it coming? He knew Voldemort's arrest was a trick, but somehow they had gotten complacent. Now, they were out of office and out of power. The new regime, not that most people knew there was one, was under the control of Voldemort, while the Order of the Phoenix, which they now acknowledged existed, were cast out, labelled as terrorists and murderers. And of course, being in the Prophet, the public just swallowed it up. Did they not remember the days when Dumbledore taught them? The man wasn't capable of murder. How could they fail to see that? But then again, with the Black Watch on the prowl, no one would speak out.

As for the Order itself, they were in chaos. Only forty had made it to the meeting last week. McGonagall had done the only thing she could; the Order was sent into hiding. They were to make no move until contacted. Their covers were blown and their names on the wanted list. They had no leader, no sources of information and no manpower. The Order had been crushed in a single blow.

Since that day, there had been twelve more disappearances. Frank Longbottom had not been seen since the Purges, and even after they had gone into hiding eight of them had been taken. With a reward on their heads, hiding was more difficult than they might expect. The Order of the Phoenix no longer existed; its leader was gone, its senior members under the eye of the High Inquisitor and its members were in hiding if not captured or even dead.

As for Hogwarts, it was under the control of a Death Eater. Despite being Headmistress, McGonagall's power was limited. Rule−breakers were sentenced by the Inquisitorial Squad or sent to Rookwood. Harry could tell everywhere he went that he was being watched, if not by the Slytherins, then by others. He could see in some of the eyes of students that they were watching him, that they had sided with Voldemort and Rookwood. Every step he took, someone was there taking notes. McGonagall and Flamel got the same treatment. Of the former Inner Circle, only Snape could move around freely, which, as much as Harry hated to admit it, had been vital. Since they were being watched, Animagus and Occlumency lessons were few and far between and it was a good thing that Harry had yet to return his father's invisibility cloak.

The Muggleborns were the worst affected. Everyone seemed to treat them like dirt these past few days. Hermione's ever−raised hand was not acknowledged once, and her essays marked much more harshly than the Slytherins'. Snape had been biased towards his own house; Rookwood was just plain racist. It seemed that the only smiles one saw around the castle were on the faces of the Slytherins. Any others were quickly hidden, in fear of retribution.

To top it all, the timetables had been added to. There were notices on the notice−board detailing the new Dark Arts classes that were to start on Friday. In two days' time, Malfoy and Parkinson would be taught to hurt people, and with their previous records and impulse control problems, this was going to be a nightmare. They would be so eager to try out their new spells that talking too loudly would merit an Unforgivable. Things were fast becoming out of control.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Ginny, sinking into the seat next to his.

"Where did it all go wrong?" said Harry, shaking his head.

"There was no way anyone could have seen this," said Ginny, rubbing his shoulder. "And anyhow, there's no use crying over spilt potion, we have to decide what to do now."

"Like what?" asked Harry. "The Order doesn't exist anymore. Our every move is being watched and I'm required to attend these bloody lessons."

"You're not Superman," said Hermione, joining them. "Even you can't do everything."

"I just feel so helpless," said Harry, glaring at the flames.

Just then the Portrait Hole swung open and in stepped the most unexpected person: Draco Malfoy. His silver 'I' badge was glistening on his lapel as he straightened himself up. He cast a disdainful glance around the room; he had never entered it in the last five years of Hogwarts.

"What do you want?" sneered Ron. "You can't be in here."

Malfoy didn't respond at first, but he continued his survey of the room before turning to an irate Ron. "Inquisitorial duty," he said calmly. Ron stepped forward, presumably to stop him, but Harry grabbed his arm, holding him back.

"Potter," Malfoy addressed him frankly. "The High Inquisitor wishes to see you in his office immediately."

"Well I wish for a Firebolt made of solid gold, but that's not how the world works," said Harry calmly.

"I am under instructions to escort you to his office," said Malfoy.

"Do my ears deceive me or was that a threat?" asked Harry. He had become aware that the entire room had fallen silent and were watching the exchange, hanging on every word. Malfoy paled slightly, but held firm. "Oh well," continued Harry. "I suppose I could clear my busy little schedule for the Lord High Inseminator." He rose slowly from his seat and pulled himself up to his full height.

"Lead on," he said simply to Malfoy, who turned on his heel and left. Harry glanced at Rose, who returned a curious glance. Harry shrugged and then followed Malfoy out of the room. The Portrait closed behind him. Together they walked down towards the stairs.

"Is Rookwood in the know?" asked Malfoy. Harry nearly asked what he was talking about, before he remembered that Malfoy thought he was undercover. Harry suppressed a knowing smile.

"Nope," said Harry. "As far as he is concerned I've done a Judas, and that is how it must stay. On a related note, he will put me down and drag me through the muck as much as possible, but do not intervene or show pity. Make him believe you are in his pocket. What I need is to know what he is planning before it happens. He has been given free reign, but his impulse control is a tad better than that of a famished alligator. As such, I need to know what he is doing. If he goes too far, I need to be able to send out an SOS to get a collar put on him."

"As you wish," said Malfoy. "If you don't mind me asking, why not return now? I mean, Crouch controls the Ministry; the Dark Lord effectively runs the country. Why not give up the pretence?" It was a good question. Harry paused for a moment, thinking of a good lie.

"Remember the damage that our boys did to the Ministry in the past?" asked Harry. "Well, now the tables have turned. Dumbledore's old crew are the outsiders, the terrorists now, and many of them are still at large. No one knows who they are or how many there are. That's my job."

"I see," said Malfoy.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Harry did not know what used to be in the room that now acted as Rookwood's office, but he was certain that he had never entered it before. He had probably passed the door over five hundred times, bit there were so many doors in the castle that it was nothing special to have never been in a room.

It had a certain cemetery feel to it, as if he was living in a tomb. Shadows were everywhere and the room seemed so cold and bare. Surely it was too dark for Rookwood to even read. If he was trying for a creepy atmosphere, he only served to damage his eyes, give himself pneumonia and look like a fool.

"Potter," said a clipped voice as Harry entered. A candelabra burst into flame to Harry's left, illuminating Rookwood, who sat in an armchair, one hand on his wand which lay on the arm of the chair and the other stroking his stubbly beard. His long dark hair encircled his face and his short yet rough beard gave him a haunted look. "Sit."

Harry did so, but not on the chair that Rookwood gestured to. He sat on the Inquisitor's desk, knocking over a pile of parchments, but making no effort to apologise. He sat and glared at Rookwood.

"Tea?" offered the elder man. One drop of Veritaserum or two, Harry nearly said aloud, but held his tongue. He simply nodded. "Sugar?"

"No thanks," said Harry. "I'm sweet enough." Rookwood shot him an irritated glare and passed Harry the cup. Harry glanced down at the cup, but got no feelings about it. There was no magic in it, and Harry was fairly sure it was safe. He realised that he wouldn't be able to sense Muggle poisons and the truth serum, Sodium Pentothal, but doubted that Rookwood would use it. Death Eaters viewed Muggle technology as below them. The only reason that Voldemort had used the nuclear bomb was to bring the Muggle government to the brink of war. Stealing its most guarded and deadly weapon gave them cause for concern, and the current political climate was a test to that. War was imminent and Voldemort was arming the country.

"Do you know why I called you here?" began Rookwood, sipping his tea and leaning back in his chair.

"Nope," said Harry absently. He had a fair idea that Rookwood was merely trying to flex his muscles and prove to Harry that he was in charge. Violent people always want to be feared and respected. "Do tell; the suspense is killing me," he continued, his voice oozing sarcasm. Harry guessed he had been right; his lack of respect caused Rookwood's jaw to clench in anger.

"I called you here because of this," said Rookwood, throwing a sheet of parchment down in front of Harry. Not taking his eyes off Rookwood, Harry set his mug down and picked up the parchment. He read the first few lines, and suddenly realised what this was all about; the parchment contained a transcript of his meeting with Crouch after Rose's trial. It detailed Crouch Senior's request that Harry build him an army from the students, or at least that was how Rookwood had interpreted it.

"Well?" pressed Rookwood.

"Well it's not Shakespeare..." began Harry, before Rookwood cut him off.

"Stop playing games, Potter," spat the High Inquisitor. "I'm tired of your big mouth. You know full well what that is. Trust me when I tell you that the only reason you are still here is so you can do this for us. You will form your little duelling club and you will teach these children to fight."

"I thought that was what your Dark Arts class was for," said Harry coldly. "Or does that just cover rape, torture and murder, not combat?" Suddenly, coloured dots burst over Harry's vision as Rookwood slapped the back of his hand across Harry's face. He felt the sting on his skin, and raised a hand to his cheek. In the shadows, he had not even seen it coming.

"You slapped me!" protested Harry.

"Going to report me to Crouch?" smirked Rookwood.

"Never mind that," said Harry, shocked. "You slapped me, you big girl's blouse! At least hit me."

Suddenly Harry felt fingers close around his neck. He clenched his fist to fight back, but managed to hold himself back. Rookwood wasn't squeezing, just holding him still. He could feel the Inquisitor's garlicky breath on his face, and Rookwood leaned in close to him. He hadn't expected Rookwood to actually assault him. He considered fighting free, but that would only get him kicked out of school. He needed to stay, if only for Rose's protection.

"I told you once to watch your tongue," he hissed venomously. "Now listen very carefully. You will form this club. It will meet twice a week on Monday and Wednesday, and I will teach a third session on the weekends. You will teach duelling according my curriculum and under my supervision. You will attend lessons and be a good little student, is that clear?"

"And if I refuse?" asked Harry, glaring back with just as much venom.

"Your bushy little Muggle friend will suffer for it," said Rookwood icily. "And as for your sister and mother, well...I have something special in mind for them."

"If you touch them..." snapped Harry.

"You'll do what?" sneered Rookwood. "If you hex me, I'll curse your friends. If you send one of my Inquisitorial Squad to the hospital, I'll send one of your friends to the morgue. You can't win, Potter, as time you realise. If you try anything, it will be the ones you care about that suffer. Do what I want, and no one gets hurt during this transition."

"But hundreds will die afterwards," said Harry. "You're planning a war with the Muggles. Jesus, can't you see that no one can win? They'll destroy the country long before you get it and even if you win, their allies in the States and Europe will isolate the island and nuke it to high heaven."

"You have no idea, Potter," said Rookwood smugly. "Everything is going to change. We are going to clean this place up. Every angle has been thought out. Under the Fidelius charm, no missile will find us. No one will know we exist. Wizard−kind will have our own island, our own country. Purebloods will have a safe haven and our race will go on, under the command of a leader who is worthy of the title. Isn't that worth fighting for?"

Harry had heard what he needed to hear. He had not been trying to get Rookwood to let facts slip, but he was grateful for it. Now the Order would know what was happening. Ah, but was this a plant? Snape had explained the gauntlet theory to the Order. Voldemort had used it before. One person goes in, if he succeeds, the target is taken, if he falls, he is told what to say, and so the target is misled straight into the trap set by the second person. He too is told what to say if he falls and a third person is ready, so effectively the target runs a gauntlet until he is taken. Complicated, yes, but was Rookwood clever enough to do it? He wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. Still, he had to tell McGonagall and Flamel.

"You're wrong," said Harry. "And I'm going to be there when you realise it."

"Denial will get you nowhere."

"It's a fine line between faith and denial," said Harry.

"Get out of my sight," said Rookwood. "And remember your friends, not you, will suffer for your rule breaking." He released Harry and turned his back. For a fleeting moment, Harry considered stunning him and posting his unconscious body to Timbuktu, but decided against it. He turned his back and strode towards the door, yanking it violently open. He paused just as he left.

"Remember, Augustus," said Harry icily. "What goes around, comes back and kicks you on the arse."

XXXXXXXXXX

Malfoy had not waited for him, which was very convenient. Harry set off at a frustrated run up towards the Staff Wing. He was most likely being followed and it would be stupid to go straight to McGonagall. Harry wasn't even sure that what he had been told was accurate. Snape's gauntlet theory had made him paranoid. He arrived at his mother's rooms in five minutes and went straight into his own little annex. He took a moment to calm himself and to fish out his father's invisibility cloak. His mother was on patrol until one tonight, so she was out in the corridors; not that it made a difference as the Inquisitorial Squad seemed to outrank teachers these days. He assumed Rose was in the Tower.

Wrapping the cloak around himself, Harry headed back out the door. He considered Flooing, but of course Rookwood would be monitoring the Floo network. Harry could remember the sight of Umbridge's hand trying to grab Sirius in the fire. He slipped out of the room and headed up the stairs, higher into the tower. He came to McGonagall's door and knocked quietly. There was a pause and the door opened, revealing McGonagall in a tartan dressing gown and a candle held high. A puzzled expression crossed her face. Harry took the opportunity to slip past her into the room. He dared not remove the cloak in the corridor, in case someone was watching. McGonagall leaned her head out of the door and glanced each way before closing the door and grumbling to herself, then turned back into the room. By this time, Harry had removed his cloak and had made himself comfortable.

McGonagall's face on seeing Harry sitting in an armchair with his feet up was a Kodak moment, but sadly Harry had no camera.

"I trust you have a very good reason for this intrusion," whispered McGonagall, once she had recovered from the initial shock.

"I couldn't be seen, or talk to you in the open," said Harry quietly, throwing the cloak over the arm of the chair. "Professor Flamel had better hear this as well." She shot him a tired glare before nodding. She disappeared out into the hallway, and returned a few moments later with Nicolas Flamel, who wore a red and white striped dressing gown and matching hat. He looked his age at this time of night, Harry noted.

"Yes, Minerva," he yawned, lowering himself onto the couch. Harry had thrown the cloak over himself as the door had opened, just in case, and now removed it. Flamel didn't bat an eyelid, which disappointed Harry slightly, but he let it go. "To what do we owe the pleasure of this pyjama party?" he simply asked.

"I've just come from Rookwood's office," said Harry.

"Oh, please tell me you weren't stupid enough to go rooting through his office," said McGonagall in a pleading voice and shaking her head.

"Of course I didn't," said Harry, affronted. He was not stupid. He started to tell them exactly what had happened. The two teachers listened calmly as Harry recalled all that Rookwood had told him.

"...and then I left," said Harry, ending his tale. "I did consider that this could be Snape's gauntlet theory, but I'm not sure."

"It certainly is a disturbing bit of news," said Flamel. "It certainly would fit with what we have seen so far, but would Rookwood really give away the whole plan like that? I do not believe so, even if he was as angry as you say."

"If it is true, what can be done?" asked Harry. "We have no influence anymore. No men, no nothing."

"As Albus once said," said Flamel., "Hope can be found even in the darkest place, if we simply remember to turn on the light."

"That doesn't help us," said Harry, shaking his head.

"Well, then, let's break this down," said Flamel. "It is now Tuesday morning. You have to teach the Duelling Club tomorrow, and then on Friday Dark Arts lessons are to be introduced."

"I can't refuse or he'll hurt Hermione and Rose," said Harry. There was no way he was going to let them suffer on his account. "I can't distort the lessons, as he will be there to supervise."

"You can buy us time," suggested McGonagall, "If you tell him that in order to get everyone up to the same standard, you wish to stick to simple spells for the first fortnight. Even better, split the group into good and poor duellers. Spread it out into two sessions and half the speed of the classes. As for his Dark Arts classes, those we must stomach for now." Harry didn't like the idea of allowing people to learn the Dark Arts. Once you got used to the temptation, you could never turn it down. Stronger wizards than these students had been lost to the Dark Arts. He wanted to stop the lessons, by force if he had to, but he knew that McGonagall was right. He couldn't stop them. But maybe...

"Could we Obliviate everyone who takes them?" asked Harry.

"Risky," said Flamel. "And if we miss one person, that person will wonder why no one else remembers and the game is up. No, I fear we must tolerate them for the time being. I will advise the staff to come down like a tonne of bricks on anyone who uses them outside the lessons, but I'm afraid that is all we can do."

"What are you doing to protect Rose and Hermione?" asked Harry. "I told Hermione to keep her distance like you suggested, but it seems Rookwood already knows. I'd better keep her close, or she will be in even more danger. She'd better go around in twos. I don't want Pansy Parkinson cornering her in the girls' toilets, where I can't follow, or the girls' dorm."

"Parkinson could not get into Gryffindor Tower," McGonagall assured him. Sadly in this case, she was wrong.

"Not anymore," interrupted Harry. "Malfoy walked right into the Tower to fetch me. The Inquisitorial Squad can go anywhere under Rookwood's new rules."

"We truly are in a corner," said McGonagall, ceasing her pacing and sinking into a chair. "Yesterday's events have limited us even further."

"What events?" asked Harry. He had not heard of anything else happening.

"Hestia Jones was found floating face down in the Seven, just north of Bristol," said McGonagall. "Diggle was found with Feather. Crouch claims that one killed the other, and then turned his wand on himself. Yin−Sun was killed resisting arrest and Sylvester Faulkner was found crucified to the gates of Hogwarts last night with the words 'Property of OotP' burned into his chest. His eyes had been cut out along with his tes..."

"That's enough, Minerva," said Flamel gently, resting a hand on the shoulder of the distraught Headmistress.

"Jesus," said Harry. Even more of the Order were dead. Someone knew exactly who was in the Order. Since they were in hiding, how had they been found? Voldemort was doing a royal number on the Order. There were so few still left. Those that did survive couldn't speak in public, and had to meet in secret like they were now doing. Hogwarts wasn't safe anymore − nowhere was.

"There is one more," said McGonagall, carefully.

"Who?" asked Harry.

"Crouch has issued an order requiring all half−breeds to turn themselves in," began McGonagall. Half−breeds? Harry suddenly realised who they meant.

"Lupin!"

"They came for him last night," said Flamel. "He went without a fight, though we can't say if he is dead or alive. Werewolves are being rounded up to raise public opinion of Crouch, but they are finding their way into the Black Watch. Lupin has disappeared."

"Is there anyone left?" asked Harry.

"Aside from the people in this room," said Flamel. "Only your parents, Sirius, Dawlish, Pettigrew we don't know about, Frank if he is still alive, Severus, this Rachel Shepherd girl in the Aurors, and that is about it. There are others in hiding, but I cannot get through to them. We must assume they have gone dark." Gone Dark? Traitors! They were in a corner, but there was still hope. The slimy gits had given up.

"They betrayed us!"

"Disappeared," said Flamel. "Gone off the record. They have destroyed all links to the Order and gone into hiding, or perhaps left the country, or taken a new identity."

"The point is," said McGonagall. "We are on our own. Of that list, only us and Severus can enter Hogwarts without raising suspicion, and even when we do, we are watched around the clock."

"So what are we going to do then?" asked Harry. He was completely out of ideas. He only hoped McGonagall was not.

"We will need to contact the Prime Minister," said McGonagall. "Preventing a war that will kill millions is our number one priority." Did she have the power to do so, or would they have to break into Downing Street? To Harry it seemed wrong to break into the Prime Minister's house. Still, if they did the Prime Minister would be able to lend them firepower.

"He won't listen," said Flamel. "Given recent events, and the fact that we are not from the Ministry, he will not believe us. Especially if Crouch has told him we are terrorists. We can try, but I fear it will be fruitless."

"If we could get to him," said Harry., " We could commandeer the SAS, we could..."

"Start the war ourselves?" McGonagall cut him off. "We would be starting the war earlier than expected, as well as unleashing machine guns on our own friends. While force will be required in the end without a doubt, we can't go yet, not like this. That kind of rash decision would only add to the death toll."

