Ha! Still on schedule! This might actually get done… eventually. Yay for Jarx. By the way, just so you know, chapter 30 referred to a lot of stuff that I wrote into the story forever ago, and I almost forgot about it myself, so I'd hardly expect you to remember. I just forgot to put this reminder in at the beginning of that chapter, so I'm doing it here. Anyway, chapter 10 is the chapter that describes everything I was referring to in chapter 30, just in case you were reading that chapter and finding yourself very… lost.

By the way, I don't think the email function on is working, so you won't get the alert for this, but I want you to know, I did update on time.

Chapter 32

Two Gone (better chapter title suggestions are greatly appreciated…)

"I told you," Harry muttered irritably. "I was putting them in the safe place that his portrait showed me and she came in unexpectedly and I jumped off the ladder and landed wrong and hurt my ankle. Ow!"

Ron had sat down on the end of his bed and bumped the sore joint in question. "Oh, sorry," he said sheepishly.

"What did you tell her?" Hermione asked in a mortified whisper.

"I said I wanted to talk to Dumbledore's portrait."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Gimme a break! I was in pain, and I had to come up with something fast. Anyway, that didn't explain what I was doing up on the ladder, so she didn't buy it, and even if she had, she wouldn't have been too happy that I was in her office without her permission. So then I told the truth—it was a secret that I promised Dumbledore I wouldn't tell anyone. She said I could come up whenever I wanted, so long as I asked her permission first. She was still livid."

Madam Pomfrey bustled towards them. "Here, Potter, drink this." She handed him a steaming glass of what looked like green algae.

He looked at it skeptically. "I think my ankle will heal just fine on its own, Madam."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "Of course it would, but this is instant. Why go limping about all week when you can walk out of here perfectly fine in half an hour?"

"Alright," Harry said, plugging his nose. "If I die, it's her fault," he muttered as she walked away.

He drained the glass, which, to his surprise, was mostly tasteless.

Hermione glanced around the hospital wing as Madam Pomfrey disappeared into her office. Its only other occupant was a third year whose hex had gone awry and given her lots of thick, black facial hair. She was unconscious.

"Look, Harry," Hermione said quietly as soon as she was sure they wouldn't be overheard, "I have a theory."

Ron moaned. "It isn't anything to do with house elves or exam scores, is it?"

"Be quiet, Ron," she snapped. "No, it's not. It's about… You-Know—Voldemort."

Harry sat up against his pillows. "I'm listening."

"I think that Voldemort has never found his Inner Sanctum. Somehow he's found a way to do very potent spells without calling on it."

"Why do you think that?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Think about it. I've found my Sanctum, and I can't consciously use it yet, but in order to find it, I have to be at peace with myself, with my body… with my magic. Magic was never intended to do evil, Harry—man has made it that way, invented spells that were never meant to be. How can he be at peace with himself and his magic—an inherently good thing—with everything he's done? And if he can't be at peace with himself, how can he reach his Inner Sanctum?"

Harry thought a moment, and realized that he understood exactly what she meant. The feeling that he couldn't place as he found his Inner Sanctum… Hermione had put a word to it. Peace.

"Then how does he do spells, I mean, the big ones, he ones that you can only do with your Inner Sanctum?" Harry asked, confused.

"You've learned over the week to feel the magic in the air around you," Hermione said in an excited voice. "The Durmstrang professor told you that you can use that magic if you learn how to. You don't need to be at peace with anything to find it, do you? I think Voldemort uses the reserve of magic in his surroundings."

"I think that's reading a bit much into the peace you feel when you find your whatchamacallit," Ron said doubtfully.

"Your Inner Sanctum, Ron," Hermione said scathingly.

"No…" Harry said slowly, "it makes sense."

Ron sighed in exasperation. "How is it that you're both so advanced and yet I can hardly even manage silent spells?"

Hermione looked at him irritably, then her face melted into a soft smile. "You'll have your day, Ron," she said quietly. "You'll have your day."

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Christmas break could not have arrived sooner for Harry. Over the last month, the amount of work he had to do to plan his lessons had escalated sharply, and his inclination to do the work had waned. He couldn't help but feel that not one of his students, if he got into a scrape with a Death Eater, would survive.

You survived, a voice in his head reminded him. You weren't as well-trained as any of them in your first year when you faced Voldemort and won. And again in your second, and again in your fifth, and, though not face to face, again in your sixth. They have a chance.

That was the only hope he harbored as he gazed around his classroom every day.

Ron had invited Harry and Hermione to the Burrow for Christmas. Hermione had declined, saying that she wanted to spend Christmas with her parents, but Harry had readily accepted. He didn't want to stay at school alone.

