"Sir," Earnest Willoughby said breathlessly as he barged into Jameson's office. "We found out who it is."

Jameson immediately set aside the report he'd been reading. "Yes?"

Willoughby tossed his sheaf of papers onto Jameson's desk and began to pace. "The necromancer—the real one, not the decoy from Bath—he kept going on about how it's not that simple, the shade had to have a body if it was going to get stronger, but it had to be stronger before it could take a body. He had no idea where the shade ended up disappearing to because all the people he'd possessed before, and would be able to inhabit again in his weakened state, are dead now—except for Potter."

"And except for her," Jameson said, scanning the papers with eyes that seemed to grow more tired as he went on. "Because he wouldn't remember possessing her, would he? Technically, he never did. Merlin and Godric, he must have gone around all the witches and wizards on the continent to find her..." He put the paper down and rubbed his temples. "Potter is no longer on the 'need to know' list. Potter is on the 'do not let him find out anything' list."

Willoughby looked stunned. "But...why would Potter..."

"Do as I say," Jameson snapped, then his face softened. "You're sure it's her?"

Willoughby nodded. "She's the only one it could be."

"Bloody hell," Jameson murmured, shaking his head. Then, "BLOODY HELL!" he bellowed, throwing a paperweight at the wall. Willoughby took a step back, looking frightened. Jameson stood hunched over his desk, breathing heavily, supporting himself with both arms stiffly spread on the desk in front of him.

"Assemble a hit squad. Five Aurors, twenty hit-wizards. None of them Potter's. I want Mason down from Cursed Objects and get Perkins from Magical Containment. And bring me Bale."

"Bale, sir?" Willoughby asked hesitantly. "Where is he?"

"He's an Unspeakable. It might take some time to find him."

"Yes, sir." Willoughby made to leave the office, but stopped. "Sir, if I'm assembling a hit squad...Potter is going to want to know why he's not coming. Especially on something so large-scale."

Jameson let out an explosive sigh. "Lie to him. Ignore him. Hex him. Keep him here."

"...and he's walking now, nothing below four feet is safe anymore, you should see the house, looks like we've got flood lines..." Harry leaned forward in his chair suddenly. "Who was that shouting?"

"It sounded like Jameson," Perry said, also sitting up from his lounging position.

"Someone must have told him something he really didn't want to hear," Harry said, standing slowly. "It takes a lot to get him angry." He craned his neck to look out of the window in his door and froze. "That's Willoughby coming out of his office."

"Willoughby?" Perry asked, mirroring Harry as he came to his feet. "He's the one—"

"Who took over my case last year when it got personal. Yeah." Harry turned, brow furrowed, to look at Perry. "They won't tell me anything. Do you know if he's still on that case?"

Perry looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I..." Harry waved a hand in irritated dismissal.

"Quit hedging. You're obviously not going to tell me either." He continued watching out the window in the door, peering around the larger room outside as much as he could. "It almost looks like they're mobilizing," he said slowly. He watched for several more minutes, ignoring the way Perry was shifting uncomfortably. "They are mobilizing. And pointedly trying to keep it quiet." He turned abruptly to Perry. "The case got personal. That's why he took me off it. He wouldn't tell me how it got personal, but he said it was definitely directed at me. If they're mobilizing, and with that many people, there's something big going down." Perry was nodding slightly, though he looked completely lost. Harry began to pace in the small space left in the office. His mind was racing, now that it had got started. "If it's meant to taunt me...Perry, they could be after my family. And they're not telling me because I'd fly off the handle." A decision snapped into place in his mind and he snatched his robe from its usual spot hanging from the back of his chair.

"Hey!" Perry called as he strode purposefully from the office. Harry ignored him, his eyes glued to the exit. Amazingly, no one tried to stop him, and it wasn't until the grate had closed on the lift that he heard Jameson shout "POTTER!" He ignored that, too, except to note that it confirmed his suspicions.

He wasn't flying off the handle, he told himself as he got off the lift and walked briskly toward the Apparation point at the edge of the Ministry entry hall. He was going home to protect his family. If they—whoever they were—knew him enough to taunt him in ways that only someone familiar with his background would recognize, then they knew where he lived. That meant they knew where Ginny was, and Neville, home on summer holiday, and James. And if they'd spent the last year trying to lure him to them and getting nowhere, then they might well be about to hit him where it would hurt. Going home wasn't flying off the handle. It was being smart.

"POTTER!" Jameson bellowed from the lifts, across the entry hall. People turned to stare at him, scrambling out of the way as he ran across the entry hall, wand drawn. "STAND DOWN!"