"Every second we wait, he is getting stronger," protested Harry. Voldemort was in power. He was taking over the Aurors and setting them on Order members. They had to do something quickly.

"Correct," said McGonagall. "However, we only have one shot at this, so let's do it right. Jumping in will get us killed and nothing more. For now we must gather intelligence. If we act and get it wrong, we will forever be lost."

"And in the mean time...?" asked Harry. He was restless. He couldn't stand the idea of sitting on his arse all day.

"In the mean time we prepare," said Flamel. "Severus must stay in place and convince Rookwood that he is loyal to Voldemort. Miss Shepherd, our only source within the Aurors, will not be contacted for now, in case we give her away. Remember, we don't even know if she is loyal to us. Peter would have been able to use his rat form to infiltrate the Ministry and find out what is going on, but he seems to have gone dark. "

Sided with Voldemort, more like, thought Harry bitterly. Wormtail would have gone to whomever was winning, and now that seemed to be Voldemort. The little rat had betrayed them...again. When he and Harry next met, someone was going to get hurt.

"As for Dawlish, Sirius and James," continued Flamel, "they must stay in hiding until we are ready. They must not be seen, as their faces are fairly recognisable."

"The Aurors amongst us may have other uses," said Harry thoughtfully. "If we are portrayed as the bad guys, then it can do no harm to act like it. Being Aurors, knowing the criminal underworld, they can secure us weapons from the black market."

"You are still thinking about nothing but force," pointed out McGonagall.

"It may come to that," said Harry. He could see no way to take the country back by political means, or by any other passive means. The only thing he could think of was by force. Did McGonagall think he wanted this? Did she think he wanted to unleash the SAS on his own people? No, he didn't but he knew that there was only way to do this, and sadly it was by force. He hated it, but it was the only means open to them.

"But not yet," said Flamel, less dismissively than McGonagall. "For now, we must prepare. You, Harry, are going to have a harder time than most." There was regret in Flamel's voice as he said this.

"Why me?" asked Harry.

"Prophecy or not, you will be vital to this conflict," said Flamel gravely. "Tom wants you dead, and we need you both as a soldier and the contents of your mind. For the time being, we need to get you proficient in Occlumency and get your Animagus form complete as soon as possible. You will need every edge you can get. From now on, when you are not in classes or at the duelling club, you are to come to us. Minerva and I can do your homework for Rookwood while the other teaches you. We will reach out to old friends, call in favours and find out just what is going on. James, Sirius and Dawlish will tap the Criminal Underworld for resources, as Harry suggested. We need spare wands, armour, as well as rumours and news, and maybe even recruits, if they are successful. We also need to know ways into and out of the Ministry as well as Hogwarts, just in case."

Harry blinked. That was a hell of a list. Animagus and Occlumency classes were now going to take over his life, but at the rate he was progressing, they were still talking about months, rather than days, until they could form any sort of attack. It was good, but there were major flaws in the plan.

"Obviously, this is far from ideal as you will not be learning much," continued Flamel. "But it is essential that you train as much as possible. Minerva?" He glanced at McGonagall, seeking her opinion.

"I don't like the idea of putting all this stress on Harry," she said slowly, wearing a grave expression.

"Neither do I," conceded Flamel. "But I fail to see another option. Whether we like it or not, Harry is as involved as you or I, if not more so. Lily will most likely resist this, but he needs to be able to defend himself. We need to complete his Animagus form as soon as humanly possible, and allow him to block his mind. He is essential to this war. I believe he is one of the few who has a chance to best Tom, and in his mind may be the key to doing so."

Harry was fast becoming irritated that they spoke as if he were not in the room. He shot each of the teachers an irritated glance, but neither noticed. They continued as if they were alone.

"Nicolas," said McGonagall exasperatedly. "With proper tuition I could teach him in sixth months, cramming, I think four at best. He has been at it for just over one, and now you want me to get him up to scratch in what, a fortnight, a week? It's impossible!"

"We have no choice, Minerva," repeated Flamel with a calm that rivalled Dumbledore. "If we take enough strengthening potion and amphetamines, we could keep going twenty−four hours." What? Amphetamines? Did Flamel want them drugged up to high heaven? Harry didn't think he could keep going for twenty−four hours, even if he could stay awake. The strain would be too much.

"This borders on torture," protested McGonagall, and Harry agreed. "We'd be killing ourselves and Harry. If not physically, we'd tire our minds beyond repair."

"I know," conceded Flamel, bowing his head. "Forgive me, Harry," he said, addressing him for what felt like the first time in ages. "I feel as frustrated as you. My thoughts too are becoming irrational and erratic." Harry nodded, glad to be acknowledged once again. He knew what Flamel was getting at, even if the drugs idea was pushing it too far. He had to get up to speed as soon as possible. He was in no great rush to meet Voldemort again, but thousands of lives would be lost if he didn't.

"What would it take to get me able to transform completely inside of a fortnight?" asked Harry.

"A miracle," muttered McGonagall.

"It's almost Christmas," said Harry. "The time of miracles."

"But I fail to see how you can fit enough Animagus classes as well as normal classes in a day," said McGonagall. "You don't have time to go to every class. There aren't enough hours in the day." Hang on! Something in her words rang a bell in the back of Harry's mind.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"I said, you can't go to every class and then the extra ones. There aren't enough hours in the day," repeated McGonagall.

Suddenly a thought struck him! Bells were ringing in the back of his mind. He suddenly remembered how Hermione learned impossible amounts in little time and attended lessons that were held at the same time.

"Professor," he said suddenly. "Would a Time−Turner work?"

"How could you possibly..." she began, raising an eyebrow, before realising how he might know of them. "Oh."

"I didn't steal one or kill for it," said Harry, affronted. "In my third year, you gave Hermione one so she could take every option available to third years and attend several classes at the same time. She had to keep it a secret, but she went to more than one lesson at one time. If we could acquire one, perhaps I could do three hours of Animagus training, then turn back time and do three of Occlumency. That way we save time. If we double our lessons from three per week to six, we half the time and doubling back to cover more we could cut the amount of time needed in four."

"Harry," said McGonagall. "It is not just about how much time you practice. It is about you being able to accept new abilities as second nature, not whether you can do it once."

"Once is enough to get me out of trouble if I am up the creek," said Harry recklessly.

"You also don't appreciate the mental strain this will put on you," emphasised McGonagall. "Mentally and physically, you will be exhausted. You will be falling asleep all through the day. If your mind is tired, you will learn more slowly. It won't work."

"I can also turn back a few hours to get more sleep," said Harry. "We can work most of the night and then both go back and have a good night's sleep."

"Harry has a good idea, Minerva," said Flamel. "While I do not believe it will be as simple as Harry believes it will, it is a good idea nevertheless and would give us a great advantage. Acquiring one will be hard, but if we can get one, we could have him trained up in no time."

"Very well," said McGonagall. "How do you plan to acquire the time−piece, Harry?"

"Steal it," said Harry. His feelings on theft were usually very bleak, but this situation called for desperate measures. He was thinking like a soldier again. It worried him, but it was what was needed at the moment.

"How?" pressed McGonagall. He hadn't actually thought about it, but it shouldn't be too hard. He knew where they were kept.

"I'll fetch one from the Department of Mysteries," suggested Harry. "I can flame in and out before anyone notices, I think."

"Flame in?" echoed McGonagall. "You mean by Floo?"

"Oops," said Harry, realising he had meant to tell McGonagall about this, but had never quite gotten around to it. "Well, I may have accidentally found my own form of Apparation. I should have told you about it, but I kind of forgot." He took a moment to explain to them exactly how he had escaped his attacker when he had been with Redgrave. He left out exactly where he was, who he was with and why. He told them he was attacked in the Ministry and that he had escaped. He daren't tell them about Arctic Thunder, which at present was stashed in the kitchen with a House Elf called Perky.

"You never thought to mention this?" asked McGonagall, outraged. Harry realised that if he didn't tell them about the device, he would have to endure a telling off now. No, he had to keep the device a secret. He had promised it to Christine.

"Didn't seem important," muttered Harry, staring at his feet. "Could have been a common mugger."

"It was nothing of the sort, idiot child," said an icy voice, causing the others to spin on the spot. For a second, Harry thought they had been discovered.

Severus Snape stood in the doorway, candelabra in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. He was not dressed in his night−clothes, but in robes of the deepest black.

"You've been at a meeting," said Harry, instantly recognising the robes as those of a Death Eater. Snape didn't make any response. His hood was back, revealing his face, but Harry recognised the distinctive pointed hood, reminiscent of the KKK. An apt comparison, Harry noted. He would recognise those robes anywhere.

"Bellatrix Black has just learned that an Unspeakable was killed on the Dark Lord's orders," said Snape, pocketing his mask in a clipped movement, the black orbs of his eyes never leaving Harry for a second. "She has also learned that he was not alone. In the darkness, it is not known who, but they are hunting for anyone present in the Ministry that day who fits the description of a Caucasian male, short, dark hair, and capable of Apparating through the Ministry's wards. Personally, I think it is rather obviously you, but you are not known for disappearing in a ball of flame, nor did you leave an Auror's sight that day, according to the debriefs. You have got away with this one by the skin of your teeth, Potter. A little consideration for the safety of others, in future. Though now that you are here, what were you doing with an Unspeakable?"

"I..." stammered Harry. He focused on the waves and avoided Snape's eyes, staring at McGonagall instead, the only one not proficient at Legilimency. Employing his Occlumency to cover the lie, he gave his answer. "I was visiting the room where my Sirius died. The Unspeakable caught me where I shouldn't be and was guiding me out when we were attacked. He was killed and I escaped. I didn't mention it because...well, I got that man killed. They must have been following me, not him."

"It was the other way around, stupid child," snapped Snape. "You report to us, because as grown−ups, we know what we are talking about, but people like you think you always know better."

"Severus, enough," said Flamel. "We cannot change the past, and it is not a mistake Harry will repeat, is it? Now, are you certain he is not suspected?"

"No, they are suspecting someone older and more powerful," said Snape. "Apparently the Apparation was so powerful it ignited the air around the intruder. Potter isn't known to be that powerful." Snape did not question Harry further, which lead him to believe that Snape had not detected his lie. He was mad at Harry for nearly getting caught but he had believed the visiting the Veil story, so he wouldn't investigate Redgrave, therefore presumably Arctic Thunder was safe. This was a relief to Harry, as he still didn't trust the former Death Eater, especially one in a world where the Dark Lord had never fallen. In his opinion this made Snape even less trustable.

"I'd wager that that is worrying Black," said Flamel. "If she believes that there is someone out there with power to rival the Dark Lord's, it may cause enough confusion to allow us to still function."

"She will endeavour to make sure He is not disappointed when they next meet," said Snape. "And at this point we can assume it is when, and not if. Bellatrix cannot enter the Ministry yet, but it is only a matter of time. We know He is still in the Ministry, though He is still running both Crouch and the Wizengamot. In the last forty−eight hours, twenty−seven lifers have been officially pardoned by the Wizengamot and incorporated into the Black Watch. These are some of the most perverse and evil minds the human race has ever seen; all of them there for multiple murders and use of Unforgivables, and all of them under the thumb of the Dark Lord. Anyhow, reverting back to the point, Bellatrix will divert significant manpower to finding out who this mystery wizard is."

"So if we give her something to chase," said McGonagall, reading ahead., "We could spread their resources more thinly, and maybe force an opening." This sounded more like a plan. Finally, something to do. Harry could Flame in, scare Crouch and Flame out. He could have them up in arms in no time. So simple, so easy, so exciting.

"No time like the present," said Harry, "I need a mask or something like that."

"Potter, this is not a game," sneered Snape. Harry felt a flash of anger at him for putting him down, when he now had a purpose. Why couldn't he stop being a hindrance? Did he not want them to harass the Dark Lord?

"No it isn't," said Harry. "So let's stop fannying around and be serious. Get me a disguise and I'll have the Minister of Magic up in arms in seconds."

"You already have one," said Snape.

"Too many people have seen it for it to be of any use," said Harry, knowing that he meant his half mask that had covered his burns. He had already worn it around school and even to the Ministry and half of his face would also be on show − it couldn't be used without giving him away. However, if they could make it cover his entire face... "I need something new. Nothing that can link it to Hogwarts, Gryffindor, the Order or any of us."

"If you are not quick enough," Flamel pointed out, "A summing charm could dislodge it. I can stop this with a charm, but I need the mask to work with first."

"You are actually going to let the boy wonder go on this expedition?" asked Snape, unable to believe it. "He's a boy."

"With as much to lose as you or I, Severus," said Flamel. "Let's get a move on. It's nearly one o'clock. We need to get this done by dawn and get you to classes with every impression of having had a good night's sleep."

"You will not need me for this foolish trip," said Snape. "I bid you good night." He nodded to McGonagall and then turned and left, his robes billowing out behind him. Harry felt quite proud of himself. At the moment, he was more valuable to the Order than Snape was. Haha, That showed him!

"Let's rock," said Harry once they were alone.

XXXXXXXXXX

Janus Firth felt like skipping as he made his way down the freshly polished, yet darkened corridors of the Ministry of Magic. It was quarter past one in the morning, and the building was almost deserted, but he still felt excitement burning inside of him, even on a dull patrol like this. Just walking and not encountering a brick wall after six feet was such a novelty after eleven years in Azkaban prison. Fresh air in his lungs, light in his eyes; he felt these as only a free man could. A free man, who quite literally had time to kill. He was back in the Dark Lord's service and that meant that soon, eleven years of suppressed tension and rage would be unleashed in a spray of arterial red. Oh, how he had missed the feeling, how he had longed to be free to kill, to feel the rush, to be freer than most thought possible. The Dark Lord had shown him the path of glory in his youth, but that had all come crashing down thanks to Alastor Moody, who at this moment lay beaten black and blue in a puddle of his own vomit or faeces, or maybe both. Still, he was out now, and war was on the horizon. Real action was soon to come and he couldn't wait. He would serve as was expected, and continue this patrolling of the Ministry, tedious as it was. He could wait; Azkaban had taught him patience. Soon, he would be rewarded. He was buzzing in anticipation. A storm was coming, and he was ready, oh Merlin, he was ready.

WHOOSH!

The darkened corridor was suddenly alive with flame. Instantly he raised his hands to cover his eyes. The flames reflected off the polished floor and walls, straight into his eyes, which were still accustomed to the gloom. The flames disappeared just as quickly as they had come. As Janus removed his hands from his eyes, he saw a figure standing in his path. He was dressed from head toe in white. Boots, trousers, jumper, gloves, cloak and hood, all brilliant white that seemed to glow in the gloom. The figure's face was covered in a mask as white as his clothes. It was completely blank, and covered every inch of his face. It was almost like a white Death Eater.

"Boo," said the figure.

This was him! It was the figure Bella had spoken of. This wizard was almost as powerful as the Dark Lord. He could apparently Apparate through the Ministry wards with enough power to set the very air on fire. The Dark Lord himself had added to the wards that very afternoon, and still this figure came through them like a hot knife through butter! He must be inhumanly powerful. No one knew who or what this figure was, but it was plain to see that it was not on Janus' side. His hand flew to his holster, and was leveled at the intruder in half a second flat. As his wand came level, Janus found that the figure was no longer there. Where the hell had he gone? No one dressed in white could hide in the shadows. He had to be here somewhere. Janus glanced each way, only to see an empty corridor in both directions. He glanced up at the ceiling and all around, but there was nothing.

"Face me like a man!" he growled into the darkness. Still nothing. The silence was unnerving. The corridor seemed deserted, but somehow he knew that he was not alone. He had broken into a cold sweat, and his wand arm was shaking. How powerful was this person? Could Janus stop him? Would he leave this passage alive?

CLICK!

Something moved behind him. Heart pounding, Janus turned to face the direction of the sound. The shadows seemed to be closing in and the walls felt tighter. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. For a second, he was sure he felt a warm breath on the back of his neck, but it was gone as he turned to face it. He felt terrified. What could make itself totally invisible? What was so powerful that it could appear through the Dark Lord's wards as if they were nothing?

"OOF!" He never saw it coming, or leave, but something hit him sharply in the gut, knocking the air out of him. He tried to yell out in surprise, but no words came out. He fell to his knees, holding his gut. Panting, grasping his neck, trying desperately to get air back into his lungs, Janus fumbled for the wand he had dropped. He could hear breathing now, and knew that who or whatever it was was still here.

At last his fingers grasped his wand. "What do you think you're going to do with that?" hissed a bodiless voice in his ear. He squawked in surprise, turning his wand over his right shoulder, unleashing the first hex that came to mind towards the ceiling. The There was a tremendous crash as the curse hit a lighting orb, which shattered instantly, raining down shards of glass over the fallen Janus.

He covered his face with his hands, but they in turn were torn to shreds by the cascade of razor−sharp glass. Janus cried out in pain, beneath the hail of razors. Suddenly, silence filled the corridor. No breathing, clicking, whooshing; nothing. Janus raised his head cautiously and peered ahead.

CRUNCH!

Someone had trodden on a shard behind him. Success! He had him now! He spun instantly, a curse on his lips, wand ready, straight into the path of an incoming white boot. The kick connected with his jaw, launching him off his feet. He landed hard on his back. In an instant, he was looking at the tip of a wand, held by the masked intruder.

He was dead now, he knew it. If it was Janus the intruder's shoes and he had his enemy disarmed and on the floor as he now lay himself, Janus would kill his victim. Why should the man in white be any different? Janus stared up into the masked face that he knew would be his death. Then suddenly, without warning, the figure burst into flame. Janus rolled to the side, darting for his wand. His fingers closed around the wooden handle and he whipped it back around to face the intruder, only to find himself in an empty corridor.

XXXXXXXXXX

Gunther Weiss hurried out of the lift, followed by his two companions, both of whom were new recruits. One was fresh out of Hogwarts, the other an older, fatter man who used to be a chef. Both had only just joined the ranks of the Death Eaters, or the Black Watch as they were now referred to. The corridors were all lit up, leaving no shadows anywhere. They were on high alert. Someone had broken into the Ministry and attacked a highly capable Death Eater. Rumours were running riot that this intruder equalled the Dark Lord himself in power. Personally, Gunther didn't buy it, but he had to investigate. He had been given level four to search. Reinforcements would be arriving momentarily.

The three of them hurried down the corridor towards the last door on the right. It made sense to start at the far end and work backwards. They had gone perhaps half way when they were forced to divert from the plan. Suddenly the lift doors opened with a Ping! The floor was supposed to be deserted, and it was too soon for reinforcements. All three 'Aurors' turned to face the new arrival, wands drawn. Confusion spread over their faces as they found themselves staring down an empty corridor. The lift doors were wide open, but it was empty.

POP!

Suddenly the lighting orb nearest the lift went out with a pop, flooding the end of the corridor with shadow.

"What the..." began Gunther, but he never finished. Suddenly, the next light went out, and the next. The darkness came closer and closer to Gunther. It was as if something was coming towards him, draining away the light. In the next three seconds, the entire corridor was plunged into darkness. The shadows loomed over them, and their eyes − formerly accustomed to the bright corridors but now plunged into darkness − played tricks on them. Gunther was sure he saw movement to his right, but on his double take, he found nothing. The corridor was in near complete darkness, and the silence chilling. The only source of light was in the lift, now a square of light on a distant wall. Still, it was a way out. A chill ran down his spine, and his hair stood on end. He felt another presence in the darkness. Something was wrong. He was a grown man, and a rational one at that, but fear was setting in. He had to get to the lift, back to the light.

"Hey!"

