And here we are, Chapter Five! This is the longest one so far [5,300 words!] so I hope you'll all forgive me for the amount of time it took to post! Here in the SPNverse I'm not really sure what I've had going on, but basically Castiel and the rest of the gang are taking care of the Fall back in America while Sam and Dean help out with the wizard's civil war. In the HPverse it's gotten very AU, and I don't have time to explain it here so you may feel free to leave reviews with any questions! Please review though, I'd love to know what you think! There will be one more chapter after this, so don't think it's over yet!
Also, thanks ThomasNealy for pointing out that I'd accidentally written Privet Drive when Harry lives with Sirius! My mistake.
Chapter Five- The War Begins [2015]
Harry began his plans for the summer with strategies and backup plans. Sam and Dean began theirs by tracking down then British branch of the Men of Letters.
Sure, Abbadon had killed off everyone in the American branch, but she'd followed Henry to the future before continuing on with the rest of them. And as each branch tended to be rather secretive, and no demons had been able to make their way into any other branches, the rest of the international Men of Letters remained operational.
That didn't mean that the Winchesters knew where they were.
It took Cas, several rituals and three hours of searching through British phonebooks before they pinned down the location. Standing in front of the door of what looked like a dilapidated cabin in the middle of nowhere, it was completely unremarkable except for the doorbell, which looked a bit odd on what appeared to be a log cabin.
Dean pressed it.
The little speaker underneath it buzzed to life after a matter of seconds. "Who's there?"
"We're looking for the Men of Letters," said Dean confidently.
The voice on the other end took a minute to respond. "I'm afraid I don't know anyone here who belongs to that group."
"Look, cut the act, joker, we know your base is-"
"I'm afraid you'll have to leave."
"Wait-" Sam cut in. "Please, just hear us out. My name is Sam Winchester and this is-"
"Winchester?" The voice sounded alarmed. "Did you just say Winchester? Oh my goodness." The speaker cut of with a crackle, and the door was wrenched open by a man who couldn't be older than twenty. "I didn't know it was you! Come in!"
Utterly perplexed, and very firmly on guard, Sam and Dean followed.
This bunker wasn't nearly as full as theirs, but the multitude of angels the Winchesters had rescued had to be taken into account. The narrow doorway leading into the main control center had a devil's trap painted on both the ceiling and floor, and a repeat on the other side of the doorframe. The other two men occupying the room stood up warily as the three entered.
"Who're they?" One of them asked, a hand on the gun, which had been left on the table.
"The Winchesters!"
"And you're sure of that?" the other one asked sarcastically, though their expressions changed from outright distrust to wariness and grudging respect. His friend took out a jug that had been left under the table, the clear plastic showing a rosary at the bottom.
"If you're really the Winchesters," he said, tossing Sam the bottle. "Then you won't min taking a swig of that."
Sam took a careful sip and handed it to Dean, who wiped off the rim before doing the same. "See?" Dean said, disgruntled. "We ain't demons."
The three men were still regarding them carefully, though one of them sank back into his seat. "Well," said the tallest. "I don't know what the Winchesters want with the Men of Letters, or how you found out, but I suppose you're welcome." He let out a long whistle of breath. "Goddamn. The Winchesters in our bunker."
Sam and Dean exchanged looks. "Look," Sam said slowly. "I think we're missing something here. How exactly do you know about us?"
The one who had answered the door laughed. "That's an easy one. How about we sit down and explain, though?" He offered his hand. "I'm Brian. This is Arthur-" he pointed to the one sitting down, "And Jack." The third man nodded.
"I'd introduce myself, but it doesn't seem necessary," said Dean, accepting Brian's hand. "So you feel like explaining how you know us yet?"
Arthur laughed. "Every hunter knows about the Winchesters. Doesn't matter if you're American or not, you've heard of them. You guys are the best there are, and supposedly deal with shit the rest of us wouldn't touch with a devil's trap and Colt's gun. We noticed your trip over a while back, though I've no clue why you'd dig up the bones and them hand 'em over to a stranger in a suit."
Dean smirked, while Sam looked a little embarrassed. "The bones were collateral," Dean said dryly. "And it's none of your business. But we didn't come for a social call."
