This was a hard chapter to write. Very… anticlimactic. I didn't really know what to do with it. Anyhow, I wrote it. The other thing is, I wrote it with a lot on my mind, so if it doesn't make a lot of sense, tell me and I'll rewrite it. I'm starting to think that this story will be around sixty chapters long. Give or take a few.

On to the next adventure…

Hobey-ho, let's go.

Chapter 38

Crumbling Foundations

The Ministry of Magic has announced the amassing of an enormous army, writes Samantha Perez, Daily Prophet special correspondent. In an attempt to fortify society against the devastating, fatal attacks inflicted by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers, known as Death Eaters, for the past four and a half months, the Ministry has been secretly gathering an army of wizards and witches who are competent in dueling.

"I hope," said the Minister of Magic, Domohov Bokonovsky in a speech before the Wizengamot on Friday, "that this move will ensure the safety of our community from the Dark Lord."

The "Freedom Army," as the Minister has dubbed it, is ready to offer an organized defense to any mass attacks within an hour of their perpetration. He is willing to—

Harry stopped reading the article, glaring rather darkly at the picture of the Minister—of the Death Eater—that topped it. He tossed it onto the table. "He knew he had to do something," he said to Ron, who had been reading over his shoulder. "He has to look like he's fighting Voldemort, even though he's really helping him. Amassing the army was a move to stop people from throwing him out of office."

Hermione, who was sitting across from them, had picked up the paper and was skimming through it. "Listen to this," she said after a pause, scanning an article on the second page. "The Ministry of Magic has announced the passing of a new law, one that allows any member of the wizarding society to accuse any other of having joined the forces of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The law requires the accused to appear before a court and present his left forearm to those assembled. If it bears the Dark Mark, the Death Eater will be arrested and tried. If the accused does not bear the Mark, a fine will be imposed upon the accuser." Hermione looked up. "The Minister of Magic would be subject to this law, just like everyone else," she said breathlessly. "We could prove him guilty of being a Death Eater."

Ron cackled. "Bet he was violently opposed to this," he said, grinning, "but it got passed anyway. We ought to tell someone."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "This is big."

Hermione led the way out of the kitchen. "Let's find Professor McGonagall."

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Once again, Harry found himself sitting in a ring of Order members, all looking expectantly at Professor McGonagall, who, by general consensus, was the leader of the Order. She seemed to be weighing her words carefully. "This is an interesting new development," she said after a moment into the silence. "We have the opportunity to accuse Bokonovsky of being a Death Eater."

"I think there's a problem with that," Tonks said, leaning forward in her chair. "I don't think You-Know-Who would mark Bokonovsky with something that would so easily give him away. Having a Death Eater as Minister of Magic is no mean feat, and he would want to take every possible precaution against him being discovered. I don't think that he has the Dark Mark."

"What's the harm of accusing him, though?" Charlie, who was sitting between his father and Hestia Jones, interjected. "A small fine. One we could pay easily."

"It would mark us out as enemies of the Minister, and in turn, the Ministry," Lupin pointed out. "We don't want to go out in the open like that, not when the people have sided with the Ministry. Going against them would mean going against the public. Not a good idea when we're trying to gain supporters here."

"But what if he does have the Mark?" Charlie argued. "This could be our chance to expose him for what he is."

"I agree with Remus," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "It could backfire horribly, and, like Tonks, I don't believe he has the mark."

"We should take a vote," piqued Tonks. She looked from Charlie to Lupin and back again.

"All in favor of accusing the Minister of Magic of being a Death Eater, raise your hand," Professor McGonagall said tiredly.

Harry counted eighteen. Of the forty-two gathered there, that was less than half.

"Then we will not follow the proposed course of action," she said, glancing around the room. "We will wait until we have further proof."

Charlie stood suddenly, gazing around the room. "We have to be on the offensive," he said loudly. "We have to attack, before You-Know-Who gains too much power and we won't be able to stop him. If we continue as we have been—discreet, not too pushy, afraid—then before we work up the courage to pull our heads out of the sand, it'll be too late. We'll just be a thorn in his side. If we don't start attacking, then You-Know-Who will be unstoppable."

"We don't want to appear to be enemies of the Ministry," Lupin reiterated.

"Let's come out into the open!" Charlie said. "Let's reveal who we are and for what we fight. Then will we be able to get people to join our ranks."

"That would be fatal to the Order," Mr. Weasley said suddenly. "We aren't strong enough for a move like that. Even with a web of contacts, we've really only got fifty-three members. He would crush us to dust if we came out in the open."

"We have to take this opportunity!" Charlie barked. "The Ministry has handed it to us; we can't just throw it away!"

"Charlie, listen to reason," Bill implored, laying a calming hand on his brother's shoulder. It didn't work. "You know that a move like that would shatter the Order."

"Charlie's right," David Hoffman said, stepping into the debate. "We have to make a bold move before You-Know-Who gets ahead of us."

"We have to—" Ron began, but Charlie cut him off.

"You stay out of this," he snapped.

"Enough."

The voice was quiet and cool, but it carried a threat in it. Charlie glared at Lupin, who stood, facing him across the circle, looking utterly, maddeningly calm. "That's enough, Charlie," he said softly. "We've taken a vote. You need to calm yourself."

Charlie glanced murderously around the room, and, after a second, sank back into his chair, glowering at the floor between his feet.

"Very well," Professor McGonagall said, looking stern, "let's adjourn, before someone says something that makes Charlie pull a wand."