A whisper in the shadows echoed softly in his ears. It was all Gunthur could do not scream. He glanced frantically around, trying to see in the gloom. He saw nothing but his two accomplices, who were both sweating and looked terrified.

"Lumos!" he hissed, igniting his wand. His companions followed suit. Three beams of light spun around, searching high and low for any sign of movement. There was nothing; the corridor was completely deserted. The only light came from the lift. In there it was safe. He shivered in his robes. The corridor was suddenly filled with icy air. This was very wrong. Whatever was doing this was scaring Gunther half to death.

"Sir?" questioned one of his companions in a strained whisper.

"Shhh!" hissed Gunther. He thought for a second that he heard movement. There had been a gentle scrape somewhere close, was sure of it. He gestured for his accomplice to be silent, allowing him to listen. For a second he thought he heard an intake of breath, and then something connected sharply with his right buttock. He yelped in surprise at the attack, stumbling forward under the force of the impact. That was enough for him. They were not alone. Whoever was doing this was too much for the three of them.

"RUN!"

The three of them darted towards the lift, towards the light. In the light they were safe; they had to be. If he could only get to the lift, he could get home. Gunther made the distance in what felt like record time. He turned as he entered the lift in time to see his accomplice enter the lift, but only one of them.

"Where's Cox?" he hissed hurriedly to his only surviving companion, his wand aimed out of the lift, but the light finding no trace of the third Death Eater.

"He was right behind us," replied the terrified Smart. "I saw him just a second ago." They both shone their wands down the corridor. There was no sign of Cox, or his body. The corridor was deserted. He had simply disappeared. Where had he gone to?

Do we go back for him? wondered Gunther. He had once been an Auror, and the idea of leaving a man behind tugged on what little conscience he had. No, it was too dangerous. If they left, they had the intruder cornered on one floor and could return with reinforcements. They had to withdraw.

"Press the button, Smart," said Gunther, his wand levelled down the corridor, providing cover. There was no sign of movement in the corridors; it was utterly and creepily still. The silence was added to by the absence of a reply.

"Smart?" hissed Gunther. He glanced to the side, but saw no other person. What? Gunther whipped around, but there was no sign of Smart. He had been right beside him a second ago. They were in a lift, for Christ's sake. Where could he go? He spun again, but there was no sign of him. He hissed in anger, and then reached for the button. Just before he reached it, a hand wrapped in white clamped over his wrist. He gasped in shock. His eyes widened as he stared at the man in white, who had not been present just a second ago. He was dressed in white from head to toe, his face covered by a featureless white mask. Gunther was too surprised to move.

"What the..." he started for the second time in five minutes, and for the second time he didn't finish The intruder pushed him backwards, over his leg, tripping him. Gunther landed on his back, with his own wand pointed at his face. The intruder had bent Gunther's elbow so his own wand pointed at his head. He was pinned and he knew it.

"Merlin!"

The intruder didn't reply. Gunther saw the tip of the wand glow red and then everything went black.

XXXXXXXXXX

"You're certain this is for real," asked Crouch as his two aids hurried him down the corridor towards the lift. He had been rudely interrupted while relaxing in his office, enjoying a glass of whiskey on the rocks. The two aids had come in and dragged him roughly out, screaming something about a security breach and an attack. Apparently someone had broken into the Ministry without being seen and attacked a Black Watch Auror, recently released from Azkaban. It seemed too impossible to be true. Who could have done it? The Order of the Phoenix was dead in the water and didn't have the resources to plan this, or a member powerful enough to do it since Dumbledore was captured.

"Positive sir," replied the taller aid. "Firth saw him and then he disappeared right in front of him, setting the air on fire. Now we've lost contact with a search team two floors below us. Someone has broken in, and we can't find or stop him."

"Where are we heading?" asked Crouch, assimilating this information and trying to think clearly.

"The safest place there is," replied the aid. "The Dark Lord's chamber." It made sense. If anyone could dispose of this intruder, it was the Dark Lord himself. They hurried towards the lift at the end of the passage, but before they got there, the doors opened, and it was not empty. All three froze as the lift doors opened, revealing a figure dressed all in white.

"It's him!" breathed Crouch, unable to believe his eyes. Three wands came quickly level, and three flashes of green light left the tips. The lift was suddenly filled with smoke and dust. The three curses shot through the smoke and impacted on the back of the lift, sending dust and smoke up into the air. "Careful, you morons," hissed Crouch furiously. "Hit it too hard and we might pierce the radioactive level above us!" He shot a final glare at the aid before stepping forward. The lift was about four metres away, and the smoke was spilling out into the passage.

The smoke was beginning to clear and Barty could almost see into the lift again. As the wisps of smoke faded, he caught his first view of the lift. The back wall was shattered beyond repair and floor littered with rubble, but no body, no white cloth, no nothing. Whoever it had been had gotten away. Had he imagined it? No, the aids had seen it too. So where was he?

"Where'd he go?" asked Crouch, turning to face his aids. As he turned, he found himself staring at empty space. The aids had vanished, and he was alone in the corridor. Barty Crouch began to panic. The silence was unnerving. Where had they gone? Had he got them? Where was he? Suddenly he felt very claustrophobic, as if the walls were closing in around him. He kept turning, trying futilely not to let anyone get behind him. Where had they gone? They couldn't just disappear into thin air. What the hell was going on?

"ARGH!" Something yanked his foot out from underneath him and high into the air, leaving him hanging by his ankle in mid air. He lost his grip on his wand and ended up flapping like a dying fish in mid air, suspended by his ankle. Slowly he began to rotate, until he found himself face to face, or rather face to mask with the masked intruder, dressed from head to toe in white. His clothes almost glowed in the darkness. How had Barty not seen him? Who was this man?

"What do you want?" hissed Crouch, in terror. "Who are you?"

The figure cocked its head and continued to stare at Crouch. He couldn't see the intruder's face or eyes, but somehow he knew he was appraising him. Who was this? How had he gotten past security? Suddenly the figure made his move; he grabbed a handful of Crouch's hair and yanked it out of his head. Crouch yelped in pain, water flooding to his eyes as the intruder pulled out a handful of his hair. Barty could only watch as the intruder pocketed the hair with his left hand. The wand in his right never left Crouch.

"CRUCIO!"

One of the aids had regained consciousness, and had made his move. The Intruder had not kept an eye on the fallen aid, who was hidden by a Disillusionment charm. Crouch could only see him when he moved, but he knew who it was. From the floor, he had cursed the intruder, who fell to the floor, thrashing like a reed. The attack broke the intruder's spell and Crouch plummeted to the floor, landing painfully in a heap. He scrambled to his feet as the figure thrashed under the curse. Whoever he was made no sound as he thrashed, noted Crouch. Barty was sorely temped to let it continue, but he needed answers; the Dark Lord needed answers.

"Enough!" hissed Crouch, waving to the aid. The man lifted the curse, and set about removing the charm that was placed on him.

"Now," said Crouch, glaring at the figure he now held at wand point. "While I'm impressed that your washing powder can get your costume so clean, I still have some questions for you. Who the bloody hell are you?"

The figure didn't reply; he simply raised a hand, gloved in white, and raised two fingers to the Minister in one final insult before disappearing in a ball of flames. Crouch let out a gasp of surprise as the air around him flashed with flame and then was gone an instant later.

XXXXXXXXXX

"You were successful last night, I take it," noted Flamel, as Harry sank onto his sofa. It was quarter to nine the following morning, and almost time for Harry's next Occlumency lesson. Flamel himself was due to teach a class in ten minutes, which would be resolved through use of the Time Turner. Harry had successfully pocketed one last night before he had gone off to harass Crouch and his cronies. The previous night had been a success on several levels. Firstly, he had gotten hold of a Time Turner, secondly, he had put Crouch in a right flap, and thirdly he had tested a spell he had found amongst the annotations in his new Potions book. He had had no idea what to expect, but he had managed to hoist Crouch up by his ankles. This had potential, Harry noted. It was a simple, effective, painless restraint spell that could be administered silently, and since it gave off no light, it was hard to detect where it had come from. On the down side, it didn't disarm the victim. Still, it was useful knowledge. On the whole, it had been a good night. Suffering under the Cruciatus Curse had been a major let down. Luckily he had silenced himself so he couldn't scream, only removing the charm to speak when he had to. He had only been under the curse for five seconds at the most, so it wasn't too bad, and he hadn't suffered any after−effects of it, besides minor aching this morning.

"I was indeed," yawned Harry, pulling the golden chain out from under his robes. "I was tempted to turn it back and have a few hours more sleep this morning," he added as a half joke.

"Unwise," said Flamel, smiling slightly and taking the Turner to inspect it. "Unless you would wish to share a bed with yourself."

"He, or I, or whatever, would have to sleep on the floor," said Harry with a wink. He could have the bed and his other self could have the floor.

"You wouldn't have been so happy about that when you were in his shoes," Flamel pointed out, while inspecting the Turner underneath a magnifying glass. Harry took a second to decipher what that meant, and realised that either way, he would spend one cycle on the floor. He made a note to consider that if he tried to be lazy in future.

"Okay, enough," said Harry, ending the conversation. "This is making my head hurt." The trip with Hermione had confused him, so this whole experience was going to be interesting.

"It also makes you appreciate the danger with this," said Flamel, returning the Turner to Harry. "Every time you use this there will be two of you in one time, and so this is in fact very dangerous. The first time you use it, you must get used to seeing yourself. In fact, I believe we are about to receive a visit from our future selves."

"Why?"

"After this hour we must set the turner back so I can teach my class and you can attend yours," explained Flamel. "If we assume we will never leave this room, we will appear any second now, if we give ourselves time to get to our lessons. I suggest we stay out of that corner; that way we cannot reappear on top of ourselves." He pointed to the corner to Harry's right.

"But won't the Turner take us back to where we were at that time?" asked Harry.

"No, it only changes time, not space," said Flamel. "Think four dimensionally. We will appear in the same space we left, just in a different time." But that didn't make sense.

"With Hermione's one," protested Harry, shaking his head, "We used it in the Hospital Wing and ended up in the Entrance Hall."

"They can be made to always return to a specific location," said Flamel. "This one has not been."

POP!

In the corner of the room that Flamel had pointed to, stood Harry Potter and Nicolas Flamel. It was a strange sensation to behold himself standing in the same room as he was. It was like looking in a mirror, only not. He and his future self locked eyes for a second, long enough for the other him to wink at him. The two new arrivals glanced around the room quickly, taking in the environment.

"Well, I'd say that our first test was a success," said the future Flamel, eyeing Harry and Flamel.

"Cool," agreed Harry's other self.

"Don't talk to yourself," said the future Flamel quickly. "You may affect the lesson you have just had."

"Won't I just speed it up if I help him?" the future Harry asked his teacher.

"No, you may make it worse," answered Flamel. Harry glanced at his teacher, who was watching the two new arrivals with interest. "Remember, your future self never said anything to you when it was your turn. We must not change that this time around. What has happened has happened, and we cannot change that. Remember, even in the Hippogriff incident you mentioned, you did not change anything. Even time travel cannot change time. Now remember, you must come to Severus' office at lunchtime today, okay? But for now, let us proceed to our lessons." Without even glancing at Harry and Flamel, the two new arrivals crossed the room and left.

"That was strange," noted Harry, once the door was closed. He had heard what had been said, but none of it seemed to make sense to him. Surely you can change time?

"I heard that!" his own voice answered from the other side of the door. Flamel smiled to himself and crossed the room to the door and locked it.

"There," he said. "We shall not be interrupted."

"What was all that about changing time and not speaking?" asked Harry. Maybe Flamel could make more sense of it.

"I believe first you should tell me what Hippogriff incident he, I mean I, referred to," said Flamel.

Harry took two minutes to outline how he and Hermione had gone back in time and saved Buckbeak. "But he, I mean you, were wrong," said Harry once he finished. "We did change something, we did change time."

"No you didn't," said Flamel. "You repeated what had already happened."

"But without us, Buckbeak would be dead," said Harry.

"Yes," conceded Flamel. "But that was always meant to be. Had you waited an extra few minutes before going back in time, Minister Fudge would have come back screaming that Sirius had escaped. Just because you had not done it yet, does not mean that you would not have done it later. You were living in the future of what you changed, whether you made that journey then or ten years later, but sometime you would have gone back, because you were living in the future of that event. You never know any different, so you would not want to change what you didn't know. You cannot change time."

"But surely I could go back in time and, for example, kill Hitler and prevent World War Two?"

"No," said Flamel. That made no sense to Harry, but luckily Flamel began to explain. "You could in theory make the trip, even though no one has ever gone that far back, you just could not kill him."

"Why not?"

"Because we know he lived," said Flamel. "He is in the history books. You could try, but you would fail, or decide to stop. We are living in the future of Hitler, so we can deduce that he was never killed before the war. Take, for example, our future selves. They mentioned cycles. You see, just as they appeared to us, we shall appear to ourselves from an hour in the past when we make the same journey. They were visited by themselves from another hour in the future. At every instance in time, there is a you, and there is a me, on our own personal timeline, that is. There are two of us in this chronological time, but only one of you on your personal timeline. What you will do in one hour is being done by the you from an hour in the future in what is to him the present, understand?"

"I think so," said Harry.

"So if you plan to go and kill Hitler in an hour, the you from one hour in the future is doing it now. The you from and an hour and ten minutes in the future would be in the past, doing it, but since Hitler survived we know he doesn't do it; he can't."

"Maybe he hasn't done it yet," suggested Harry.

"But the him from even further in the future is doing it now, in his personal present," said Flamel. "Since Hitler lived, we know that none of your future selves killed him or we would not remember him now, and if we don't remember him now, our future selves would not remember him nor want to kill him. We and our future selves were born in Hitler's future; if anyone changed time, we would never have heard his name. They would never have heard his name as they would have been born after he had died, so would therefore never want make the trip. You see, because we know he lived, you can never change that; even with a Time−Machine it is impossible to change the past. What has happened has happened and could not have happened any other way."

"What about people who killed their other selves when messing around with time?"

"What about them?" asked Flamel. Harry thought it was a strange answer. Surely they were relevant. They interfered in the past and were killed for it, by themselves, no less. That was a dead end, being killed in your own past. But Flamel, as it turned out, did have a point. "They were always meant to die that way and nothing can change that. We know Hitler's future, because he lived in the past, but we don't know our own future, because to us, it hasn't happened yet. We don't know it. You cannot look to the future so you cannot change it. Events are already in motion; you cannot change time."

"What if my future self appeared to me and gave me a message?" asked Harry. "That would affect my future."

"Your future self in turn would have been visited by his future self," said Flamel. "He would always have been meant to do it. Time is infinite. There is no beginning and no end. No 'version' of you was the first and didn't know what he was doing, but affected his past selves, and no version of you will be the last and never have to make the trip back himself. Time is infinite and cannot be changed."

Harry sort of understood, but it seemed so confusing. Surely he could go back and change something. Surely his very presence there, would change time?

"I see you are still confused," said Flamel. "Understandable, this is not easy. Let's say that you were to go back to the fifteen hundreds and leave yourself a note on the wall of a building for you to read when you are sixteen. That message is there when you are twelve, you just haven't seen it yet, but anyone else passing that spot would see it, including someone in for example the eighteen hundreds. Now, consider this simpler scenario. In the future you go into the past for example, Christmas 1900, and you are killed there. You won't know you are going into the past until the time you make the journey. You won't know you die until the moment you do, but at any stage of your life, if you had gone to the archives, you would have read about a boy who came from nowhere and dies on Christmas 1990 in the newspapers of the time. You see: you were born in the future of what happened to you in 1900, even though it had not happened to you yet in your personal timeline. You would never know it was you, and never try to change your future and survive. And before I forget, we must make sure we don't speak to our previous selves when we appear to them."

"As you wish," said Harry. "My head is spinning. It's all one huge cycle." It was so confusing. If time didn't end or begin, then what was it? It just...was. For some reason, trying to grasp a concept of such magnitude made Harry believe that maybe there was a God of some sort, who created all that. How else could something that huge just come into being? If he threw in multiple universes, perhaps infinite numbers of them, existence was just too big to grasp.

"Confusing, isn't it?" said Flamel. "I think perhaps we should get on with our lesson. We only have fifty minutes." Harry wanted to return to a level he could actually grasp, so had no objections, but surely with a Time Turner they had more than fifty minutes. They had all the time in the world, and as he had just discovered, there was a lot of it.

"Why only fifty?"

"Because a Time Turner turns back one hour and it's been ten minutes since they arrived," said Flamel.

"How do you know they didn't come back after two hours?" asked Harry. He was fairly proud of himself. He didn't understand completely, but he had just picked a hole in Flamel's logic.

"Because the me from the future thought the same thoughts an hour ago that I am thinking now, and I am thinking we are going to practice for fifty minutes." Damn! thought Harry. Not too brilliant after all.

"What if we lose track of time or forget?"

"We know we don't forget," said Flamel. "And why is that?" Flamel was testing his grasp of the workings of time.

"Because they did appear," answered Harry.

"Precisely," said Flamel. "You are dealing with the ideas of time travel very well, though be warned. Every hour you use the Time Turner is an hour off your life, and the magical effects of long−term use of one could potentially be damaging. We have very little idea what long−term use of one will do to you. Frequent users in the Department of Mysteries are prone to angry outbursts, mood swings, stress, and violence."

Harry thought back to the previous year. Hermione had been like that. Always so angry, so stressed. She had hit Malfoy and up until then she hadn't had a violent bone in her body. Harry had no idea it had affected her that badly. He had thought it was just stress from all that extra work. He hated to think what he would do if stressed, with his lethal talents. He remembered Hermione missing a lesson once. She had been angry with herself. He remembered thinking once he found out about the Turner that she could have gone back and attended the lesson. Now he knew that since she was not in the lesson, she would never go back and attend it. Her choice. time travel was not dangerous in itself, but it was confusing as hell and there was a price. He had once considered using one to prevent him going to this Unholy Land. If he got back to his world, he could go back and stop himself from being sent here. The trouble with that was that then he would never have met his parents, met Rose, or gained these new powers. It was at this point obsolete, as now he knew that since he was here, he could never change that, because his future self had not appeared to save him when he had been sent here. What's happened has happened and nothing can change that.

"Righty−ho," said Flamel. "Shall we begin?"

"Let's," said Harry.

For twenty minutes they went over the basic exercises. After that Flamel decided it was time for Harry to suppress emotion, while allowing his mind to be searched. This was essential for lying under Legilimency.

Harry felt the initial stab as Flamel entered his mind. He passed slowly through the previous night's intrusion into the Ministry. The images of hiding under the Invisibility Cloak and Disillusioning stunned bodies flowed into his mind's eye as Flamel browsed his thoughts.

"You took his hair," noted Flamel.

"I thought it could be useful for Polyjuice if needed," said Harry. Talking about the subject while being searched was another means of distraction and made the entire exercise harder, but Harry was getting there. Luckily, these were not the thoughts he was supposed to be hiding.

"Good," said Flamel.

"Occlumency or last night?" asked Harry.

"Both," said Flamel. "You played a risky game, but the show was impressive. You have spooked them royally."

"Thanks," said Harry. Flamel moved on, leaving those memories, and moved on to his interview with Voldemort in the cell. Flamel was testing for emotional reactions to harsh memories. Harry fought to keep calm, to push all emotion to the side, to keep his mind blank and allow Flamel to search.

"Do we reckon he is still in his cell?" asked Harry, as the image flowed into his mind.