"No?" All three men straightened a little at that.
Dean tossed a roll of paper onto the table, which unfurled to reveal a map of England. "You ever hear of a dude called Voldemort?"
Sometimes Harry thought he could see that man again, the one from the Department of Mysteries. Always just out of the corner of his eye, and he disappeared whenever Harry swung around to get a better look. He seemed impatient, as if he was waiting for something to happen that was taking too long.
When the Order came to retrieve him from Sirius's house and told him their new plan, he almost refused. There was no way he would let people risk themselves like that, being disguised as him. But Hermione yanked the hairs out for him, and the flask of polyjuice was passed around anyway.
The Death Eaters surrounded them as soon as they got in the air.
When Harry and Hagrid finally made it to the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley gave him a tearful hug and Ginny watched the sky in hope of more arrivals.
They were supposed to be the third ones there. They were the first.
Mad-Eye died, and Fred lost his left ear. The Order gave thanks that it wasn't worse, while Harry tried to shove away the feeling of guilt he got whenever he looked at Fred.
He swore he'd leave right after his birthday, but his plans were pushed back by a wedding. Apparently, Bill and Fleur were getting married.
Harry did try to enjoy himself, but when a Patronus comes halfway through the dance saying that the Ministry's been taken over and Dumbledore was missing, a cheerful mood can be hard to hold on to.
[All the time he'd spent organizing the DA to get back together once they were at Hogwarts were laid to waste; he and Ron were just lucky Hermione had everything they needed in her bag. Thank Merlin for Undetectable Extension Charms. ]
Grimmauld Place was still there and under the Fidelius, but no one else was in the house and even Kreacher was nowhere to be found. None of the three were really bothered by this, as no one liked the old elf and it wasn't like he'd ever done anything useful.
[Meanwhile, Sam and Dean were regretting having ever taken the old elf to the bunker. Even their British counterparts were annoyed by him. Why hadn't Sirius ever gotten rid of Kreacher?
Harry, of course, knew none of this
He also didn't know about how half of the British Men of Letters had been mobilized to help look for Voldemort, though the Winchesters too were currently unaware of the effect to which their presence had had. After all, when the man in charge of the organization is an ancient wandmaker who's only a little less than omnipotent, the organization in general respects the people he tells them to.
Ollivander had always kept in contact with his Muggle side, after all.]
When Harry, Ron, and Hermione finally left Grimmauld place, they were thoroughly sick of it. A message had come, sent by one of the seventh years Harry had contacted, that they had set up shop in the Forest of Dean. None of the DA had dared to risk going back to Hogwarts, and messages sent through the coins Hermione had enchanted had allowed them all to organize.
Those who could legally perform magic had taken a bunch of old tents, linked them together, and extended them as well, creating a vast system that looked like one overly large tent from the outside. The area had been warded to hell and back, so that the trio had to be escorted in by one of the members who was already there.
Hermione was suitably impressed, Harry was a little surprised that they'd done this on their own, and Ron was just glad they had a decent stock of food.
One of the Muggleborns, using whatever magic had been untilized to make wizarding radios, had created a radio and walkie-talkie set that they used whenever someone had to venture outside of the wards, which was almost never unless they needed food. Hermione had set up a system that allowed them to visit different towns for food, making sure that they never visited the same place twice in a row or too close together, otherwise the owner might get suspicious and upgrade his security. When asked why it mattered, Hermione and a couple other Muggleborns were forced to explain the types of security Muggles had that would allow police ["Muggle aurors," Hermione said exasperatedly after being asked for the third time what they were] to be upon them almost as quickly as wizards could get there. The pureblooded and other wizard-raised members scoffed at this, but after a near miss in Staunton most concluded that perhaps Muggles could do more than they gave them credit for. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were constantly huddled in groups, discussing what they had to do about Voldemort when none of them knew what they were capable of doing. They all agreed that the lives of the other members of the DA weren't to be put at risk, but there was only so much they could do. Hiding behind wards with occasional trips for food would only do so much
The Men of Letters hadn't been having much more success. Wherever the last soul shard was, it was behind heavy wards. jack had suggested that whatever it was, Voldemort must have been carrying it around with him, or he'd found out about the destruction of the other six and put it under heavy guard.