There was a general chuckle as everyone stood up and made their way towards the door.

Not from Charlie.

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Harry was at St. Mungo's again, standing between two beds. The one on the right held a slowly-recovering Jorden Andrews, and the other held a much more quickly-recovering Sirius Black. He stood between them, looking apologetic.

"I have to go back to Hogwarts," he said. "I've been gone for half a week, and I've left my classes in the hands of the Astronomy professor." He blanched. "Probably wasn't the best idea, but I had something I needed to do."

Jorden put his book down and moaned. "You can hardly complain. Professor McGonagall informed me that my classes were in the very capable hands of Nearly-Headless Nick, and I've been out for two weeks."

"You'll be out soon, though," Harry said confidently, and then he looked at Sirius. "and so will you."

He still could hardly grasp the fact that he was back. Sirius. Sirius was back.

Sirius smiled slightly, standing up. "They'll let me out of here tomorrow," he grumbled. "I've felt better for a week, but apparently that's not good enough for the healers around here…"

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Sirius."

He Apparated from the front hall of the hospital to outside the gates of Hogwarts. He found himself gazing up at the castle, watching the memories flash by in his head. It was the third Sunday of February, and the air was crisp and chilly, but the cold nip of the air felt fresh in his lungs.

No matter where he went, Hogwarts would always be his home.

Ron and Hermione would return later. Mrs. Weasley had insisted on their staying for dinner. Harry had used the excuse that he had to prepare for the next morning's classes, but the real reason he had gone was that he wanted some time alone to think.

He knew he had to destroy the Horcruxes. He had them all now. He had thought about throwing them into the Veil, but had decided against that. Like Sirius, the pieces of Voldemort's soul would still be trapped in the bodies that had been given to them, and, like Sirius, they could be retrieved from beyond the Veil.

So his other option was the world of Swift Light. Propero Luminarium. He knew that was what he had to do.

But every time he thought of it, he thought also of Dumbledore's black and withered hand. Those who venture to the world of Swift Light are never the same again…

Harry could not deny what he really felt. He was afraid.

It was not fear only of the pain he knew he would feel, or of the possibility of death. Those lurked over his head, but, quite frankly, those had always lurked over his head, ever since his first year at Hogwarts. In and of themselves, they were not new; they only took unfamiliar forms. What scared him was that if he were to die or to be permanently injured, there was still one more piece of Voldemort's soul out there.

One that rested in Voldemort's body.

He knew that whatever he did, he had to defeat that body first. Only then could he blast the rest of his soul into oblivion.

That led him to another frightening fact. Now that he was ready to face Voldemort, he had to start looking for him.

While half-absentmindedly reading a book in his office that night, the other half of his mind was focused on feeling the magic in the air, the stone, the things around him. He had used it to get into the Department of Mysteries, and he was sure he could use it again. Granted, it had been in a moment of desperation, but he felt that if he had done it once, he could again.

It took him an hour of sitting there, staring at the flames in the hearth for him to finally manage it. In frustration, he grasped for and yanked at the magic of the fire. With a deafening roar, it leaped out of the fireplace like a rocket. Harry yelped and dove beneath his desk, waiting there until it receded, leaving the front of his desk scorched and the hearthrug nothing but a pile of ashes.

"Whoops," he muttered. Despite the brush with danger, however, Harry felt a thrill of exhilaration. He had managed it.

He perfected it throughout the night, not falling asleep until one in the morning, when he was ready to collapse from exhaustion. He had finally mastered the use of the magic in his surroundings.

Ron and Hermione appeared the next morning to drag him out of bed and to breakfast. He filled up on bacon and eggs and made his way back to his classroom, where he readied for his first class, the first years from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

He told them about the theory of incantations and set them to work in groups of five to choose one and alter it so that it did something other than its original intent. While they were working, he sat down behind his desk and picked up the book he had been reading the night before.

By the end of the lesson, he had found a new, enticing spell that he wanted to learn.

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He commandeered Ron and Hermione to help him. "It's like a storage room," he explained after dinner that evening, "except that it doesn't really exist. You snap your fingers and poof! No more whatever you were holding. Then you snap them again and it reappears. You can keep anything in it."

He had Hermione hold a pillow out in front of her. Harry focused hard on it, like the book had said to, and muttered the incantation. "Disaparaser!"

Nothing happened. In frustration, he tried again. And again. And again.

It took three nights, sitting in Harry's office, Ron intermittently doing his homework and doodling on pieces of parchment, and Hermione patiently helping Harry. By the time he first managed to make the cushion disappear to a place that he could access it whenever he wanted it, he was so frustrated he blew up at Hermione for suggesting they go to bed. She sternly told him that he was going to bed whether he liked it or not because he was getting crankier than anyone wanted to deal with. He got her to let him try one more time, and it was that time he made it.

He practiced through the rest of February and halfway through March before he could access his magical storeroom, called the Deposito by the textbook, without even thinking. He began to put it to practical use, keeping quills and parchment, books and items he confiscated in his Deposito for when he needed them. He found himself doing it subconsciously.

He didn't know where the objects went once they vanished, but he knew that if he had vanished something, he could call it back at a whim. It felt nothing like the Inner Sanctum. The Inner Sanctum he could trace; this he could not. It was a strange feeling, but he was not about to complain; it came in very handy.

Harry knew, deep in his heart, that he needed to start his search for Lord Voldemort. He also knew that if he put it off too long, he would lose every shred of courage he had.

That was why, in the middle of March, he started looking out for information.