They Apparated from Hogsmeade, arriving midmorning on Saturday. Ron led them into the kitchen, where, after a warm embrace from Mrs. Weasley, they were offered ham sandwiches and brownies. Then they were drafted into helping put up Christmas decorations, and before the end of the day, the house looked like a strangely-shaped, lop-sided Christmas tree.

On Christmas morning, Ron threw his pillow at Harry's head. "Hey, Harry! Wake up! Presents!"

Harry sat up groggily to be confronted with a pile of wrapped gifts at the end of his bed. There were considerably more than Harry had ever received before.

He found himself unwrapping a sweater from Mrs. Weasley, a model of a Firebolt from Ron, Hogwarts, a History from Hermione ("I guess she's decided that now that you're a teacher, you have to read it," Ron sniggered.), and a book on potent spells from Lupin. Harry looked at the names of the senders on the rest. "They're… they're from my students," he said in bewilderment. He looked up at Ron. "Do students normally send their professors Christmas gifts?"

"Suck-ups," Ron scoffed.

After opening the rest of his presents, among which were three copies of the book Jinxes for the Jinxed, a package of cockroach clusters, and a box of U-No-Poo from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, they trekked downstairs to the wonderful smell of cinnamon rolls, hot cakes, pastries, eggs, and more that Mrs. Weasley presented with pride.

Charlie was there, having flown in from Romania the night before, as were Tonks and Lupin, who had accepted Mrs. Weasley's invitation to spend Christmas with them.

Harry sat down between Ron and Bill, who, despite everything that had happened to him since August, looked abnormally chipper. Lupin sat across from him.

"How're your classes going?" Lupin asked as he passed the eggs to Ron.

Harry shrugged. "The more I teach, the more I realize how inexperienced I am. I don't think I'm qualified to teach this class, Remus."

Lupin laughed. "Have no fear, Harry, you're doing a better job than any of us could have done."

The doorbell rang. Mrs. Weasley stood up, saying, "I'll go get it," but before she was halfway out of her seat, the door had opened, and Kingsley Shacklebolt stumbled in.

Everyone gasped; Kingsley was a mess. His face was bleeding in more than one place, and his arm looked limp and broken. The gold earring had been torn out of his earlobe, and the wound was spurting blood. His hands were shaking. "Arthur," he gasped. "Arthur, it was a trap. Mad-Eye… Sturgis…"

Mr. Weasley had stood up, grabbed his wand, and taken Kingsley by the shoulders. "Are they still there?" he whispered.

Kingsley nodded painfully.

Lupin stood as well. "We have to go help them," he said urgently. He turned to Bill, who had also left his chair. "You should stay."

"No," Bill said, and there was a note of finality in his tone that left no room for argument. He looked at his mother. "Mum, contact everyone you can, tell them that it's gone wrong and that we need backup."

Mrs. Weasley was about to say something, but before she could, all three had Disapparated.

Ron, Charlie , Fred, George, Ginny, and Harry all looked at each other. After a moment, Fred asked, "What on earth is going on?"

Mrs. Weasley looked stricken. Her face was pale and her hands shook as she stood and crossed to Kingsley, who was leaning against the wall, his face contorted in pain. "Ron," she said fretfully, "there's a poultice in the pantry…"

Ron disappeared and returned with a jar of bright red liquid. Mrs. Weasley busied herself helping Kingsley sit in a chair in the next room, alternately dabbing his wounds with the poultice and doing something with her wand that seemed to help.

Tonks, after cleaning up the blood in the entryway, returned to the kitchen, looking rather disgruntled. Harry knew why; she did not like being left behind. As she sat down, she was bombarded with questions.

"Where'd they go?"

"What was Kingsley talking about?"

"What happened?"

"What went wrong?"

"Be quiet!" Tonks yelled as the tumult of questions threatened to exceed the decibel level of a jet engine. She took a few deep breaths, stood up, and began pacing.

"Bill was kidnapped and held ransom for a certain map," she began quietly. "Supposedly, it's a map of all seven Pyramids of Furmat. It took the Order a long time to figure that out, but after extensive research, they knew what the map was of, where it was, and how to get it."

"What's in the Pyramids of Furmat?" George asked.

"Supposedly, there are thousands of secrets to many lost Dark Arts. But no one has ever gotten inside. As soon as you get in, you're transported to the London Underground."

"The London Underground," Ginny repeated with a raised eyebrow.

Tonks shrugged, still pacing. "That's all I know. Anyway, the map supposedly says how to get in and how to avoid all the booby traps and hexes and what not. The Order sent Mad-Eye Moody, Sturgis Podmore, Jorden Andrews, and Kingsley to get this map before the Death Eaters did, because they obviously don't have it since that's what they wanted in exchange for Bill—"

"Wait," Harry said suddenly. "Jorden Andrews?"