"Hey," called Brian from his seat at the radar. "Is something wrong with the radar?" The radar was a machine which connected to an old satellite the Men had bought years ago. They used it to keep track of the goings-on in a twenty-mile radius of their headquarters. Never let it be said that a Man of Letters was not paranoid. It wasn't really called a radar, but no one could pronounce its actual name in a time-sensitive manner so they all called it 'the radar'.
"No," said Jack, glancing up. "Not as far as I've seen. Has something happened?"
"There's a big blank spot about ten miles from here, towards Sparrow's End near the trail up here," Brian told him, swiveling around in his chair to give his friend a better look. "See, just fuzzes out."
"What?" Jack got up to take a closer look. "That's ridiculous, the machine's working fine, I checked it this morning."
"I know," agreed Brian. They glanced away from the radar and at each other.
"Ask the Winchesters?"
"Yeah. Hell if I know what's wrong."
"So everything works except for this one patch?" Sam was frowning at the radar, tapping the screen. "And you're sure it's nothing on the actual machine?"
"Yes," Jack told him, "we're absolutely sure, I checked it this morning."
"Alright, what do you think?" Sam addressed the question to Dean, who was standing at the table behind him.
"Could be wizards," Dean suggested. "Hiding out in the woods, throw up some wards, far as I can tell no on gets in without their say-so."
"Really?" said Arthur, fascinated. He was the newest member and therefore the only one who hadn't already known about the Wizarding world, and was freshly amazed every time he learned something about them.
"Don't get too excited, we don't know which side they're rooting for," said Dean, frowning. "But I doubt supporters of this guy would be hiding out in the middle of nowhere."
"So who could it be?" mused Sam.
"Isn't that Harry kid wanted for something?"
"I doubt he's a criminal."
"Well, yeah, but didn't this dude kill his parents and then die trying to kill him? Gotta want revenge after that."
"So you think Harry set this up?"
"Hell no. I think he brought his friends and Hermione whatever put up the wards for them. No offense to them, but she's the only one who seems like she'd know how to do that."
"How do you know them so well?" asked Jack, who looked a bit lost.
"We taught at the British magic school for a while," Sam explained. Arthur looked thrilled.
"You have magic?"
"No!" Arthur deflated a bit. "I'm not sure why we were hired, especially considering the bias against non-magicals, but no one ever really questioned it." Sam shrugged. "We got fired a couple years ago but after the one who fired us got kicked out we were asked back, and then left again when You-Know-Who took over."
Sam had had to explain the whole You-Know-Who thing to the Men of Letters at first. Dean just rolled his eyes, but Sam kept insisting that names had power, and old ancient kind and there was no way that Voldemort would ignore that opportunity if he saw it, so no one called him by his name.
It turned out to be a good idea, not that they ever got the chance to find out why.
"I hate hiking," Dean grumbled as they trudged along an animal-made trail through the Forest of Dean. The blank spot on the radar was nearly ten miles out, and they'd been walking for several hours already. "How long is this gonna take? It's miserable out."
"We're almost there," said Brian, peering at a GPS. "It shouldn't be more than ten minutes away."
"Are we sure this is the right area?" Sam peered through the mist and fog trailing through the branches and trunks of trees. "It could be easy to miss in this weather."
"I'm sure. This thing is- whoa!" The GPS had apprubtly fizzed out, filling the screen with static and losing their place. Brian smacked it "Piece of-"
"Wait!" Sam said. "We must be getting near the wards- the magic in the air would mess with the electronics."
Jack checked his watch, which sure enough had blinked out and was showing a blank screen. "Oh, hell. This was brand-new!"
"So do they know we're here?" Dean asked, glancing around. "If they're able to tell when someone breaks through the wards, they could come out and check and we wouldn't be able to see them from farther then maybe five feet? We're sitting ducks if someone gets a little to antsy with their wand."
"Dean, weren't you the one who said it was probably Harry?" Arthur reminded him.
"Well, yeah, but it-"
"Sshhh!" Sam threw a hand out. "I heard something!"