"Could be," answered Flamel softly. "He's running the show from the inside, through Crouch and the Wizengamot on the inside and Bellatrix on the outside. As far as we are aware, they are out of direct contact, but Crouch talks to Bellatrix. Tom is in the cell, but it is most likely more equipped now than it was and he can leave whenever he wants to and return just as..."

He cut off as a surge of electricity lashed out at his mind. Both Harry and Flamel hissed in pain as the shock spiked into both their minds. Flamel broke the connection as Harry thrust his hands to his temples, trying to block out the pain. It was gone as soon as it had come.

"What the hell was that?" asked Harry, rubbing his head to numb his aching brain.

"A defence mechanism," said Flamel, rubbing his forehead, "and a powerful one at that."

"To defend what?" asked Harry.

"My guess is a Memory Charm or even a Cap."

"What's the difference?"

"A Charm covers one area of memory permanently and cannot be changed. A Cap can be temporarily removed and returned. It merely hides the memories for further use, but it cannot be done on oneself. It's a Dark Spell that was very popular a few years back, especially when combined with the Imperius Curse. You see, the best type of assassin doesn't know he is the assassin, so is immune to Veritaserum, Tom would take a person, implant the Cap, then activate them later. They could kill their target, and then the Cap kicks back in and they never remember doing it. A false memory takes their place."

"You found one in me?" asked Harry horrified. He could have killed hundreds and not remember it.

"No," said Flamel. "We found a spell designed to protect something in your mind. It could just be a standard charm, or even accidental magic on your part, but we need to find out. We need someone stronger than me to break it."

"Who?" he asked, though he already knew. He just didn't want to acknowledge it.

"Our future selves gave us the name," said Flamel, thoughtfully.

"Snape," said Harry, remembering what had been said. The idea of Snape going through his mind again was not a pleasant one. Still, he would have his wand and if Snape did anything he shouldn't, Harry's shield would be up before he could say 'idiot child'.

"I shall arrange a meeting for later today," said Flamel. "This cannot wait."

Another ten minutes and it was time to turn back the clock. Flamel didn't dare to enter his mind again in case they disturbed whatever spell was in effect. Harry's mind was too wound up to concentrate. Who had done this too him? When? When had he ever been vulnerable to anyone? Flamel was the only one who Legilimised him. There was no one else who could have. What was going on?

These questions were still running though his head during the following Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Snape was becoming increasingly annoyed with Harry's lack of attention. They were covering basic duelling today, and there had been a scuffle over who got to go with Harry, the idea being that no one wanted to face him in a duel. In the end, Snape decided that Eloise Midgen who was the only one left, was no challenge and so swapped her for Malfoy.

"This class is where you will learn a more realistic form of duelling," said Snape. "More so than your Duelling Club, which is more a sport than a fight. This class, combined with Professor Rookwood's Dark Arts class, will equip you to face the best of the best and the worst of the worst. The Dark Arts are a never−ending, ever−changing and unstoppable avenue of spells. You have to learn not to fight the spells, but the opponent. As in poker, you must play the man, not the cards, and like bridge, you must think moves ahead. This lesson is designed to teach you adaptability. You are with duellers outside your social groups; you must adapt to their unfamiliar style and ultimately best them. We will start with one duel each. The winner will hold up the loser's wand. Once you are all done, I will comment and rearrange groups. Anyone who loses three duels in a row will be attending extra evening 'classes' with me." That was not a happy prospect, but no one dared to whisper anything to their neighbour.

There was a certain truth to his words, but Harry still disliked the tone of his voice as he described the Dark Arts. There was almost a longing in his voice, and that disturbed Harry. Snape's instructions were that the duels were to be done silently, but that was it. He had said that there were no holds barred, but be sensible with the spells. Roughly translated, that meant that the Slytherins could use dark curses if they knew them, but anyone else would get detention.

"Begin," sounded Snape's icy voice.

Almost everyone moved instantly, except Malfoy and Harry. In the corner of his eye, he could see other duels going on, and flashes of light. He and Malfoy stood in ready stance, neither moving, both waiting for the other to make a move. They stared into each other's eyes. Harry could see an element of fear in his eyes. While Malfoy thought Harry was on his side, he also thought that Harry would do whatever it took to maintain cover and he also knew that Harry was still the Dark Knight, a trained killer.

Malfoy moved quickly, once he realised Harry was not going to attack. He brought his wand down diagonally in a slashing movement across his chest, unleashing a band of red light towards Harry. Harry instantly leapt forwards, ducking underneath the spell and rolling towards Malfoy. He came back to his feet right in front of the startled Slytherin. Harry grabbed the wrist of his wand arm, forcing it to the side and his robes with the other. Harry twisted, while sticking his leg out. He threw Malfoy over his leg to the floor in a judo throw.

Malfoy had the sense to keep rolling as he hit the floor, as Harry quickly fired a Disarming Charm at him, but missed. Malfoy scrambled to his feet and threw another curse at Harry.

Sanctius! he shouted inside his mind. The small turquoise umbrella formed at the end of his wand. He batted the curse back. He was impressed that Malfoy had already gotten off a second curse, which Harry also batted away. Harry decided to turn up the heat. Wielding his wand like a whip while thinking the incantation, he thrust a long fiery whip at Malfoy. Luckily, the blond saw it coming and conjured a shield. The whip wrapped itself around the Slytherin, shield and all. Harry suppressed a smile. These were the results of his Occlumency sessions with Flamel; he could search through the other Harry's memories and use his spells, some at least. He remembered that Dumbledore used this one against Voldemort. Malfoy didn't seem so confident as the whip surrounded his shield.

Harry gave it a tug, and the spell enhanced his strength, throwing Malfoy across the room, shield and all. He hit the wall and bounced off. Luckily his shield should protect him from physical injury. Harry noted that there was no other movement. They were the only couple still duelling. Harry looked back at Malfoy just in time to see him cause a pot of quills to shoot at Harry, who levitated a desk into the way. The quills were sharp enough to dig into the wood.

As Harry cast the desk aside, he saw anger in Malfoy's eyes. He had a bloody lip. His shield evidently had not held up that well, and he was hurt. Harry never heard the incantation, but his phoenix senses told him something dark was coming. Malfoy swished his wand and unleashed a thick trunk of orange light at Harry.

Sheltanto! The enhanced shield sprang into place in front of him, a near invisible barrier against the curse. Harry was nearly knocked off his feet as the spell hit the shield. It held, but the pressure was phenomenal. His feet began to slide backwards across the ground. There was a gasp from the spectators as the Dark Knight struggled to force off a spell from a suspected Death Eater. Harry glanced at Snape, who made no effort to stop the duel. He sat calmly, watching the proceedings.

Harry broke into a cold sweat. The curse was strong as hell, and was pushing him backwards. It was hot and Harry could feel the power through his shield. He had no idea what it did and didn't want to find out. He could feel his shield weakening. It was already losing its shape and becoming hazy.

"Harry!" screamed Hermione. "Finish him before someone gets hurt!"

"Silence, Granger, this is their duel," Snape put her down.

Harry glanced to his right, where there was nothing but empty wall. Hermione was right. He took a deep breath and threw the shield and the spell along with it to his right and dived to his left. The curse rocketed into the wall, blowing away a good section of it and knocking over a bookcase. Harry rolled over and then up onto his feet.

Levicorpus! Malfoy's ankle was hoisted up into the air, not three feet from him. He was left dangling, his robes up over his face. Harry pivoted on his ankle, delivering a spinning kick to Malfoy's gut as he released the spell. Malfoy flew across the room upside down and hit the wall. He bounced off and hit the floor, losing his grip on his wand. Malfoy quickly reached for his wand, but Harry was a step ahead. He had summoned a knife from his Potions set and hurled it at Malfoy's arm. It pierced his sleeve and pinned it to the wall, leaving Malfoy unable to reach his wand. Harry summoned it and held it aloft as gasps sprang up from those who witnessed the knife throw.

"That's what happens when you let the Dark Arts into your lessons," he added icily to Snape as he passed on the way back to his seat. There was utter silence in the room and no one dared to move. That duel had nearly killed its combatants. The class was in shock. Harry reached his desk when a thought occurred to him. Snape hadn't replied. Harry turned, to see Snape standing by his desk. He wasn't tending to Malfoy, nor was he looking angry. He looked as if he had seen a ghost (although in Hogwarts that was not an unusual experience).

"Where did you learn that spell?" he asked slowly, his voice showing more shock than anger.

"In a book, where else?" replied Harry. He pointed at Malfoy, who was pulling the dagger out of the wall. "He's the one you should be asking; he nearly killed me." How could Snape have a go at him for using a restraining spell when Malfoy had tried to kill him?

"You're a big boy, you can take care of yourself," muttered Snape dismissively, though still looking thoughtful. "We'll continue this next lesson. Class dismissed. Potter, come with me!" Harry couldn't believe it. Why was he being punished for defending himself? He hadn't even used a serious attack in that duel. It was all basic spells, except for the whip. Malfoy, on the other hand, had been using Dark Spells from start to finish. Harry picked up his bag and followed Snape out of the room. He didn't say a word to Snape as they headed up the stairs. He felt another glimmer of anger in his stomach. This was why he hadn't missed the lessons during his months off. Even in this world, Snape was a twat!

"Where did you find that spell?" repeated Snape after a minute of walking.

"From my father," said Harry. It was more or less true. He had seen it in Snape's Pensieve.

Snape didn't reply. He shot Harry an unreadable glance, but thankfully made no further comment.

"Where are we going?" asked Harry, bored of the silence.

"You'll see," said Snape, dismissing him again.

A few minutes later they arrived in Flamel's office. The old man was sitting behind his desk, reading a book and making notes.

"Busy, Nicolas?" asked Snape as he barged in unannounced.

"You're early," noted Flamel, putting down the quill and removing his glasses. He didn't seem at all surprised. "And I was supposed to come to you, but no matter. I was just translating this book for Harry."

"For me?" asked Harry. Why would Flamel translate a book for him?

"Yes," said Flamel. "It's an ancient Greek text. It speaks of theories about possibilities of other universes and worlds, black holes and ways of travelling between them."

"You're trying to get me home?" echoed Harry. It was odd; he had completely forgotten about it. It was almost as if he didn't care about home any more and just accepted this world as home. It was not true, he did still think about home, but he had given up actively trying to get back there. He had more important things to do.

"As promised," said Flamel. "They claim to have built a working device, or Node as they call it. It's quite clever really, I don't understand how it works, but it breaks down a magical signature using Arithmancical equations. From this you can derive seven digits, as a sort of address of the world with similar Nodes. They tried and failed, but then eventually got it right. There is a working Node somewhere. However, there is also a key that was buried to prevent its use. Apparently they found a world torn apart by war and were nearly invaded by an army from another world, so they destroyed the other world's Node and then buried their key to protect this world. It hasn't been seen since."

"Does it say where?" asked Harry, his curiosity bubbling over.

"Not yet," said Flamel. "It's mainly technical jargon. Still, I am confident that between myself and Professor Vector, we can break down your magical signature and derive your world's address. If we find this key and the Node, we can in theory get you home, assuming it still works."

I'm going home! Harry realised. His legs suddenly felt weak. There was a way home. He could get home and see his friends again. He felt like crying and laughing all at once. He sank into a chair, as his legs could no longer hold him. He stared at the book on Flamel's table that was his ticket home.

"Of course," said Flamel, "I will need more time to translate the book and then to follow the clues and find the keys and the Node."

"Don't rush, I'm not going yet," said Harry. "I can't leave you in this state." He couldn't drop everything and leave. He couldn't leave Rose and his parents in a world that was collapsing on itself. They would certainly be killed if he left. No, this was where he was needed, and where he must stay.

"Well, I find this all fascinating," said Snape, his voice dripping in sarcasm. Harry had almost forgotten Snape was there. "And while I am interested in anything that will rid me of the boy, I believe you summoned me here for a reason."

"Ah yes, Severus," said Flamel. "Please take a seat." Snape sank delicately into the seat Flamel offered. "Firstly, how did your meeting go last night?"

"As expected," said Snape. "They are all up in arms about this man dressed in white. Whatever you did, Potter, you spooked them well enough. A massive man−hunt is now underway, but they believe that it was not related to the Order." Harry felt a tingle of pride in his work, but he daren't show it, as Snape would undoubtedly put him down.

"Excellent," said Flamel. "Now, Severus, as you know, I have been attempting to teach Harry Occlumency. This morning we were practicing and I came across a foreign spell embedded in his memories."

"What spell?" asked Snape, appearing intrigued. Harry was watching for any sign that he already knew about it. He was one person Harry wouldn't be surprised to learn had done it to him.

"It electrocuted us both," said Harry. "Professor Flamel thinks it was a defence spell, protecting a memory charm or a cap."

"Interesting," said Snape, his brow furrowed. "So what can I do?"

"You are a highly skilled Occlumens and Legilimens," said Flamel. "I wanted to know if you can find a way around the cap."

"Unlikely," said Snape. "Anyone who can install a cap and the spells to protect it are going to be highly skilled. It is unlikely that they have left anything out. I may be able to force it open, but not without causing pain to myself and to Potter."

"Are you sure you can?" asked Harry sceptically. This was suspicious. He could probably electrocute Harry for a few minutes just for pleasure and then say he couldn't do it.

"Almost positive," sneered Snape. "As long as you can take the pain."

"It is essential that we find out who put this thing in there and why," said Flamel. "If it is a cap, it is entirely possible that you are a walking time bomb, Harry." He knew he didn't have a choice, he just resented Snape for being the one to do it.

"Very well," said Snape. "Potter, open your mind. First I must find the blockage. Just relax." Snape pointed his wand at Harry's temple and stared into his eyes.

"Legilimens," he muttered. Images began to flow through his mind. Harry was impressed that Snape could assimilate everything he could see so quickly, and discard what was not needed. He really was a master of Occlumency himself, even if he was an awful teacher. He didn't know if Snape could hear these thoughts or not, but he didn't care...argh!

Suddenly, a shock invaded his brain again. His entire head felt the power of the shock. Snape immediately stopped.

He shook his head and regained his composure. "There we are," he said simply. "Brace yourself, Potter. This is going to hurt. Legilimens!"

Suddenly the pain returned. His head was being prodded from every side with razorblades. The charge invaded every corner of his brain, mind and sense. His head was aching, throbbing, pounding and stinging at the same time. He bit down hard, trying to block out the pain, but that only served to annoy Snape.

"Block it out and you make my job harder," snapped Snape. "Take it like a man."

Suddenly the pain increased. Harry felt like screaming, but he refused in front of Snape. The pain was so intense it was blinding. He opened his eyes, but could not see beyond the pain. He slammed them shut and bit down. His whole body was shaking as Snape battered his mind from all sides. Suddenly, something clicked. His mind seemed to burst and then the pain was gone. He opened his eyes and found himself back in Voldemort's cell. Voldemort was speaking.

"What of honour?"

"You forfeited the right of honour when you took human life," said Harry.

"Then by implication, you deserve no better," said Voldemort icily. "It matters not, for I have a plan to remedy this dilemma."

"What?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow.

He didn't have time to react. His pounding head was too weary to think clearly and the Dark Lord moved so fast. In a flash he was out of the chair and against the blue wall of light. His arm shot straight through the shield towards Harry's face. He felt those icy fingers wrap tightly around his neck, not squeezing, but holding him firmly in place. Harry tried to cry out, but he couldn't get a word out. He stared helplessly into those burning red eyes.

"Hold him!" hissed the Dark Lord. Suddenly two arms grabbed him on each side. His head spun and he saw the two Aurors who should be guarding the doors. They were Death Eaters! He had to get away; he had to tell Dawlish before it was too late!

Suddenly Voldemort grabbed his cheeks with both hands and twisted his head back to face him.

"And now, Potter," said Voldemort, "You are going to divulge every last secret you hold. Legilimens!"

Images began to flow through his mind. He saw the Dursleys, Aunt Marge and Hagrid coming to take him away. His entire life was literally flashing before his eyes. No! He had to stop this, before Voldemort learned anything important. Empty your mind, Harry, you can do it!

He tried to empty his mind, but Voldemort was too strong. Suddenly something hit his cheek. His eyes widened in pain as his cheek began to sting. One of the Aurors had slapped him to keep awake and to allow Voldemort easier access to his thoughts.

"Don't fight, Harry," soothed Voldemort. "It will be over soon." Images raced through his mind as he was forced into another dimension, landing in a field. He saw his arrest, escape, trip to Voldemort, his capture by Dumbledore and his time at Hogwarts. Suddenly Voldemort released him, but the Aurors kept a firm hold on him.

"Interesting," said Voldemort, turning his back on Harry, who stood mentally exhausted, thrashing against those who held him. He had failed! Voldemort knew everything. He knew he was from another world, he knew Harry was the Boy−Who−Lived, not his Harry. Who knew what he could do with that information?

"Petrificus Totalus," muttered Voldemort, freezing Harry without even using a wand. "Imagine," he said, thoughtfully. "You, Harry, are my downfall. A one−year−old boy, defeating the Dark Lord. But surely you can see that it was not you. Your mother died for you. You are nothing special yourself. Before you came here and gained this body, you were nothing. You can do all these wonderful things because I taught my Harry Potter; you just stole his body. You are nothing without me. But I see you will never join me again because you still hold the sentimental values of this Boy−Who−Lived. You are Dumbledore's loyal little terrier. Pitiful. You have bounced from one year to the next, from duel to duel by blind luck, nothing more. You are nothing special, but you still win. How is this possible? All luck runs out in the end, Harry. I believe today is that day for you. The Prophecy doesn't apply here; you are not my equal. But then again, it could be talking about me all along, knowing you were going to be sent her. I did mark you my equal, after all; you do carry my soul. But you are a danger to me − you have proved that; by all rights, I should kill you now."

"Then do it, arsehole!" hissed Harry. "Dawlish and Bones will be in soon when I don't reappear and you'll be put to death. They'll execute you! Who has the last laugh?"

"Come, Harry," said Voldemort icily. "I would not be stupid enough to kill my own Horcrux. I have a better use for you." Voldemort stepped forward, clean through the barrier that should have held him. He took a wand from the Auror who shouldn't even be carrying one. That meant the Auror who operated the scanner was also a Death Eater. Voldemort raised the wand to Harry's temple. Suddenly a bolt of electricity entered his mind and he relaxed. His body untensed and he stood, free from the Aurors, yet unable to move.

"Now, Harry, this is what you are going to do," said Voldemort. "I want you to enter Dumbledore's study. I want a complete copy of his Pensieve. Inside will be the names of every member of the Order of the Phoenix, and all operations they are running. After that, you will arrange a meeting with Dumbledore and Crouch for the last day of November in Crouch's office." With another flick of his wand, a halo of blue light surrounded Harry's head, hovering an inch from his eyes.

"You're having a laugh," said Harry. "I'll die before I help you!"

"Unnecessary," said Voldemort dismissively. "And to make sure no one tampers with you, my little soldier," he muttered. A white light poured out of his wand and wrapped itself around the blue halo like barbed wire.

"Positions," said Voldemort to the Aurors.

They picked up their weapons and returned to the door, while Voldemort stepped back into the cell and grabbed Harry by the neck. Their eyes locked and then Voldemort activated the spell. The halo closed around his head and was absorbed into his mind, covering up the memories of the last few minutes. Harry found himself staring into the eyes of the Dark Lord, never remembering what had just happened. He thrashed under the Dark Lord's grip, struggling to break free.