"What about him?"

"He's a member of the Order?" Harry asked. "He teaches Ancient Runes at Hogwarts."

"Yes, he's a Hogwarts professor, and yes, Harry, to answer your question, he is a member of the Order."

"What happened?" Ron pressed.

Tonks ran a hand through her hair distractedly. "That's all I know. Your guess is as good as mine. They left last night, and now Kingsley shows up in the kitchen, bloody and fainting, and tells us that it was a trap and everyone else is still there."

"Where's there?"

She shrugged again. "They only told the people who needed to know, for fear that we'd blab if the Death Eaters caught us and tried to torture it out of us. Apparently Remus, Bill, and your father were part of the need-to-know group." She looked disappointed.

Harry stood up. "I'm going to Grimauld Place," he said suddenly. "They have to know what's happened."

That was not the real reason he wanted to go. He wanted to be in the middle of what was happening, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to just sit in the Burrow and wait for news. However, it was a good enough reason, and without waiting for anyone to argue, Harry Disapparated.

He found himself on Grimauld Place, and thought about the address until the house ballooned up out of nowhere. He stepped over the threshold and made his way into the hallway.

The house seemed deserted. This was a strange feeling to Harry; every time he had been there, there had been others as well. However, it was not long before he heard the cracks from the street that announced the arrival of more wizards, and before he had gotten halfway across the hallway, the door opened and in came Tonks, Ron, and Charlie.

"Ginny wasn't happy," Ron muttered as they made their way towards the kitchen. "Mum made her stay, and she can't Apparate anyway… Is anyone here?"

They thought it was deserted until they entered the study, where they found, seated around a small table, Elphias Doge, Hestia Jones, and a man whom Harry had not seen before. They looked up as the four of them entered.

"We have news," Tonks said before anyone else could speak, and she went on to explain what had happened. Their faces drained, and Hestia stood up. "Someone has to tell Minerva. I'll go to Hogwarts."

She Disapparated without another word, and Tonks looked at the other two. "Minerva will get word out to everyone," she said after a moment. "And besides, I don't now how to contact anyone. So I guess we can just… wait…"

She wandered out of the room, looking rather anxious, and left Harry, Ron, Charlie, Elphias, and the other man to look at each other. Charlie was the first to break the silence, going up to the man and saying, "I don't believe I know your name."

"Hoffman," the man said, "David Hoffman." He was about fifty years old, with steel-gray hair and light blue eyes. He was tall, thin, and rather sallow-looking, but he had a smile that made up for any deficiencies his complexion might have.

"He's an Unspeakable for the Ministry," Elphias wheezed.

Harry and Ron left them to talk and entered the kitchen. "We need to write to Hermione," Ron said, beginning to pace.

"If we write to her, she'll come right here. No need to ruin her Christmas as well."

"Yeah, but imagine how furious she'll be when we all arrive back at Hogwarts and all she's heard about what's happened is what's in the papers?"

"Hopefully nothing will be in the papers."

"Hopefully," Ron said quietly.

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It was a very long three hours before anyone came into Grimauld Place. Harry and Ron stood up, Harry accidentally knocking over his stool, as Lupin and Mr. Weasley entered the kitchen.

"Sit down," Lupin said tiredly.

"What happened?" they both demanded simultaneously.

Lupin got himself a large mug of water, and Mr. Weasley just sat there with a slightly dazed expression on his face. Lupin sat down across from them. He drew a deep breath. "Two of them died." His voice broke, and he put his head in his hands. "Sturgis was killed instantly, I think, with the Killing Curse, and Mad-Eye…" He smiled bitterly. "Good old Mad-Eye fought it out to the last."

Harry felt first shock, and then a disbelieving grief. "No," he croaked.

Mr. Weasley joined them, rubbing his temples. His eyes were red. "Yes."

"There was another one," Ron said suddenly. "Four people went."

"Jorden," Harry remembered. "How's Jorden?"

Lupin and Mr. Weasley exchanged glances. "He's in St. Mungo's," Mr. Weasley said after a moment. "Bill's with him. It doesn't look good."

A/N: I'm sorry, I know it's depressing, but I was thinking… Voldemort's back. It doesn't make sense that every member of the Order comes out unscathed from everything. Besides, I'd predetermined this moment from before I'd even started this story, so it was always going to happen. Though until today, I was going to kill Arthur instead of Sturgis, but now that the moment is here, I can't make myself do it. Wiping two well-known characters out in one fell swoop would've been downright cruel.