All five of them immediately quieted, barely daring to breathe for fear of missing something in the quiet environment- a cough, a rustle of feet on leaves that would give them a sign of their being watched.
There.
Leaves were stirred as someone-lots of someones- rushed around them, the five Men of Letters turning and unsheathing weapons to protect themselves, robe corners flying as their owners duck behind trees closer to the group of five and for a moment both groups were frozen, neither sure of the alliances of the other and both unwilling to approach an unknown target.
"Great," Dean muttered to himself. "Either they're scaredy-cats or it's an ambush."
His words were overlapped by a slow step, crunching loudly over fallen foliage as someone approached through the fog. People seemed to advance from all sides, robed and faces covered with wands held out steadily before them. The men held their weapons out, guns and pistols and at least three of them had their hands to knives sheathed by their belts.
It would have become even tenser, if a woman had not stepped forward from the ring surrounding them.
"Professor Winchester?" she asked incredulously.
The three Men of Letters were suitably impressed by the setup of Dumbledore's Army, and Hermione sniffed when she'd been told that, officially, they were a men's only agency. Harry could practically hear her mind whirring with plans to oppose that particular policy, even when she knew nothing about them.
Finding the Winchesters of all people stumbling their way into the wizard's camp really shouldn't have been surprising at this point, considering all that they'd seen the brothers do. Sam and Dean looked to be barely holding in their feelings on the topic of the camp, mainly the fact that in the Muggle world not a single one of them was of age. Even in the Wizarding world, only about a third of them were seventeen.
When offered a place in the Men of Letters bunker, the members as a whole eagerly jumped on the offer, most of them sick and tired of camping and wishing for a hot shower or someplace equally safe. They all agreed that the camp would be brought down and they would all make their way to the bunker and re-set up there. Hermione expressed concerns for their electronic equipment, but Sam assured her that as long as the boundaries of the wards were far enough away, the machines should be alright.
The three-hour hike back to the bunker nearly discouraged some people, and those who weren't were when they saw the log cabin the organization operated out of. None of them thought of the fact that Muggles could have a way of making something bigger on the inside- not literally, perhaps, but the idea of it all being underground hadn't even occured to some of the wizards.
It only proved a long-standing point some historians made about how, when magic is easily and readily at hand, the mundane and far simpler solutions often do not occur to the average wizard.
Sam and Dean discreetly pulled Harry aside as soon as they could and explained the soul shard situation to him quickly. It seemed only fair, considering he'd had one in his head. When they told him that the last one was either under heavy guard or with Voldemort, Harry took a few seconds thinking before saying "Well, me having one proves that it can be a living thing, right? So it's probably his snake. If he knows the others have been destroyed, he'll be keeping it close. You have killed the other ones, right?"
"They're taken care of."
Harry never thought he'd see Hogwarts like this.
The once-proud castle was full of the sounds of fighting and spells clashing, rebounding and striking people and walls and there was rubble everywhere, strewn on the ground and there were other objects there too, lying haphazardly and forgotten but he couldn't pay attention to those because Harry knew if he looked he might see a familiar face and he needed to concentrate in this battle because everyone was depending on him.
Voldemort had issued a challenge-come and meet him in the Forbidden Forest, in an hour, or the battle continues and the Light is wiped out.
Harry would have snorted at the phrase 'Light' if a sense of humor had any place in a war. How quaint. But this was not 'Light' and 'Dark'. This was war. No one was 'Light' here.
Harry slowed as he neared the entrance hall, taking time to pull out his cloak and drape it over himself. If someone saw him leaving, they'd know what he was doing and try to stop him. But Harry was determined- no one else was going to die for him. Not now, not ever.
The sight of Oliver Wood carrying Colin Creevey in over his shoulder nearly broke his heart.
Sam and Dean were standing on either side of the door, on the outside, warily watching the woods. Neither of them was facing him, so it came as a surprise when Dean whirled around and pulled the cloak off him. Sam jerked, startled by his brother's movement and Harry's sudden appearance.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" demanded Dean. "Shouldn't you be inside?" Harry was too startled to answer, instead snatching his cloak back and looking away.
He heard Sam inhale sharply. "You're not thinking of going to him."