Then suddenly, for no apparent reason, Voldemort just released him. Harry grasped his throat and rubbed it in pain as he gasped for air. He felt horrible. His mind seemed so tired and his body ached all over. He felt sick inside and dizzy. He turned to see the Aurors surging forward towards him. When he turned back, Voldemort was standing two paces back from the barrier, calmly watching him. Harry coughed and doubled up in pain as the Aurors grabbed him around the arms and dragged him away from the cell.

"We said, don't cross the bloody yellow line," snapped one of them, as Harry was thrust through the door and out into the corridor.

Suddenly the scene changed.

Harry left the kitchen and headed towards the Room of Requirement. He felt that he had better not risk waking his mother tonight. He had been walking for a few minutes when a sudden feeling of sickness overtook him. He doubled up in pain, grasping his stomach. His phoenix senses were going haywire as he fell to his knees in pain. He felt sick, and was covered in a cold sweat. Suddenly a streak of pain shot through his head. It wasn't his scar, but something else. Icy pain surged into every corner of his brain. He grasped at his temples as he fell to his knees. He gasped for air and shook his head, trying to shake away the disorientation. Suddenly his body relaxed, and he felt strangely light−headed. He somehow knew he had something to do. He rose to his feet in a calm movement and began to walk slowly up towards Dumbledore's office. He arrived at the gargoyle and gave it the password. He ascended the stairs and approached the door, disappearing in a ball of flame. He reappeared inside the locked office. It was deserted except for Fawkes, who was asleep with his head under his wing. The bird stirred as Harry appeared. He gave him an appraising look, and then tucked his head back under his wing. Harry crossed slowly to the Pensieve. He removed his wand and uttered the spells that seemed to come to him from the great beyond. In seconds, he was holding an old wine bottle, full of memories. They were an exact copy of Dumbledore's Pensieve. With that full, he crossed to the window and opened it. Outside, the owls were out on their nightly hunts. Harry took out his wand and cast a summoning charm. The indignity of being yanked out of mid−flight was not lost on the owl, who stood on the sill and gave Harry an evil glance. Harry attached the heavy bottle to the bird's leg.

"See this finds its way to Bellatrix Black," he told the owl, before shutting the window in its face. That done, Harry turned and disappeared in a ball of flame, reappearing at the top of the stairs that led back down to the gargoyles. He had gone perhaps three steps beyond the gargoyles when the dizziness returned. A piercing pain struck his mind and he fell to his knees, the pain stabbing every corner of his mind. His hands shook as he tried to massage his temples. The memories were being sealed painfully behind the cap, ensuring he would never recall what he had just done, unless a very powerful Legilimens should find and break the cap.

Suddenly, as quickly as it had come, it was all gone. Harry looked up and glanced around, gasping for breath. He was standing outside the gargoyle.

This isn't the way to the Room of Requirement, thought Harry to himself as he rubbed his aching temples. How the hell had he gotten up here, when he had set off in the opposite direction? He had been deep in thought, letting his feet lead him. He hadn't been looking where he was going and had probably taken a wrong turn. Idiot. I'm losing it, he concluded. I need rest.

Snape ended the spell and lowered his wand. He and Harry locked eyes for a second. Harry couldn't read his expression, but Harry's was plain to read: horror. He should have known that Voldemort would not just release him. He knew someone was looking after Voldemort, but he never told Dawlish of his suspicions. Tonks had even said that he had been in there longer than ten minutes, and now he knew why. How had he been so stupid? Of course he would have done something. And worse, Harry had given them Dumbledore's Pensieve. That was how they knew exactly who to target in the Purges. They had a list of who was in the Order as well as those Dumbledore suspected. They knew exactly where and when to hit them. Harry had effectively handed victory to Voldemort. He felt sick as he sat in the chair. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

His expression neutral, Snape began to convey what he and Harry had just seen to Flamel. It took no more than a minute, but Harry wasn't listening. The images repeated over and over in his mind. He was not on Voldemort's side, but he was still Voldemort's weapon. It was all his fault. If he hadn't been so stupid, he could have prevented this. How many would now die for his stupidity? He felt sick.

"It's all my fault," he muttered, not even realising that he had said it out loud.

"There's no way you could have known," said Flamel gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. He was just trying to comfort Harry, but his words had no effect. It was all his fault!

"I should never have gone to see him," said Harry. "Snape here even warned me. You said he couldn't be tricked so easily, but I went in."

"Albus and I agreed with you," said Flamel. "We were all taken in by the lie. If you want to assign blame, do so, but not all to yourself. You are not alone. We all made mistakes along the way."

"How'd we miss all the signs?" asked Harry. Where had it all gone wrong? "I can't believe it's gotten so bad. There doesn't seem to be a way back."

"Hope remains," said Flamel. "We are here, and we shall not give up. Now let us think rationally. The cap is removed so you are no longer a threat, so let's move on. Damage assessment: he knows about where you come from. If he is knowledgeable he may try to search for this book, or even beyond it to this Node. Your world could now be in danger. Also, he knows about the Order, every last one of us, but he doesn't know that the cap has been destroyed and won't until he tries to use you again."

"Professor," said Harry. "What did Voldemort mean when he called me a Horcrux?" Harry glanced at Flamel, who visibly paled.

"Harry is a Horcrux, Severus?" asked Flamel. Presumably, Snape hadn't passed that on to Flamel. Snape nodded. Flamel looked very pale. He took a deep breath.

"From Severus' reaction," began Flamel. "I assume that he does not know what one is either." Snape shook his head slightly. Flamel put his head in his hands and sighed deeply. He brought his head back up, suddenly looking older than he had moments ago. "A Horcrux is perhaps the most foul invention in the whole of magic. No book in the library will speak of them. They are pure evil, and it takes pure evil to make one. What I am about to tell you must never ever leave this room, understand?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"Severus?" asked Flamel, raising an eyebrow. Any hint of fun was gone from his eyes. This was Flamel at his most serious. Harry felt, for the first time, a little afraid of his teacher. Snape seemed to come to the same conclusion. If Flamel was treating even Snape like a pupil, this was very, very serious. Snape seemed to understand that too.

"A Horcrux," said Flamel. "Is an object or person, in which one can encase part of one's soul. It takes an act of pure evil, i.e. a murder, to rip the soul in two and bind it to that object or person. If the person is killed, they will not truly die, for part of their soul still exists. They will be less than human, less than a ghost, but alive. It is then theoretically possible to regain their body."

Harry had broken into a cold sweat. The words seemed so familiar. Voldemort had never died when the Killing Curse rebounded on him. He remembered his words in the graveyard:

"Less than a spirit, less then the meanest ghost...but still, I was alive."

He had split his soul; somehow, Voldemort had made a Horcrux. That was how he survived, and how he regained his body.

"Bone of a father, unknowingly given," said Harry softly, breaking the silence that had descended on the office. "Flesh of a servant, willingly given. Blood of an enemy, forcefully taken."

"What?" asked Snape.

"That was the potion that my Voldemort used to get his body back," explained Harry. "That was why he never died. His curse rebounded on him, but he never died. He must have had a Horcrux."

"It does sound like it," conceded Flamel. "But I am not an expert on them. My old friend Horace Slughorn, (you should remember him Severus, as a former member of Slytherin), he was more of an expert. But let us put that aside. The point is, is Harry truly a Horcrux?"

"I think I am," said Harry. "I remember when he spoke to me. He said I begged him to use me, that I picked the Attacus woman to be the sacrifice. It all fits."

"Caitlyn Attacus was murdered at the Devil's Cauldron," said Snape. "It was part of the ceremony that made Potter the Dark Lord's heir."

"It was all for show," said Flamel. "He needed to murder a person to make one. It was all done to show his power and to mask what was really happening. I don't believe a single Death Eater knows what he was doing, in case they betrayed him. He wouldn't take the chance."

"So I am a Horcrux," said Harry. "I have to die before he will."

"Not necessarily," said Flamel. "Remember, you are not the Harry he chose. When a living person is used, does the soul reside in the host's soul or the body? In your case, this is significant. I do not honestly know the answer. It may be you, or it may be the other Harry."

"Either way," said Harry., "Locating him has just become a high priority. Also, we should warn every informant still out there that they are compromised."

"That will be simple enough," said Snape. "Our only problem is Grymes."

"Who?"

"Our double of Rodolphus Lestrange," said Snape. "He is in deep cover."

"But surely if I compromised him, he would be the first killed?" asked Harry.

"He still sent us inform..." Snape trailed off. "Information that led us straight into Tom's hands."

"The real Lestrange must have taken his place," said Harry. "We were fed false information." Harry glanced at Flamel to see if he agreed with his theory. To his surprise, the Professor was white.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," said Harry.

"Lestrange contacted me this morning," said Flamel shakily. "He said he had information that he needed delivered in person. I sent someone to meet him in The Hog's Head garden. It was supposed to be about now that they meet."

"Who did you send?" asked Harry, rising to his feet.

"Your mother!"

Harry didn't hesitate. He disappeared instantly in a ball of flame.

XXXXXXXXXX

Lily poked her head around the corner, peering over the wall and into the overgrown beer garden of the Hog's Head. The walls were covered in ivy, the flowerbeds covered in brambles, and the paving slabs stained with green moss, while grass filled the gaps in the stone. On the furthest table, in fact the only one in one piece, sat a figure in black robes. That must be Grymes.

Lily stepped out of the alleyway and into the garden. Her soft shoes made no sound as she crossed the garden, approaching the figure. There was a drink on the table in front of the figure, though it had not been touched.

"Grymes?" said Lily softly as she approached.

The figured looked up and Lily found herself looking into the eyes of Rodolphus Lestrange. Lily knew Grymes from her days at Hogwarts, where he had been a year below her, but she would never get used to staring at Lestrange's face and speaking to Grymes. There was just something creepy about the way he looked at her.

"You wanted to meet?" she asked, sitting down.

"You came alone?" he asked. "You weren't followed?" The voice was so cold. He was the perfect double for the murderer, even if it did send shivers down her spine.

"No," said Lily impatiently.

"Good," said Grymes. "Follow me."

He rose from the bench, leaving his drink untouched, and headed for a gate in the wall that led out the back of the garden and into the woods. He opened the gate and gestured for her to go through.

"Ladies first," he said, smiling slightly.

Lily stepped through, into the woodlands at the back of the pub. Lying in an unnatural position on the floor and covered in blood was the naked body of a man. Lily gasped in surprise at the site of the obviously deceased body.

"What's going..." she trailed off, as she turned to see him standing behind her, a wand levelled at Lily's neck. What on earth was going on? Who was the body? Why was...?

"Look familiar?" asked a sweet female voice to Lily's right. She turned to face the speaker. A robed figure stepped out from behind a moss−covered tree and stepped carefully into the clearing in which they stood. "Desmond Grymes," continued the robed woman, her voice strangely familiar. "Of eleven Caldwell Street, Nottingham, thirty−four years of age, former Auror whose hobbies include fishing, bowling and Quidditch, and until very recently, was a member of the Order of the Phoenix." Lily's mind was reeling. How did they know so much, and if this was Grymes, then who was Lestr...it was the real person! They had been discovered and now, the real Lestrange was back in place. This was a trap. Lily grabbed her wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

Her wand flew out of her hand, flying into the undergrowth and disappearing into a patch of nettles.

"Now we've been here before, haven't we Lily?" said the robed woman, lowering her hood to reveal a head of platinum hair. Lily knew now where she had heard the voice before − on the lips of one person she loathed more than any other alive.

"Narcissa," said Lily, her blood beginning to boil. Her fists clenched in anger at the sight of the woman. "Though this time," continued Narcissa. "There is no Dumbledore or Potter to protect you, while I have Rodolphus here."

"Still getting men to fight your fights?" sneered Lily. "Not that I didn't enjoy the sight of James hexing Lucius and that psychotic sister of yours, but it is just plain cowardly, Narcissa."

"You don't know anything about me," snapped Narcissa.

"I know you would screw anyone who could get you ahead," said Lily. "Nothing changed. You screwed, you married, you got your money, and where did it lead you? A life of servitude to Tom bloody Riddle."

"Who, if you hadn't noticed, is taking over," snapped Narcissa as she stepped closer, her wand now drawn. "I'll be at his side when he does. I will survive, which is more than I can say for you."

"I'd rather live for one year than survive for ten," said Lily. "You've never felt what love is, never felt part of something, not even a family. Even your son was an accident. You can kill me and help Riddle take over, but it won't bring you happiness. You have nothing of value, Narcissa, just numbers on a cheque, nothing more. Your money won't help you any more than it can help me now, only love can."

"You know nothing, Mudblood," sneered Narcissa. She was erratic and couldn't argue, just insult.

"That didn't used to matter, did it?" asked Lily. "Where did we go wrong?"

"We never were," said Narcissa. "You're right in your case. I gave you my time, simply as a means to an end. I have no further use for you, and now I'm going to prove it. You are going to die, Lily Evans, and die alone. Let's see if love and family which you hold so dear can protect you."

"They can!" said another voice.

Narcissa whirled to her right, just in time to get hit by a Disarming Charm. Her wand flew through the air and landed in the dirt. Suddenly, a familiar figure dived out from behind the tree while unleashing another disarming charm in mid−air. He rolled back to his feet, just as Lestrange's wand flew out of his hands. Harry had come! He had come to save her. She had never been so glad to see her son, yet at the same time, she was angry that he had put himself in danger for her. He was her son and she wanted him safe in the castle.

He stepped carefully into the clearing, a wand in each hand. One was pointed at Narcissa, now wandless, and the other at Gry...Lestrange. Harry glanced quickly from one to the other. There was a coldness in his eyes that worried Lily. She had never seen him in a fight before, and the look he gave Narcissa and Lestrange scared her a little.

"Mum, catch," he said. Harry threw Lily's wand, which he had been holding in his left hand, back to her. Harry kicked Narcissa's wand into the undergrowth as Lily caught her own wand and levelled it at Narcissa. It would be so easy just to... No! She was better than that!

"Lestrange," Harry called out to the other Death Eater who had made no move to escape nor hex anyone. "Why don't you ask Bellatrix to marry you? Scared?" What? What was he on about? They should bind the Death Eaters and get out of here as soon as possible.

"Put your wands down," said a voice behind Harry. As Lily turned, she saw that no less than ten Death Eaters, in full robes and masks, were coming towards them through the trees. Jesus! That was why Narcissa didn't look worried.

"You can't escape Lily," said Narcissa as she lowered her arms. "There are wards all over the woods. Give it up, you too Harry."

"Mum," said Harry, turning to face them and lowering his wands. "When you have a cold, what does your nose do?" What? She didn't have a cold. What did he mean? Was it a riddle? This was no time for jokes. The answer was 'it runs', but what did that have to do with...oh. RUN!

Harry suddenly fired a spell into the ground. Whatever it was, it sent a cloud of mud ten feet into the air, masking their escape as he darted towards her, grabbing her arm and running to the side. They had gone perhaps ten feet, when there was a shout behind them.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Lily threw herself to the ground, right into a patch of brambles as the curse flew over her head. She could feel the power of the curse as it rocketed past her and the sharp thorns of the brambles where she lay. Harry was next to her in an instant, lying on the ground. He grabbed her by the arms. What was he doing?

"Hold on!" he said.

A second later, she felt a tremendous whoosh, and her whole body was being crushed just like Apparation. Flames filled her eyes, but she didn't feel hot or burned. The next thing she knew, she was in Nicolas' office, at Hogwarts. The owner was sitting at his desk, speaking into a Frog Card. He glanced up as they appeared.

"Never mind," he said into the card. "She's back, safe and sound." He pocketed the card and turned to face Lily.

"You're not hurt?" asked Flamel instantly. "Severus is already on his way to the pub."

"We're fine," said Lily, brushing herself off. "What on earth was that, Harry? And how did you Apparate into Hogwarts?"

"It's complicated," said Harry, avoiding her eyes and the question.

"Lily," said Nicolas gently. "New evidence has just come to light, which raises as many questions as it answers. I will fill in you and Minerva when she arrives. For now, we must excuse Harry, for he has a class to attend. Harry, we will meet again tomorrow, okay?"

"Fine," said Harry. "See you later, Mum." He pocketed his wand before leaving the office.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Good evening," said Harry from atop of the teacher's table at the front of the Great Hall. The tables had been cleared to the side, leaving room to practice. Harry was impressed by the turnout, though Rookwood's words about what would happen if he didn't teach as Rookwood wanted, still bothered him. What did he know that Harry didn't? What was going to happen to Hermione and 'her lot'? He could see most of the upper years and quite a few from the lower years. The houses naturally stuck together, and even Hermione, a noted loner, was in with the sixth year Gryffindors. Since the trip to the army bunker in Princetown, Ron had been a lot less discriminating towards her.

Harry had rehearsed what to say earlier that day. He had spent the morning with Flamel and the afternoon with McGonagall, as well as attended his lessons, courtesy of the Time Turner. He had discussed it with them and his mother, and he knew he had to slow the progress as much as possible and keep the Dark Arts out of it. It was just a matter of doing all that as well as teaching the students to defend themselves. It was a fine balance. The incident with his mother had reiterated the need for urgency with this club. In fact, Lily herself had gone off to meet James, somewhere to the North. Harry wanted to go and see his father and Sirius, but he knew he had to stay. He had been a bit distracted all day since news of the Horcruxes theory and the discovery that he had handed the war to Voldemort. He tried to put all that pressure to the side as he spoke to the group. He was not comfortable with talking to a group of people, but his experience with the DA last year had given him a little more confidence.

"Welcome to the Duelling Club," he continued, ever more aware that Rookwood was standing in the corner of the room, keeping an eye on him. "This is essentially an extension to the Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons you already take with Professor Snape. As you can see from the Prophet, the scum−bags in the Ministry are up to their necks in the Dark Ar..."

"Potter!" snapped Rookwood, rising angrily to his feet. Harry stopped and glared at the High Inquisitor. He couldn't sit back and let him fill their heads with the Dark Arts.

"So duelling is a high priority," continued Harry, glaring at Rookwood. "These lessons are designed to give you the ability to defend yourselves, not to hurt other students − that's what the new Dark Arts lessons are for..." There was a laugh from the Gryffindors, which was quickly quashed by the High Inquisitor jumping angrily to his feet again.

"Potter, I'm warning you!" snarled Rookwood.

"Don't get your knickers in a knot," said Harry calmly. As before, the lack of respect caused Rookwood to go a deeper shade of red. Harry smirked and then turned back to the students. "If I had my way, I'd ban the Dark Arts, but since I can't, those lessons will start next week. What you learn in those lessons stays in those lessons. If anyone uses the Dark Arts here, they'll answer to me."

"It is not better to give them a broader spectrum of spells?" said Rookwood in a clipped tone. "Doesn't it bother you that they will only have experience with half the spells that can be used against them?"

"No," said Harry icily. "You sold your soul for power, but most of us have more moral fibre than that."

"You're on thin ice, Potter," said Rookwood. Harry didn't even dignify him with an answer.

"In answer to the question," he continued, addressing the hall. "You will learn enough to be able to defend yourself, and bring an enemy down, alive, without starting down the Dark road, which has only one outcome. If you want more details about becoming a Death Eater, head to the Dark Arts class; if you want to know how to learn how to bring one down, you've come to the right place." Rookwood didn't interrupt this time, but shot Harry a look of daggers.

"But enough of an introduction," said Harry. "You will all be at different stages, so today will be about finding out where you are in the great scheme of things and putting you into groups accordingly. From there, we'll teach you to kick arse. Year groups would be a good start, so get together in your year groups and then I'll alter them according to ability. I want you to duel in your pairs, but I emphasise, no Dark Arts, or you will incur my displeasure."

Harry demonstrated three spells to the Club, using Ron as a guinea pig. The spells in question were the Disarming Charm, Stunner and Shield. He directed everyone to find a partner in their own year group and practice duelling, sticking only to these three spells. Than done, he began to circulate, visiting each year group in turn and asking the older years to demonstrate various spells, hexes and defences. He grouped the first two years together and the top two, resulting in five different groups. To each of these groups he gave a list of spells, based on their level to incorporate them into the duels they were having. He was not really teaching much, more assessing how everyone was doing. The results were disturbing. Even with spells they had never done before, the Slytherins and several others from other houses were very aggressive, even though the spells themselves were relatively harmless. This was an ominous sign of how the group was to go. Harry stipulated that the top group of sixth and seventh years had to perform all spells in silence. He rearranged the groups slightly as he toured. He brought Rose and Ginny up to the top group, along with three others with potential or experience. He moved seven, including Crabbe and Goyle, down a year to go with the OWL class, but resisted the urge to demote Malfoy, despite Ron's frantic not−so−subtle gestures. This was partially because Malfoy was his source in Riddle's camp, and partly because if Harry was being honest, it was where he belonged. Malfoy had been avoiding Harry since his display in the DADA class, but Harry had cornered him last night. He had made it clear that he was off the hook, but if he wanted to serve the Dark Lord he would have to learn to control his impulses. Personally, Harry thought he deserved an Oscar for his performance.

"Do you think I don't yearn to throw curses around this bloody school at the bollocking Mudbloods?" he had said. "Do you think I am enjoying having my hands tied? No, I'm not, but I too serve the Dark Lord and for him I have to put up with a lot of crap from McGonagall as well as Rookwood in his ignorance, and the last thing I need is you adding to my list of problems."

"These groups," shouted Harry, bringing the duelling to an end., "Will remain for the time being. If I feel you are progressing or falling behind, I will move you later, but for now this will do. Next time I will come around to each of the groups and give you each some tricks of the trade and additional spells to learn. The OWL group will go over everything in the OWL Defence Exam as well as my own additions, and the same with NEWTs. This is a two hour club, so from next week on, the seven 'till eight session is for the lower years and the eight 'till nine session is for the OWL and NEWT groups. I know this whole club may seem daunting, but remember this is not a class. You cannot fail and you will not be left behind. My objective is to make sure you have fun as well as learn an important lesson. Another thing I must emphasise is that you are safe in this class. Outside this class, bear in mind that these spells are for defence only. Anyone, and that includes the Inquisitorial Squad, anyone who uses these spells for attack or bullying will find themselves in detention for a month. Understand?"

There was a general nod that went around, though Pansy Parkinson looked pensive. Harry had a feeling she was thinking of a loophole.

"Now," he continued, ending her thinking time. "Hermione, you know the spells on the NEWT list already. If you would be so kind as to guide the three lower groups through their lists? OWL and NEWT groups will come with me. Let's take a ride on the wild side."

XXXXXXXXXX

"My neck and arm still hurt from last night," Ginny informed Harry the next day at breakfast. It was Thursday and all the sixth years had a lesson first period. Ginny continued to massage her shoulder and neck with her hand while attempting to eat with the other, the result being that she dropped some soggy Rice Krispies down her top, much to Dean Thomas' amusement. Harry considered informing Ginny that she and Dean were an item in his world and he most likely had feelings for her in this world. Harry was not entirely sure what to look for, but he was fairly certain that his theory was correct.

The meeting of the Duelling Club had gone downhill when Rookwood hijacked the club and insisted that Dark Arts be incorporated into the lesson, which had sparked a demonstration with Harry in which Rookwood had given Harry a bad headache. They had had half an hour of decent practice, when Rookwood had decided the lists were inadequate and had added to them.

Harry shot a dirty look at Parkinson, across the Hall. She was with her usual crew, all of whom seemed very much amused by her impression of Ginny the cripple. Theodore Nott had removed all feeling and movement from her arm with one spell last night, but in Rookwood's presence, Harry could not intervene. Harry was annoyed that as well as Horcruxes and a war, he had to cope with detentions and stupid little bullies. His life just seemed to get harder and harder.

Across the hall, Parkinson leaned back in her chair and then twisted her body, allowing her arm to flap around like a rubber glove, making the audience roar with laughter. Harry remembered all too well what it was like to have no bones in his arm, but made no comment to anyone about it. Rookwood had not exactly cared about Ginny's arm, and so Harry had led her to the Hospital Wing, which involved leaving his sister and friends alone with Rookwood. Not what he had wanted to do, but he had had no choice.

"So what are we all doing today?" asked Harry, finishing his breakfast, trying to raise the mood, which was easier said than done these days.

"Lessons, library, lessons, lunch, lessons, library," said Ginny sadly. "Rookwood, Snape, and McGonagall have all set an essay in for Friday. We're in the shite at the moment."

"That's how Rookwood wants us," said Hermione, bitterly. "Pinned down so we don't have the time to organise against him." Harry was impressed that she was complaining about work being set rather than Harry's not having done it. It was a change, and it fuelled his hope that maybe she would become the Hermione she was capable of being.

Harry wondered if Voldemort knew he might try to form a DA from having seen Harry's memories of the DA when he Legilimised him. It was entirely possible, but Harry didn't think he was being watched any more than any other Order member. Still, he made a mental note to be more careful when going to see Flamel and McGonagall. He felt that there was weight behind what Hermione was saying. As long as they were buried in work, they didn't have the time or the energy to defy him. He wished the twins were still at school so they could wreak havoc, but sadly they had left last year. So what was Rookwood waiting for? Why was he appraising the staff first? What other changes did he have in mind, besides Dark Arts classes? Being a Death Eater, there was no telling, but it had to be subtle or the parents wouldn't stand for it. What had he meant by 'cleaning this place up?' He seemed to be waiting for something, and it wasn't coming.

"Post's here!" announced Ron as the fluttering of wings became audible high above them. The owls came swooping into the hall. Harry's first thought was that there was a lot mail. The room seemed almost full of owls. Despite the air being thick with owls, Harry received nothing, but then again he had not been expecting to. He had no one to send him mail in this world, and it was too easy to intercept. Ron didn't get anything, but one owl landed in front of Hermione and another in front of Dean.

"What's all this?" asked Ron. Harry too was wondering.

"The Ministry are probably sending out another leaflet to everyone," said Ginny. "Happens every few months. We'll get some tomorrow probably. Probably 'what to do if you see a member of the Order of the Phoenix walking down the street'."

"It's worse," said Hermione weakly. Her voice cracked and when Harry turned to face her, tears were running down her cheeks.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that others were having similar reactions. Crying was all around the hall and many people were angrily reading the letters that had arrived. Hermione offered hers to Harry. He took it and began to read.

Miss Granger,

Given the current war raging in the Wizarding World at this time, the safety of the students is our first priority. It has therefore been decided that your presence at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is no longer appropriate. The Ministry of Magic has deemed that for their own protection, all Muggle−Born students should be returned to the Muggle world for their own safety and their wands destroyed. In accordance with these new regulations, it is with deep regret that I must ask you to leave the school.

The Hogwarts Express will arrive this coming Sunday at midday to take you all back to Kings Cross Station. Please notify your parents/guardians and arrange to be collected. You are to be clear of your dormitory by eleven and submit your wand for destruction before eleven thirty.

You have done great things in your time here, but the time has come to return to where you belong. Good luck in your new life.

Sincerely,
Prof. A. Rookwood
High Inquisitor
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"Jesus," breathed Harry. Looking around, he could see that she was not the only one to get this letter. Justin Finch−Fletchley and Dean Thomas were both staring, crestfallen, at the letters. Around the hall, people were gathering to read the letters that were causing so much distress. The noise was getting louder as crying broke out, as well as angry conversations in hushed voices, for fear of the Inquisitorial Squad.

This was wrong. Didn't anyone see? This is where they belonged! They were wizards and witches, not Muggles. They had grown up in this world and here they should stay. This was what Rookwood had been planning. The meaning of 'Clean this place up' was now perfectly clear. This was his attempt to create a Pureblooded society.

Tears and other reactions were growing. Harry glanced at the head table. People were trying to comfort their friends who were shortly to be sent home, never to return. McGonagall had noticed the disturbance, but had yet to see the letters. Rookwood was casually eating his breakfast, oblivious to the anger and sorrow he was causing all around. He was casually eating a sausage and smiling to himself. The git couldn't seriously be pleased with himself, could he? By the look of it the answer was yes.

Harry had a good mind to go up there and scream at him in the middle of the hall, but thought better of it. He needed to consult with McGonagall. She had risen from her seat and was walking towards the Gryffindor Table. Flamel and Lily had stopped eating and were watching McGonagall. Snape had gone over to talk to Rookwood. Whose side was he on?

"What is causing this disturbance?" asked McGonagall as she drew nearer to them.

"Rookwood is kicking the Muggleborns out of Hogwarts," said Harry angrily. There was no point tiptoeing around the problem. "He's creating his perfect society. Professor, is there anything you can do?" There was no way they were going to accept this. Hermione was a witch and she was staying here.

"I can speak to him," said McGonagall with a sigh. "But I fear he outranks me at this time." Damn! Harry thought back to Umbridge. McGonagall was right; Rookwood would not be changed by the Headmistress. He'd kick her out too.

"If you complain, he will pass an education decree at best, and fire and arrest you at worst," said Harry. "I've seen this happen before." Umbridge had been bad, but there was no telling what Rookwood was capable of. Harry slammed his fist down angrily on the table, turning a few heads. He realised that there was only one choice. Defying Rookwood risked punishment, not against him, but against Hermione. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but we must sit this one out."

"But this is my home," protested Hermione desperately. "I'm a witch." Tears sparkled in her eyes, and her voice shook as she spoke. Harry didn't know what to say. He knew he wanted her to stay, and that she wanted to stay, but he also knew of the price she would pay for it if she stayed in the castle with him. Her parents would be made to suffer. It would also be unfair for all the others who were being sent home. He couldn't offer a home to Dean, Justin and the others. No, as much as it hurt, he had to accept this for the time being.

"And a brilliant one at that," said McGonagall, sitting next to Hermione to comfort her. "Rest assured, we will do all we can to get you back. However, if you stay you will become a target. Your parents will be picked off, and your life made hell. At home, at least you will be safe. I know this is hard, Miss Granger, but I urge you not to appeal. Remember who is the Minister of Magic. You will be thrown out and charged with wasting Wizengamot time, I shouldn't wonder."

"I have no choice, do I?" said Hermione, putting her head in her hands. Harry gently rested a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze.

"We'll get you back," said Harry. He didn't know how, but he knew that eventually, Hermione would return to Hogwarts. He would see to it. "We'll show them that it's wrong to screw with us." Hermione looked up from her hands at Harry, her eyes still spilling tears down her cheeks.

"That's right," said Ginny. "Consider this a holiday. You'll be back before you know it." She gave Hermione an encouraging wink.

"Or even a reading week," suggested Rose. Even Hermione cracked a smile at that before dissolving into tears. Harry sank into the seat next to her and put an arm around her. "Shhh," he tried to comfort her.

"In my world you drove the High Inquisitor out into the Forbidden Forest and saved my life in the process," he whispered in her ear. "I promise you, Hermione, I am going to repay that debt. I'll drive Rookwood from this school. You'll make Head Girl yet." She was trembling in his arms, but he felt her squeeze him, in what he hoped was thanks.

"Can I have your attention, please," called McGonagall above the din. "The letters some of you have received have just been brought to my attention. For now, please attend lessons as normal. During the lunch hour today, there will be a meeting for all whom this concerns in here, at which Professor Rookwood will be available to answer any questions you have on the subject, won't you Professor." She added icily, addressing Rookwood, who had risen from his seat.

"There is a copy of the new legislation on your desk, Professor McGonagall," said Rookwood matter−of−factly. "All the answers are on there. You can host this meeting yourself. I have better things to do." With that, he pushed past McGonagall and made towards the exit. Harry was on his feet in a second, his arm out to block Rookwood. Something about his uncaring tone pushed Harry past his limits.

"Remember what I said, Rookwood," hissed Harry in his ear. "What goes around comes around."

"These orders come from the Minister himself," said Rookwood. "Take it up with him." With that he pushed past Harry and left. Harry considered cursing him in the back, but it would only make things worse.

"I'll..just...I'll just go and pack then," Hermione muttered, getting shakily to her feet. She staggered off towards the door. Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table, many of which's occupants were wearing smirks and exchanging excited chatter. Malfoy wasn't hiding his pleasure at the morning's events; neither was Parkinson. Harry's and Malfoy's eyes met for a second, and Harry gestured to the door. With that he stormed out of the room.

He waited to the side of the door for no more than a minute when Malfoy emerged. Harry grabbed him by the lapels and lifted him clean off his feet, slamming his back into the wall.

"Why didn't you tell me this was going to happen?" he hissed, seething with anger. Malfoy was supposed to be his spy. He had never mentioned this to Dumbledore, so Voldemort never got this information from the Pensieve. His cover was not blown, so why had he not informed Harry as instructed? Was he too scared to come to him after the duelling incident?

"I tried," coughed Malfoy, his eyes wide with fear. "I couldn't find you. You disappear between lessons, I never see you. I daren't knock on your mother's doors in case she answers. I did try, honestly I did." Harry dropped him in frustration and turned away, kicking the wall in frustration. "Is this really a bad thing, anyway?" Malfoy asked, straightening his robes.

"Yes," said Harry as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Does that man not know the meaning of 'softly softly catchy monkey'? He was supposed to be subtle."

"Why?"

"Because this is so obviously wrong that it draws attention to the changes we are making," said Harry. "We are trying to be discrete, which is why you are hearing nothing in the Prophet."

"Shall I get a message to father?" asked Malfoy. "I could get it undone."

"No," said Harry. "What's done is done. I'll make sure he slows this down a bit. That's all for now. Make no mention of this to Rookwood." With that, he stormed off to his mother's living quarters.

She had recovered from the shock of her ambush a few days earlier, but being Muggleborn herself, she was deeply affected by these letters. While she had not received one herself, she was very on edge; when Harry found her, she was pacing her rooms in anger, ranting to herself. Harry feared that as soon as a Pure−blooded Potions Professor could be found, she too would receive a letter.

XXXXXXXXXX

On Friday morning, Harry entered Rookwood's dungeon at nine o'clock for his first Dark Arts lesson. Flamel warned him about the detrimental effect this would have on his mental health and Occlumency skills. He offered to give Harry a sick note and allow him to do something more useful, but Harry insisted that he needed to attend. He had secured a Skiving Snackbox from the twins, just in case, but he didn't think he'd need it. Glancing around, he noticed Malfoy and the other Slytherins looking quite excited. Hermione was in the lesson for her final day of classes. She had not attended any yesterday, but had locked herself in her dormitory and refused to come out. Today she was braving the world and the spiteful Slytherins, who taunted her wherever she went. Now though, they had something to distract them: Dark Arts classes. She looked distant and crestfallen as she sat near the back, staring into space.

"This is how Dumbledore should be doing it," Malfoy was telling the Slytherins. "Father nearly sent me Durmstrang where they teach this kind of stuff, rather than the poxy defence stuff Dumbledore has us do. Finally, someone has seen sense. Rookwood is probably the best thing to happen to this school." He looked around at his audience, beaming. His eyes locked with Harry's over the heads of the Slytherins. He shot Harry and a wink. Harry felt a rush of anger at him, but managed to control himself. He shook his head at Malfoy with a small glare. Malfoy got the message. The smirk faded for an instant at Harry's put down.

The other Slytherins nodded in agreement as Malfoy continued. Harry took a seat just inside the door, on the far side of the room from Malfoy. All of the sixth year was in this class, and the room was full. Harry glanced around, noting that he was surrounded by Hufflepuffs. The Gryffindors were sitting near the back in two rows.

Harry was interrupted from his thoughts by the arrival of Rookwood.

"Good morning, class," said Rookwood, sitting down behind his desk. "I will not waste time with introductions, as we only have two years to fit in seven years of learning. It is a great shame that no such subject has been introduced before. Contrary to their name, the Dark Arts are not evil, merely another avenue of magic ripe for the picking. Most of you will have been raised with the black and white notion that anything containing the word Dark is wrong."

"Dark Lord, for instance," muttered Harry. Those around him heard, but unfortunately, so did Rookwood.

"You have something to add, Mister Potter?" he sneered at Harry. "We both know your history, so please bestow your knowledge upon us."

"If the word Dark does not mean evil," said Harry just as patronisingly, "Surely the Dark Lord is a lovely bloke once you get to know him. I can just imagine him donating his slippers to charity, doing the tea at the Sunday cricket game and arranging flowers at the old people's home."

"Ten points from Gryffindor," snapped Rookwood. "And detention this evening."

"As I was saying," continued Rookwood. "Many people see the word 'Dark' and turn their noses up, but to the more rational of you, the Dark Arts represent a limitless avenue of magical advancement. Those of you raised by traditional and open−minded parents may even have been given a basic introduction into these arts. Is that the case?"

A few Slytherins nodded, but by and large the room looked black. Malfoy and the Slytherins were practically on the edge of their seats.

"Today we begin with some basic attacks used in duelling. Up until now, you will have done the Stunning Spell and maybe a few more, but nothing with any kick to it. An average wizard can block a Stunner without breaking a sweat, so we need a curse strong enough to break through a shield. I have three in mind for you today. The first is called the Palarius Curse. The nature of the curse is that it induces an asthma attack kind of reaction, by crushing the lungs of your opponent. Yes." He pointed to a girl with her hand raised. Harry was sure Rookwood didn't know or care about her name.

"Is this really something that should be taught to children?" asked Hannah Abbot. "Isn't this training to hurt each other?"

"Certainly not," said Rookwood. "It is to be used responsibly, and in a duel, it is a powerful technique. If your opponent can't breath, he can't curse you." Was Rookwood listening to himself? Didn't he realise how wrong this was? He was teaching them to seriously injure each other. He wasn't even building it slowly; he was throwing them in at the deep end.

"Surely that could kill them, though," interrupted someone behind Harry.

"Put your hand up if you have a question," said Rookwood casually, and didn't answer the question. "The second curse is called Sectumsempra." Harry froze. He had seen that spell in his annotated Potions book. Whoever had owned it was a little darker than he had imagined. "Sectumsempra is a very powerful attack," continued Rookwood. "The curse can cause death if hit on say the heart or the head, but it is not lethal if say hit on the leg or arm.

"The third is called the Fieracus Curse," said Rookwood. "It has the effect of badly blistering the affected area. This, again, is one to use responsibly."

"Like on a Death Eater raid, for example," said Harry. "When you have an innocent child to torture, and the tickling charm just won't do."

"Mr Potter, that is your second and final warning," said Rookwood. "Now, Mr Malfoy, would you be kind enough to demonstrate the Sectumsempra Curse on the dummy in the corner. I will provide the shield. If successful, your curse should puncture my shield and hit the target." Malfoy rose from his desk and smirking, walked to the front of the class. Harry hoped the shield would hold and Malfoy would get it right back in his face. At least he would get a chance to see what Sectumsempra actually did. Malfoy took out his wand and after a nod from Rookwood, he swung his wand in in a slashing movement at the dummy.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" he shouted. A very dark blue light shot out of his wand towards the dummy.