"What?" He heard Dean answer. "No! Why would he-you're not. Kid, look at me."
He looked back, seeing Dean meet his gaze with an intense stare.
"You are not throwing your life away," he said firmly, "For the sake of your friends."
"No," Harry responded evenly. "I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do." Sam's words from fourth year echoed back to him; Sometimes the right thing to do is also the stupid thing.
"Harry, please," Sam said softly, but he looked straight at both of them and they must have seen something he was unconsciously conveying, because Dean shook his head and turned away, while Sam just stepped aside and left him a path to the forest.
"You won't say?" Harry asked, turning as he passed them. "Not until I'm gone." Dean pressed his lips together and frowned fiercely; Sam looked pained, but gave him a shallow nod.
The Dementors were lying on the ground as Harry walked by them into the first layer of the forest. He didn't need to ask to know that the Winchesters had done something, but he was glad for the absence of cold and fear as he walked further in. And strangely enough, he wasn't afraid. Just numb, like nervouness to a point where he couldn't tell what it was anymore.
Hagrid was there when he saw the clearing the Death Eaters had sheltered in, tied to a tree. He pleaded and begged Harry not to do this, and Harry closed his eyes as green sped towards him to avoid seeing the look on Hagrid's face.
He was sorry one of his oldest friends had to be there to witness it.
The whiteness when he opened his eyes was blinding.
He was wearing nothing when he woke up, though a thought had a robe ready and waiting for him. Harry was almost undisturbed by the fact that they simply floated in midair, waiting for him to put them on. He seemed to naturally know that that was how this place worked.
"I see you've arrived."
Harry spun around. The man was there again-the one who had appeared in the corner of his vision all year, and saved Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. Instead of looking impatient or simply bored, now he almost looked interested.
"I've been waiting quite a while," he said. "You have no idea how degrading it is waiting for a child to grow up and do what he has to. It was quite aggravating, and I don't suppose it will get any better. If it had to be any of you protozoa, I suppose you aren't quite the worst."
"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded, becoming riled up and worried at the implication that this man had been watching him his entire life. "Who are you?"
"I suppose you wouldn't remember," the man mused. "I was the one who removed the Horcrux, the soul-shard from your scar." He stood fluidly, a kind of aura around him that assured Harry that this man was not human. "Though I more commonly go by another name."
"And what's that name?" Harry asked, watching the man closely.
"Tell me," the man said idly, ignoring Harry's question-it was impossible for him to not have heard it, they were barely a foot apart-"Have you ever heard the Tales of Beedle the Bard?"
"I-" The question caught Harry off guard. "Isn't that the book Dumbledore left Hermione?"
"Hm." The man regarded him with a flat stare. "How unfortunate. Still, it does not matter. I am able to give you the bare details."
"What are you-"
"The story goes something like this," the man said. "Three brothers created a bridge to get over a raging stream. I appeared to them, for reasons my own, and to spite them pretended to congratulate them and gave them three gifts, one each. The first asked for an invincible wand, and so I made him one. The second asked for something to bring back the dead, and so I gave him a stone capable of such a feat. The third asked for something I could not follow him in, and so I gave him my cloak of invisibility-not merely something woven of demiguise hair or any such creation, but a true cloak, one that could withstand the ages. All three eventually died of course, the first two in what you would call tragedies of their own making, but the third lived a long and fulfilling life."
Harry was unsure what to say with the proclamation that this man had been in a story-and what sounded like a rather dark one, too. "What does this have to do with anything?"
"You're not very observant, are you?" the man regarded him with dark eyes. "A true cloak of invisibility-do you not have one quite like that, on your person as you died?"
The word died seemed to echo a bit, resounding off nonexistent walls in the white space.
"You're saying I have the cloak from the story?" Harry got out. "What does that mean? Why is it important?"
"The stone and the wand both exist," said the man, speaking over him again. "The wand in currently in the possession of Lord Voldemort."
Harry's insides turned to ice. "What?" he said numbly. "But- does that mean he's-"
"No," said the man irritably. "Must I guide you through all of the steps? If you must be informed, Dumbledore possessed the wand before him, and who took it from him?"