"Protego!" shouted Rookwood. His shield snapped into place around the dummy, but it did no good. The shield burst like a balloon and the curse shot through to the chest of the wooden dummy. The curse hit in the heart and below the entire left shoulder off the dummy, causing the left arm to drop to the floor with a loud clatter.

"Excellent," said Rookwood, clapping. "The wand movement was perfect. It is a slashing movement, much like if you were using a sword. Now class, I know that Mr Malfoy has had some prior training, so this first fortnight is about bringing you all up to speed. The incantation and wand movement are on the parchment in front of you. I want each of you to do it in turn. Now, the movement and words are not enough. As with most of the Dark Arts, you need to really put some welly into the spell. Concentrate hard, tense your body, think of something that really gets your blood flowing, something that really winds you up. Now, we have seen a Slytherin, so now a Gryffindor. How about you, Mister Potter? You were so vocal earlier, let's see you do it."

"Afraid not, Professor," said Harry casually. There was no way he was going to succumb to the Dark Arts. He had so many stored inside him; he daren't try any more. He didn't want the darkness to return, not after working so hard these last few months.

"Excuse me?" said Rookwood.

"I said no," said Harry. "I don't deal in the Dark Arts any more. I quit and I will not start again."

"You will do as your you're told," said Rookwood. "Ten points for being rude. Now get up."

"No." He didn't care about detentions. He would not return to the Dark Arts!

"Professor," said Harry. "As a law−abiding citizen and member of the Ministry of Magic, you must be concerned about my returning to my wicked ways. Surely putting me in the path of temptation is not a smart idea. What if I cannot resist the lure of power again? What if I turn back to who I was before, killing those who annoy me? You see sir, the person annoying me at present sir is you. I only have your safety in mind."

"Potter, stop stalling and do it," said Rookwood.

"If I want the dummy destroyed, I'll use a Reducto Charm or an axe, not a Dark curse," said Harry. "The Dark Arts are dangerous and unnecessary."

"Enough," shouted Rookwood. "If you will not do as I say, you will sit out for this lesson. STUPEFY!" There was a gasp from the class as a jet of red light burst from Rookwood's wand. Harry stepped to the side instantly. He was at the front of the room, so he was close enough to touch Rookwood. Harry grabbed his wrist and twisted the wand free from Rookwood's grip. He spun away from him. Levicorpus! Rookwood was instantly suspended in mid−air by his ankle, a stream of profanities coming from his mouth that made the class gasp.

"How are your Dark Arts going to help you now?" asked Harry, staring down at the High Inquisitor's flustered face.

"Put me down, now!" hissed Rookwood dangerously. His eyes burned with anger; he was practically foaming at the mouth. "Draco, do something." Harry turned instantly. He released the charm on Rookwood, who clattered to the ground, landing painfully on his head. Harry instantly levelled his wand at Malfoy, just as the Slytherin managed to get his aimed. He and Harry stood a metre apart, each with the end of the other's wand an inch from their neck.

"This looks familiar," said Harry icily. "Want to make it best of three?"

"Kyesko!" hissed Rookwood from the floor, once he'd recovered his wand. Harry snapped around to face him. Jurofacio! The familiar ring of blue light was on his hand in an instant. He caught the curse effortlessly, and with a flick of his wrist sent the curse back to Rookwood. The curse hit him in the stomach, and instantly, bolts of blue light snaked over his body like electricity. They looked like lightening and as they snaked over his limbs. Rookwood screamed and thrashed on the floor. Harry thought for a second that he should let it continue − Lord knew he deserved it − but he couldn't. He wasn't a monster...anymore.

"Finite Incantatem!" said Harry, releasing the professor from his own curse. Rookwood's steaming body lay on the floor, as the High Inquisitor groaned and tried to sit up. "Let this be a lesson, gentlemen," said Harry to the class. "The Dark Arts may seem fun, but once they are used against you, they are not. You may feel big using Dark Arts, but they are not big and not clever. Incidentally, that charm will be taught at the next Duelling Club to those with enough moral fibre to control it. "

"Potter," panted Rookwood from the floor. "You are hereby banned from this class. Others want to learn and you are preventing them doing so. You will have detention with me every night this week."

"So does that mean that this class is now optional for everyone?" asked Harry coolly, summoning his bag back to him.

"GET OUT!" shouted Rookwood. Harry was only too happy to oblige.

"Just remember, Augustus," said Harry. "Live by the sword, you'll die by the sword." With that he slammed the door, leaving the room in silence. He took a moment to calm himself before he did something he might regret later. He now had fifty minutes before his next class. He knew McGonagall and Flamel were both teaching, but it wouldn't hurt to do a bit of training. He made his way quickly up to the Room of Requirement. The room was kitted out with a sofa and a fire, all cosy and ready for him. He settled himself on one of the two sofas and took a deep breath. He was just about to start when there was a pop in the corner of the room. He glanced up to see himself standing in the corner.

"Well, at least now I know I'm in for at least an hour of practice," said Harry. "Successful?"

"Average," said the other Harry.

He worked for an hour and then set the turner back. He then spent another few minutes on the transformation before he started on some Occlumency. Only McGonagall knew why he turned up to Transfiguration looking so tired only forty minutes after he left the Dark Arts room apparently in perfect health.

XXXXXXXXXX

The remainder of Friday, Harry spent in Occlumency and Animagus classes with McGonagall and Flamel. His progress was astonishing, now that he was doing most hours twice. He had managed all of the big changes, i.e. wing shapes, claws and neck and head. Feathers were continuing to be a problem, and so was size. He continued to be too big. Still, practice made perfect. Harry collapsed, exhausted, on his bed Friday night. Saturday was Hermione and the Muggleborns' last day and so McGonagall had gone over Rookwood's head and organised a Hogsmeade visit. Harry spent most of the day with Hermione, along with the Weasleys and Rosie. They spent three hours in Hogsmeade before returning to the castle. Harry had an Animagus lesson before dinner, but the evening was his, and he spent it at the farewell party in the Gryffindor common room.

The atmosphere was sorrowful. A total of nineteen Gryffindors were to be lost the following day, including Hermione and Dean. It was a sombre occasion, but everyone tried to give them a nice seeing off. The emotion soon became too much for Hermione, who retreated to her dormitory. Ginny went to check on her.

"It suddenly seems more real, doesn't it," said Rose, standing to Harry's right.

"For me it always has been," said Harry. "For some of these people, this is the closest the war has come to them. I just wish there was something I could do. It sounds awful, but I can't help wishing it was someone else."

"I know what you mean," said Rose. "I keep thinking about Hermione and then I start to wonder about Mum. Have you heard about Remus?" Harry nodded. "How did it get so bad, Harry? How did we let it happen?" Her eyes were sparkling with tears.

"Hey," said Harry softly. "Come here." He wrapped his arms around his sister and she sobbed into her shoulder. She trembled slightly against his chest. "There's still hope, Marie. Dumbledore once told me something that kind of stayed with me. When Lucius tried to evict him, he said, 'I shall only truly be gone when none who remain are loyal to me'. We're loyal, Rose. As long as we remain loyal to Dumbledore, to the cause, there is still hope."

"But they are so many," said Rose. "They control the school, the Ministry, the Wizengamot, and the Aurors. What can we do against that kind of evil?"

"We must all face the choice," said Harry, quoting Dumbledore., "Between what is right and what is easy. Dark and difficult times lie ahead, but as long as we have hope, as long as we do what is right, we can win."

"Viva la resistance," muttered Rose, smiling a teary smile.

"Something like that," said Harry, smiling back. The party atmosphere had practically died. Harry couldn't be bothered to stay. He returned to his mother's quarters for some rest.

Hermione's wand was snapped before her eyes the following day by Rookwood. There was no grace to the procedure, no respect, not nothing. Rookwood just grabbed it and snap, before looking at Hermione as if to say, 'are you still here?', despite the tears streaming down her cheeks. Almost the whole school turned out to see off the departing students. The train was strangely empty as the Muggleborns climbed aboard. It was odd, Harry noted, that he had always seen it as a sign of hope as it carried him away from the Dursleys to the world in which he belonged, but now it was no longer a symbol of hope, but of prejudice and evil. He shook his head as it the train filled with students.

"Goodbye, Harry," said a voice behind him. Hermione was standing there, dressed in jeans and woolly jumper. She looked different without robes. He had seen her dressed like that before, but now it was just symbolic. Before, she had chosen not to wear them, now she had been stripped of them, of her life and dreams. It wasn't fair!

"Goodbye, Hermione," said Harry, bowing his head. The next thing he knew, he was enveloped in a warm and firm hug. Hermione Granger was not known for giving hugs, so this drew many eyes. He wrapped his arms around her. He could feel her trembling, but then he felt her breath on his ear.

"That which you have promised," she said. "You must deliver." He felt something warm and soft touch his cheek as she kissed him lightly.

"See you soon," said Harry as she pulled away from him. As she left, she held his arm, until they were too far apart to touch anymore. God, Harry hoped she would be okay. He hoped Voldemort didn't do house calls. He stood motionless as the whistle blew and the train began to pull away. He watched as the train disappear towards the horizon and beyond, until the plume of steam from the engine was no longer visible on the horizon. As she left, he felt like part of him had gone. Ron and Hermione had always been there for him, and now he felt naked without them.

"Come on, Harry," said Rose, taking his arm. "Catching pneumonia won't help." He smiled slightly at the joke, and with one final glance into the distance he turned back towards the castle.

XXXXXXXXXX

The castle seemed oddly deserted, the common room even more so. Gryffindor had lost nineteen students. Multiply that by three (as no one was lost from Slytherin), and Hogwarts had lost roughly sixty students. The corridors seemed less crowded, and the buzz of conversation was all but gone. Conversations occurred in whispers or not at all. The cloak of fear had fallen over the castle. The Inquisitorial Squad ruled with an iron fist, with Rookwood handing out punishments for next to nothing. Even the common rooms were depressed. The atmosphere was mournful at best and fearful at worst. Motivation was an endangered feeling in Hogwarts. In absence of any form of fun, no one could raise the enthusiasm to do anything beyond sleep, eat and work. The Duelling Club was now run exclusively by Rookwood. The Junior Death Eater ranks were growing. Many recognised the futility, even in the Gryffindor camp, and chose to side with Rookwood. The Weasleys and Potters were watched wherever they went. Harry now had to flame to McGonagall and Flamel at the given times. While no one else had motivation, Harry did. Fuelled by anger at Rookwood, Harry threw himself into his Animagus training, pushing himself beyond endurance, working inhuman hours in an effort to master the arts. He didn't think beyond to how he would use them, but he knew he had to finish as soon as possible. It took another week before he was complete. He was barely seen outside of lessons, yet his homework was all done. He had no idea what the effects of the Time Turner on his body were, but he kept on going. He was determined to master the transformation. The following Wednesday, he managed to hold a complete transformation for two minutes, and by Thursday he had achieved walking and flight.

For this reason, Wednesday ended on a high for Harry. He kind of wanted to show off that he had done it, but he daren't for fear of being discovered. So far, that and his alter ego − the white wizard or whatever Voldemort had dubbed him − were the only things they had going for them. Still he spent the evening finishing his homework. The Time Turner was now stowed in his drawer in his mother's living quarters. He no longer had a need for it, but he couldn't risk returning it.

Thursday passed uneventfully. The melancholy that had fallen could not be broken. Classes passed in a blur for Harry. Used to having such long days, it all seemed to fly by. He hardly paid attention in classes, thinking about nothing but the war they were now losing, and a promise made to an old friend. What could he, a few ex−Aurors and a few teachers do against the combined Ministry? It seemed so hopeless, but he knew he could not give up. While he did spare a thought for the book Flamel was translating, he never once considered using it to escape this place. He just couldn't think of a way out. But there had to be one, there just had to.

It was nearly nine that evening when he was called to McGonagall's office. Since his training was officially over, he couldn't help but wonder what it was about. He Flamed into a nearby classroom and then slipped out and crossed to her office. Inside, he found what remained of the inner circle of the Order. Snape, Flamel, and Professors Potter and McGonagall were sitting around a desk with an empty chair meant for him. If the inner circle were gathered, this had to be something serious. Jesus, what had happened?

"Have a seat, Harry," said McGonagall. "Now, we don't have much time so I will be brief. There was an incident today, when a poisonous creature was let loose in the castle. Were it not for the quick intervention of Professor Snape, we may well have lost a student. This represents a major breach in security."

"Rookwood could bring in anything he likes," said Flamel. "He would bypass security. Standard checks would detect most dangerous things and creatures, but as High Inquisitor he can bypass them. There is no telling what he could bring into the castle."

"Which is why this is so dangerous," said McGonagall. "We cannot plug this leak. As such, we need time to search and then 'bug' his office, in order to see what he is doing. We need to know what is coming in advance, otherwise we may be caught off−guard again like we were with the Muggleborn evictions."

"How do we get into his office?" asked Lily.

"We need a diversion," said Flamel.

"Time for me to visit a few more old friends?" asked Harry, referring to his white costume.

"No," said Flamel. "That will not be enough. In absence of Rookwood, the Inquisitorial Squad watch everything, and we have no way of knowing how many silent partners they have in the student population. We need something more. Essentially, we need the castle deserted."

"Set controlled fires," suggested Lily.

"Too easy to put out," said Minerva.

"I could do it," said Harry, an idea forming in his mind. "Give me time, but I think on Monday, I could have the castle almost empty, Rookwood running to Crouch for help and even get you an afternoon off classes."

"What are you planning to do?" asked Lily.

Harry outlined his plan briefly. "No one will be in any danger. Crouch won't dare confront us because we are nothing but students."

"If this works, we'll have plenty of time," said Flamel. "What do you need, Harry?"

"I need someone to shut down the Floo network in the castle. He will be flustered, and I need him to be unable to use the fireplaces and have to go to the Ministry in person; having to clear the grounds will buy you more time. The Inquisitorial Squad will be tempted by a day off school and head to Hogsmeade, leaving you home free."

"It's easy enough to block the Floo," said McGonagall. "I can disable the system, but I want more details."

"Okay," said Harry. "Here is my plan..."

XXXXXXXXXX

"So are we all ready?" asked McGonagall as she accompanied Harry towards the stairs. "And why are you not in robes?"

"Uniform for the day," said Harry, grinning. He was dressed in jeans and a custom−made T−shirt courtesy of Rose and an old friend. "We're all sorted. Fliers have gone out, T−shirts ready, and we have a majority of the school on our side, and will not be in lessons this afternoon. They have tasted the life under Voldemort via Rookwood, and are coming back to us at the sign of us standing up to him. Of course, many neutrals who sided against us are here as they just want a day off."

"I hope it's mainly the first group," said McGonagall. "Under pressure some people pull it together, others go to pieces. Some have pulled it together and joined us again; others have gone to pieces and flocked to the Dark Lord seeking protection. I hope we have the right group here."

"Me too," said Harry. "We're ready, and I'll keep them safe. Crouch will never attack schoolchildren. You just sort out your end. Our guests have arrived, so I must go."

"Guests?" asked McGonagall, halting mid−stride.

"Hello, Professor," said a cool voice to McGonagall's right. Both she and Harry turned to see Hermione Granger approaching them dressed the same as Harry and armed with a replacement wand Harry had brought her.

"Welcome back, Miss Granger," said McGonagall, taken aback. Harry hadn't mentioned her to McGonagall. In fact, almost all of the Muggleborns had returned today. "Have a nice day and be careful."

"Always," said Hermione. The Professor nodded and left.

"Good to see you again, Hermione," said Harry, giving her a quick hug.

"You too," said Hermione. "God, I miss this place. It was nice to visit my mum and dad, but this is where I belong. It's been a week, but it feels like I've been gone a whole year. "

"Hopefully, you'll soon be back for good."

"I hope so," said Hermione. "I must say, you worked bloody quickly in organising something, and something this big."

"No worries, kiddo," said Harry. "And thanks for the T−shirts. We couldn't have done them here without being discovered."

"All thanks to the new wand you brought me," she beamed. "Shall we get started?"

"Are we all here?"

"Yep," said Hermione. "I counted one−fifty to two hundred on my way up. Dean and Justin are here. Fred and George and Oliver Wood have even turned up. It's a bit of a reunion down there."

"Fantastic," said Harry. "Let's go."

Harry could hear the ruckus from the top of the stairs. Peeking over the banister, a smile formed on his scarred face as he took in the sight below. Over two hundred students had turned up for the March for Freedom. Hermione and Rose had done a wonderful job with the T−shirts. Everyone was dressed as a Muggle. Half were wearing the freshly arrived March for Freedom T−shirts, with "Open Your Eyes!" on the front above a picture of Barty Crouch Junior's face with the Dark Mark stamped across his forehead. The T−shirts were white with red writing. Others bore pictures of a little girl crying on the front. The caption read She was gonna be a Healer − now who'll save your life? On the back was Rookwood with the Dark Mark on his forehead. Some of the elder Muggleborn girls had gotten tighter T−shirts, that showed their figure, while those not from the Muggle world gazed at them in amusement. It was very uncommon for a witch to wear the kind of skimpy Muggle clothing Harry knew Muggles would wear. The final type just showed the Hogwarts emblem, and underneath it read 'Give us back our future!' It was the latter that Harry and Hermione wore.

He could see some of the Gryffindor organisers, and Luna ready with a stack of fliers ready to hand out on the way through Hogsmeade. An excited atmosphere radiated from the crowd as the buzz of chatter grew. They were all standing in the entrance hall, and by the look of them were raring to go.

The students had all been to their morning classes, though Harry had the impression that they had not done much. Harry was amazed that no one had alerted the High Inquisitor, or Inquisitorial Squad. It seemed almost impossible that no one had.

Several people saw him coming, and he received a few waves and claps as he approached the bottom of the stairs. He marched straight over to the door, where Hermione, Ginny, Ron and Luna were waiting. They were practically holding everyone back, as everyone seemed to want to make it out.

"Where are the gruesome twosome?" asked Harry, shouting above the din.

"Rosie's gone to get them," said Ginny. "They've gone to spike Rookwood's drink."

"Idiots," said Harry. "The idea was not to draw attention to ourselves yet."

"Good luck with a crowd this size," said Hermione. "What a turnout I was expecting about half this."

"Yeah," said Ron. "I thought half of them would bottle it. I don't see many Slytherins around."

"Did you honestly expect the Inquisitorial Squad to show?" asked Rose, returning with Fred and George in tow. Harry shook each of their hands in turn.

"Got the fireworks ready, lads?" he asked.

The twins exchanged a knowing look with each other before Fred answered.

"Right here," he said, gesturing to the backpacks they both wore.

"We have "Give us our future back", "The Minister is a Death Eater" and "Rookwood is a..." Fred trailed off under the glare from his brother.

"Is a what?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow.

"It changes," said George. "Each one is unique. It ranges from git, to arsehole, to..."

"If they are too crude they won't help our cause," said Hermione. "We will look like yobs."

"They're fine," George assured her. Harry had a nasty feeling that they were anything but fine.

"As for the Slytherins," Harry answered Rose. "Some have turned up but not many. Once we set off, McGonagall and the other teachers will abandon lessons. They'll come down for a free day in Hogsmeade. Just plaster them with leaflets when they do come."

"Harry!" called a voice. Seamus Finnignan emerged from the crowd wearing his T−shirt and holding a bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Oh, I know you haven't been drinking'," said Harry exasperatedly.

"Makes the day pass more smoothly," he replied in broad Irish.

Just then the bell sounded, announcing the end of lunch and the start of afternoon lessons, not that there were many in attendance.