The name that nearly escaped Harry's lips was Snape, but then he remembered- he had been there, when Snape killed Dumbledore, it had been one of the first battles that the DA fought in- and Draco Malfoy had disarmed the old headmaster before Snape had killed him.
"Malfoy?" he asked incredulously, wondering how in Merlin's name Malfoy of all people deserved ending up with that wand.
The man rolled his eyes. "Dear me, is it really that hard? You fought him moments ago, in your time."
Harry's mind stopped as the memory replayed in his mind's eye, him meeting Malfoy and exchanging spell for spell, until-
"I Disarmed him," Harry whispered. "Voldemort has the wand, but it answers to me, doesn't it?"
"Good," said the man reluctantly. "You finally understand. I hate this process. Now understand, you have the cloak, you shall win possession of the wand, and I'm sure if you ask nicely the Winchesters will give you the ring I gave to them for ... safekeeping." The last word seemed to trail out of his mouth, not easily let go. "Why I created these in the first place, I should have killed those brothers on the spot... but all is said and done now and there's no helping it. Remember, boy...cloak, wand, ring."
Harry had no time to ask questions before the whiteness was sucked away and he was falling, through what looked like sky and then leaves and brown were rushing past him before he jolted awake in his own body, breath hissing in quietly.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
The words had been incessantly repeating in his head ever since he'd woken up.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
They acted almost as a melody, and he was sure without it he'd never have been able feign death as accurately as he had while Voldemort commanded he be carried up to the castle.
A lucky thing Narcissa Malfoy cared more for her son than she did for her Lord.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Neville cleaved the head off Nagini, Voldemort screamed, and the spell was broken as the centaurs launched arrows at the Death Eater's western flank and both armies charged back into Hogwarts, house elves hacking at ankles and in the Great Hall Voldemort was duelling three teachers at once before Harry shielded them with a cry of 'Protego!' and pulled the Invisibility cloak off of himself, standing directly across from the enemy that had plagued him since Year One.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
He and Voldemort circled each other, exchanging words that Harry barely remembered later and when a bang echoed across the Hall and the smell of gunpowder permeated the air it didn't matter that the Winchesters were standing in the doorway and watching Voldemort fall or that they succeeded where he hadn't, prophecy notwithstanding, because the Elder Wand-and how did he know its name?-was rolling across the floor to him and when Harry picked it up a surge of something coursed through him and no one noticed because they were too busy cheering, and Voldemort was lying on the floor, his corpse feeble and shrunken in death and crimson blood soaking across the floor.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
The ring he would ask for later, when the Winchesters were not so busy avoiding their fans-news that they were the ones to kill Voldemort had spread quickly, as the Dark Lord's influence on the country was drained and vanished-and in the meantime he fell asleep, and when he woke up he asked Hermione to borrow her copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard. She let him, without asking why, and when Harry read the whole story he barely felt the shock of learning who he'd really met filter through his system because it was finally over.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
When he had had enough time to recover, Harry would question exactly why Death wanted him to have those items, but in the moment he continued using his holly and phoenix feather wand and refused to tell anyone what he'd done with Voldemort's.
Voldemort's real wand, the one that was brother to Harry's, had been burned as soon as it was recovered and recognized. The Elder Wand sat in Harry's bedside drawer.
Everyone who had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, and Kingsley Shacklebolt had been instated as Minister for Magic, but Harry paid attention to none of it and instead tried to give himself what he'd always wanted; a quiet life.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
Cloak, wand, ring.
And...cut! Remember to keep an eye out for chapter six, everyone, and then it'll be complete! PLEASE read and review, it would make me so thrilled to hear from you guys! *points to review button* You know you want to.
Also, to anyone confused, Dumbledore did survive sixth year, but was later killed by Snape in a scenario similar to that as soon as Voldemort realized he had the Elder Wand. Snape killed him before Voldemort could arrive, and so Voldemort killed Snape to win the wand's loyalty by defeating its master-except, as we know, it was Malfoy it owed its allegiance to. This all happened sometime in August, before school started, and most people left once Rodolphus Lestrange was declared Headmaster. Most of the teachers ran, too, since none of them would be willing to put up with that.