"Ginny, will you do the honours?" asked Harry. Ginny nodded and stuck the smallest finger of each hand into the corners of her mouth and let out an ear−splitting whistle. Harry had always wished he'd been able to do that, but had never been able to manage it. The chatter died down almost instantly.

"Okay, listen up," called Harry above the din. "Thank you all for turning up. I'd like to take a moment to welcome back all students who were asked to leave following the recent unpleasantness, it's great that they can be here today." There was thunderous applause as those Muggleborns who had been expelled were clapped on the back and subsequently turned a brilliant shade of pink. Harry also noticed Flitwick emerge from the Great Hall, having finished his lunch. He gave Harry a nod and a wink before continuing on his way. McGonagall must have mentioned to him that his lesson would be a bit empty and why.

"Right," continued Harry. "Remember, this is not just a Hogsmeade day. You don't all charge for Zonko's and the pub as soon as we get there. Stay together, don't go anywhere alone, keep your wits about you. Having said that, we have plenty of T−shirts and leaflets, so knock on doors, let's get people out of their homes and make a bit of a racket. Be warned; Crouch and Rookwood will try and stop us. Under no circumstances draw a wand − only if there is no other choice. Just like Ghandi, and Martin Luthur King Junior, we will not use violence. No one is to fire a single curse, understood? If anyone does, we will be seen as hooligans and Aurors will take us by force. Don't make a nuisance of yourself. We are protesting for the return of our friends to school and for control of the school to be returned to the Headmaster. Bear in mind that we may end up in detention for quite some time for this. If you don't want to be a part of it, go to your lessons. No one will think any less of you. Other than that, I hope you all have a great day. Let's get the message out there."

"Let's tell our enemies, that they can take our lives," shouted Dean about the din. "But they'll never take..."

"OUR FREEDOM!" roared the Muggleborns amongst the group, and anyone else who had seen Braveheart, which had been released that previous summer.

There was thunderous applause in the Great Hall as nearly three hundred including the late arrivals, roared in unison. It died down after a few seconds, as if waiting for Harry to give the word.

"ALRIGHT, BREAK IT UP!" came a voice from the Hall.

Harry could see, from his position a few steps above everyone else, that Rookwood had finished his lunch.

"I SAID, BREAK IT UP!" he shouted again. "All of you, get to your lessons, and take those stupid tops off." Some of the younger students nearer to the High Inquisitor began to move.

"Stop!" shouted Harry, bringing them to a halt. He quickly pushed he way to the front.

"Potter," said Rookwood. "Why am I not surprised? I knew I was wrong to let you stay, but you've done it now. You are officially expelled." Harry noticed over his shoulder that the Inquisitorial Squad were at the entrance to the hall, a few paces away.

"Give me your wand," said Rookwood, holding out a hand.

"No," said Harry calmly.

"What do you mean no?"

"As in, piss off," said Harry.

"What's going on?" asked the Inquisitor.

"We're having a protest," said Harry, just as McGonagall appeared at the entrance to the hall. "Lessons have been cancelled, we are going to Hogsmeade."

"You will disperse and get to your lessons now!" barked Rookwood.

"Oooooooooooooooooo," called someone from the crowd provocatively. Harry was sure it was Seamus.

"I am the High Inquisitor!" he shouted.

"Shove your title up your arse, do−dah, do−dah," called an Irish voice from the crowd. As the colour drained from the High Inquisitor's face, the rest of the resistance joined in with, "shove your title up your arse, all the do−dah−day." The chorus followed, and Harry was glad to see the smirks fade from the faces of the Inquisitorial Squad, especially their blond leader. There was a pause, as the chorus came to its conclusion.

Harry managed to keep a straight face. He opened his mouth to announce the start of the March, but Seamus was far from finished.

"He's shit, he's scum, he takes it up the bum, Ro−ok−wood, Ro−ok−wood," shouted the Gryffindor. The alcohol was taking affect, but he knew a good variety of football chants. As the song came to its close, Harry spoke quickly to cut it off.

"As you see, Rookwood," said Harry calmly. "We are not coming to classes. We don't care who you are, or who appointed you. This march is a protest against you, against your Minister and against your master."

"STOP!" ordered Rookwood as Harry turned to the crowd. "I promise you Potter, if you walk out that door, you are never coming back."

"Take that up with Dumbledore when he returns," said Harry.

"Dumbledore isn't coming back," said Rookwood. "He is going to Azkaban for murder. and you'll join him. Minister Crouch will make sure of this. You'll regret this, Potter, it's all your doing, this pithy little march. MARK MY WORDS! WHAT HAPPENS NEXT IS ON YOUR HEAD AS WELL!" The man was seething with rage and almost glowing red.

Harry simply shrugged before shouting to the crowd. "Let's go, people!"

The sun outside was surprisingly warm for the time of year. As Hogwarts fell into winter, it was usually bitterly cold with snow falling all around, but the heat−wave last summer and the one before that seemed to have pushed back winter's grasp. There was a light breeze, but nothing to complain about. The T−shirts were more than enough to keep them warm, though many people wore them over the top of a jumper. Harry had his body−armour on under his shirt, as he did whenever he left the castle. The sun was shining, evaporating the shimmering dew, which delicately coated the mountainside. There were birds in the sky, and robins on the fences as the sun reached the top of the sky. In the valley, Harry could hear the buzz of shoppers in the village. The morning was quiet, with only the songs of the birds and the faint buzz from the village. That was, of course, until the students arrive.

"You are my Hogwarts," piped up Seamus, enjoying the afternoon off. "My only Hogwarts."

"You make me happy," joined in Dean. "When skies are grey."

"WHEN SKIES ARE GREY!" roared the crowd.

"You'll never know just," sang the students., "How much I love you, so please don't take my Hogwarts away!"

There was a cheer as the song finished. Harry glanced over at Rose, who gave him a smile. Everyone seemed to be getting well into the swing of things. Even those who had looked nervous under Rookwood's wrath had cheered up immensely as Seamus and Dean, the two biggest football fanatics in the castle, launched into song again.

"BUILD A BONFIRE, BUILD A BONFIRE," began Seamus, before Dean took over.

"PUT CROUCH ON THE TOP!"

"PUT THE DARK LORD IN THE MIDDLE."

"AND WE'LL BURN THE BLOODY LOT!"

Harry walked at the front with Rose, Ginny, Luna, Hermione and Ron. Luna had done a tremendous job of advertising the march. Her father was going to be in the village that day, covering the march for the Quibbler. He had been promised interviews by Hermione, another three Muggleborn students and Harry and Rose.

Despite having told people not to dive straight into shops, Harry suddenly felt the need for ice−cream, but he shoved the thought out of his mind. They were nearing the village now, and everyone in the town could hear and see them coming down the hill.

"Everywhere we go−oh," sang Seamus at the top of his voice, before taking a swig from his drink while the crowd shouted the line back to him.

"People want to kn−ow," he sang, giving Harry a wink, who smiled back. "Who we ar−re,"

"Hermione," shouted Harry above the singing.

"AND WHERE WE COME FROM!"

"Start passing out leaflets and talking to people," he told her. "We'll all stop in the square, by the fountain. Then we've got the Three Broomsticks on one corner, Zonko's opposite and we're right in the middle of things."

"SO WE TELL THEM," bellowed Seamus, this time with Dean and Justin Finch−Fletchley aiding him. "WE'RE FROM HOGWARTS!"

Hermione took a handful of students and began to post fliers under doors of the outskirt housing.

"THE MIGHTY MIGHTY HOGWARTS!" Some people were in their gardens and even got a few words from Hermione explaining what was happening. Doors opened and faces appeared at windows as the unlikely and unscheduled procession passed. Normally residents had plenty of warning of these visits, so they knew to avoid town in fear of queues and annoying students, not to mention drunken seventh years. This visit was completely unplanned. Harry had been worried that his presence might mar the innocence of the march, but that didn't seem to be the case.

"AND IF THEY CAN'T HEAR US!"

People seemed to be coming out of their houses to see what was going on, or what was making the noise.

"WE SHOUT A LITTLE LOUDER!"

WHOOSH!

Harry looked up in time to see one of George's fireworks rocket into the sky. It exploded in a burst of Gryffindor red, leaving the words

Give Us Our Futures Back!

In the sky. Beneath it was the picture of the crying little girl. The twins really had done a wonderful job with them. Although they loved their jokes, and scored low in OWLs, they were exceptionally clever when it came to it.

Doors opened and people began to appear in their gardens. The students who were giving out pamphlets were being swamped by residents asking what this was all about. The trouble was that this was slowing them down and separating the procession. Safety was in numbers and it made more of an impact with more people.

WHOOSH!

The Minister is a Death Eater!

The message hung in the air for a few seconds before fading.

"Keep up!" shouted Harry. "Rose, Ginny, Ron, help bring up the stragglers. We need to get to the square."

As his friends disappeared towards the back of the procession, an elderly lady came up to Harry.

"What's all this about then, laddie," said the lady in a shaky voice. She wore a long flowery dress, topped with a beige coat and burgundy scarf, which covered her chin. Her grey hair was sprouting out in a perm, making her hair double the size of her head. She wore large dark glasses, which covered her face, and walked with a stick.

There was something about the woman that Harry didn't like. Her voice didn't sound right and her face was covered, either by her scarf or glasses. Also the fact that she wore summery glasses at the same time as a scarf and thick jacket didn't seem right. Harry was just reaching for his wand when he recognised the stale tobacco smell that surrounded the woman. Sure enough, a pipe was protruding from the pocket of the jacket. Suddenly he realised who he was talking to.

"You must be very hot in all that, Dung," said Harry with a grin.

"I bloody well am," said Dung in his normal voice, lowering the glasses enough to wink at Harry.

"Want a free t−shirt?" asked Harry. "They're much cooler. I assume you're here to keep an eye on us?"

"Yep," said Dung. "Mackey G's order's. With Albus gone, she's taken over the Order. Your parents are in the pub. Rookwood is pissed, but Lily dismissed the two who did turn up to her class and came for a day out. Obviously, your father is in disguise. Some randomer's hair and Polyjuice Potion."

"Cheers," said Harry, summoning a T−shirt and giving it to Dung. The elderly lady disappeared and a few minutes later, Harry saw Dung dressed in his new T−shirt and jeans enter the Three Broomsticks.

They reached the square in five minutes, and after another ten, a huge banner, reading HOGWARTS MARCH FOR FREEDOM, which Ginny and her fellow fifth year girls had made, had been hung between two lampposts. The whole square was swarming with students, and Harry could see a handful more running down the hill to join their friends. They must have been let out of lessons by kinder teachers like Flitwick or Sprout. Almost anyone who entered the square was immediately set upon by Hogwarts students offering them leaflets, T−shirts and telling them why Muggleborns should return to Hogwarts. Harry watched students disappear into shops, here and there. He didn't mind as long as they kept a real presence in the square. They were out of lessons, which had proved a point; bureaucracy would not contain them. They had raised awareness, which had helped, and on top of that, the students were having a bit of fun; just what they needed in times like this. Also, with the numbers who were now joining them, the castle must be empty for McGonagall. Rookwood, since he couldn't reach Crouch, would have gone to the Ministry for help. It was working!

Hermione was using the Sonorus Charm to speak above the hustle and bustle of square. Her voice rang out over the village.

"Does he really think we don't know what is going on?" she asked the crowd. "Albus Dumbledore was arrested without reason and he hasn't been sent to trial or prison. That is illegal. We know something is going on. We know Death Eaters are all over the place and we won't stand for it. Our ancestors fought for this freedom we enjoy and You−Know−Who won't take it from us."

Harry glanced around, surveying the audience as shoppers stopped to listen to her. He noticed a familiar figure in the beer−garden of the Three Broomsticks. Excusing himself, Harry walked over to the garden, where his mother sat with a cocktail, opposite a man Harry had never seen before. Harry slipped into the seat next to whom he assumed was his father.

"How's it going?" asked Lily, sipping her Long−Island Ice Tea.

"So far so good," said Harry. "We're making a lot of noise and it looks like people are listening. Rookwood is not best pleased, and is threatening to expel me. How's McGonagall doing?"

"In the office now," said Lily.

"Old Snivvy's checking through half the Slytherin's personal possessions," added James. "And I quote, 'some mild contra−ban'."

"Which translates as, they are all up to their necks in the Dark Arts," said Harry cynically. "And he is covering for them."

"Albus trusts − trusted him," said Lily. "I do too. Severus may allow some contra−ban, but he wouldn't allow anything that would endanger us. He has to allow some things to slip, otherwise Draco would tell Lucius, and Severus may find himself questioned." Harry supposed that was allowed, but he didn't like Malfoy having anything like that in his possession.

"But that compromise could be exploited," said Harry. "What if he was asked to allow someone in his house to bring a weapon into Hogwarts? If he intercepts it, he is blown, if it is used, someone dies. Where do we draw the line?" It was a fine balance, and Harry didn't trust Snape's judgement.

"That is why your sister and your friends are kept out of the Order," said James. "Sometimes we have to make choices like that."

"I know," muttered Harry. "It doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Have a Butterbeer," offered James. "My treat."

"Have they got any Coke?" asked Harry. "It is Muggle Day, after all, and I need something icy cold."

"I'll see," said James, disappearing in the direction of the bar. Turning back to the street, Harry noticed a certain figure bent double over the fountain, Dean Thomas rubbing his back. God damned, idiot! thought Harry.

"Mum," he said. "Have you got anything to sober up that stupid Irish...?" Harry trailed off, trying to find an inoffensive insult. His mother glanced at Seamus before rolling her eyes.

"His liver will have packed up by the time he leaves school," she muttered. She' fished a small phial out of her robes. "Hold this under his nose. They work like smelling salts. It will wake him up, but it won't remove the alcohol from his bloodstream so don't let him drink anymore."

"Got it," said Harry, shaking his head in frustration and taking the phial. He marched over to where Seamus was standing, just in time to see him vomit into the fountain. Once he had finished, Harry grabbed him by the back of the neck and held the salts up to his nose. Seamus recoiled sharply, snorting through his nose.

"What was that?" he asked, rubbing his nose.

"Something to wake you up," said Harry. "Now stop drinking, or I'll send you back to the castle, understood?"

"Yeah," muttered Seamus unconvincingly.

"WHAT DO WE WANT?" shouted Hermione's voice rang out across the square, magically magnified by the Sonorus Charm.

"OUR FRIENDS!" shouted the crowd, now a mix of both students and townsfolk, most of which were wearing the T−Shirts.

"WHEN DO WE WANT IT?"

She never got a reply as suddenly a series of pops filled the square. Along the roofs of the buildings on one side of the square twenty figures in Black had materialised. They had the word AUROR written in white over their chests. Black material covered the bottom halves of their faces and their hoods were up, leaving only their eyes visible. Their wands were drawn and levelled at the protesters. They were not Death Eaters, but they looked far from friendly. There came another pop as Bartemius Crouch Junior materialised in the middle of the square, near the crowd. Harry immediately made his way towards him, breaking into a cold sweat as he moved. Surely he wouldn't do it! Hermione, Rose, Ginny and Ron were at his side instantly.

"Get to the front," hissed Harry, "Remember the Sheltario Shield? Have them ready."

"You can't be serious," said Hermione. "He wouldn't!"

"I won't take the chance," said Harry, pushing his way through the crowd.

Why were they here? he wondered. Surely they wouldn't fire on unarmed students? They had come in force, but they would never resort to violence, would they? Suddenly Rookwood's words came back to him. What happens next is on your head too!

Harry made it to the front to find Crouch staring emotionlessly out over the mass of people all wearing the protest t−shirts. Crouch glanced at Harry as he emerged from the crowd, and gave him a glare. Harry glanced up at the Aurors on the roof−top. Silence had fallen over the square as the Aurors appeared. Crouch seemed unfazed by the size of the crowd. Harry reached for his wand. It couldn't surely happen, but he had to be ready. Those he knew could duel were at the front, hopefully with wands ready. Harry glanced over at the Three Broomsticks. Lily, James, Dung, and a stranger he assumed was Dawlish under Polyjuice Potion were all in the garden, watching the exchange.

"YOU ARE TO DISPERSE IMMEDIATELY!" Crouch bellowed. "RETURN TO YOUR HOMES OR SCHOOL NOW!"

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" shouted Harry, gesturing for people to stand fast. They were not breaking any law. It was his right to be here. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his friends emerge to the front of the crowd. He could also see Dawlish and James moving towards the scene, their wands out and ready.

"POTTER," shouted Crouch. "ORDER YOUR FRIENDS TO BREAK UP NOW!"

Harry didn't move, he stood still staring defiantly back at the so−called Minister of Magic.

"WE'RE NOT BREAKING THE LAW," shouted Harry so everyone could hear. "WE HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO BE HERE. WE'RE NOT HURTING ANYONE."

"LISTEN TO ME!" shouted Crouch to the crowd, rather than Harry. "YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO BREAK UP OR WE WILL USE FORCE!" There was no way they would attack an unarmed crowd! It would be impossible to cover up.

"HE'S BLUFFING, STAND FAST!" ordered Harry. "You don't have the guts, Crouch! You haven't arrested us all yet, you can't kill us, not in broad daylight."

Crouch glared for a second before turning and nodding to one of the figures in black.

"READY!" ordered the Auror. Ten wands were immediately aimed at Harry.

"AIM!"

"FIRE!" Harry watched them coming, but made no move to defend himself. Ten curses hit the floor immediately in front of him, spraying loose soil and bits of pavement into the air. One fragment hit Harry's shin, but he was determined not to look scared. He had been right. The curses were aimed at the ground. They were trying to scare him off.

Harry defiantly stepped forward before the dust had even settled.

"THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE," ordered Crouch. "RETURN TO YOUR HOMES OR WE OPEN FIRE. YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO COMPLY. FIVE...FOUR..."

"HE'S BLUFFING!"

"...THREE...TWO...ONE..."

Harry never heard the incantation, but a barrage of curses hit the crowd from all sides. Forty curses were unleashed at once, ripping into the crowd. They had done it! They had actually attacked the crowd of students. Panic erupted as twenty members of the crowd fell to the ground, having been hit by the incoming curses. God, Harry hoped they weren't fatal. Screaming erupted as the crowd fell apart. People ran in all directions as a second barrage left the Aurors' wands, flying into the crowd. This time fewer were hit, as everyone was moving.

"FALL BACK!" shouted Harry, withdrawing his own wand. This was inhuman. He had to stall them to let his friends escape. He had to protect them. Stupefy!" he shot a stunner at one of the Aurors, who effortlessly blocked it.

"Potter attacked an Auror," screamed Crouch manically . "TAKE THEM ALL DOWN!"

---

I know it's been a long time. I have been very busy recently with exams, then moving house, starting a new job (placement year) sorting out Uni and getting internet back on. I have never denied that my first priority is the Yahoo!Group. I encourage you all to come join.

I keep the Yahoo!Group more or less up to date on progress (now I have the internet back), and the chapters are encoded properly, making them clearer. There is also message board to discuss the chapter.

If you have already joined, you will be aware that up to CHAPTER 15 have been posted on the Yahoo!Group. It is only now I have time that I will update ff dot net. I will post more chapters here when I get a chance. As for now, here is chapter 13, and for the next two, see my Yahoo!Group. ff dot net doesn't let me include a link here - rubbish. It is called the Stranger Trilogy. If you run a Yahoo search for "A Stranger in an Unholy Land" or "The Stranger Trilogy" you will find it. Or go to

groups dot yahoo dot com slash group slash stranger underscore trilogy

select no emails and you will not get spammed. Promise.

Regards

Jono