Harry set his jaw and turned on the spot, Disapparating with an almost contemptuous CRACK.

The scene in the entry hall seemed frozen, every eye on Jameson as he turned purple with the strain of not losing control.

He took a deep breath through his nose, crossed his arms over his chest, and exhaled. "Fuck," he said, in a perfectly calm tone.

Those standing around him fled.

"Neville?" Harry called as he pushed open the door. "Ginny?"

"Harry?" Ginny asked, coming out from the living room. "What are you doing home so early?"

"They didn't need me at work," Harry said in what he hoped was a casual voice. "I decided to take the rest of the day off. Where's James?"

"Neville's giving him a bath. Apparently the best way to eat jam is with one's fists." Ginny narrowed her eyes. "You never come home early unless there's an emergency."

"There's no emergency," Harry said quickly. "At least not here there isn't. Lots of emergencies at work."

Ginny adopted an expression he was much more used to seeing on her mother. "Harry, you tell me what's going on right now. Your panicked calmness isn't fooling anyone."

Neville looked over the banister of the stairs as he descended, James tucked under his arm like a Quaffle and giggling. "What are you doing home, Harry?"

"Being dodgy is what," Ginny said before Harry could say anything.

"Neville," Harry said, with a sidelong glance at Ginny. "Take James to his grandparents' house, please." Neville's face went pale as he mouthed Harry's instructions, coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. "It could be nothing," he added quickly. "But—"

CRACK.

Harry's hand plunged to the wand holster at his waist, but could only get his wand half-drawn before he was tackled from behind and pinned to the floor, arms yanked forcefully behind him.

"GET HIM OUT OF HERE!" he shouted at Neville, who had shifted James and was now holding him properly. Neville's face set in determination but as he turned, his way was blocked by three hit-wizards standing shoulder-to-shoulder.

"I said stand down, Potter," came Jameson's rumbling voice from over his shoulder where he was holding him down with his full body weight.

"Harry, what's happening?" Ginny asked, her voice shrill.

"Expelliarmus!" and "Stupefy!" a full dozen of the hit-wizards shouted, pointing their wands at her, but—

"Protego!" she snarled, deflecting the spells. The foyer was not very large, and the force of the deflection bowled over not only the hit-wizards who had cast the spell, but also the ranks behind them. At least three of them did not get back up with their comrades.

"Hold your fire!" Jameson ordered. "She's still innocent!"

"Ginny!" Harry said, twisting to try and escape the hold that Jameson had on him. "Just—give them your wand—"

"I think not," she said in a cool voice that sounded completely unlike her.

"We've got the place surrounded," Jameson said in a flat tone. "And there's an Anti-Apparition jinx so strong on the place it'll take an army to break it. Let the girl go."

"What's going on?" Neville demanded. James began to cry and Neville patted him on the back, though it looked like he rather wanted to do the same thing himself.

"Let her go," Jameson repeated. "Or we'll—"

"Or you'll do nothing," Ginny said, smirking. "I believe this is what we call a 'standoff,' gentlemen. Who is going to be the first to blink?"

Suddenly, the self-satisfied smirk slid from Ginny's face. "I don't understand!" she wailed, looking frantically around. "What's—"

"Expelli—" one of the hit-wizards began, but the cold expression returned to Ginny's face and she deflected the spell almost lazily.

"That was sloppy," Jameson said quietly. "Could it be you don't have nearly as much control as you'd like?"

"Her mind is weak, and I have dominated it before," she said in a dismissive tone. "I am in complete control."

An impossible realization clunked into place in Harry's mind, and he stopped struggling for a moment with the gravity of it. "You," he gasped. Ginny glanced down at him, and the smirk definitely widened. "For fuck's sake, Tom, how many times do I have to kill you?"

"Potter, if you do not stand down I will be forced to put you in holding," Jameson said in a low voice. "Don't jeopardize the situation further."

"How the hell is he—"

"We have this under control. Now I will tell you one last time or it's your badge: stand. down."

Ginny—who wasn't Ginny—watched this exchange with open amusement. The hit-wizards and Aurors watched Ginny intently, waiting for orders. Glancing at Neville, Harry saw that he'd managed to inch his way along the wall, shielding James with his body, and if James's lack of wailing was anything to go by, Neville had managed to pull off a Silencing charm without anyone seeing—he had not forgotten how to lay low and encourage others to overlook him. Harry grit his teeth and let his forehead drop to the ground, ceasing his struggles. Jameson let up on him very slightly, using only one knee digging into his back and arms to keep him down. That Jameson trusted him enough to avoid magically binding him was a very small comfort.

"Let the girl go," Jameson commanded.

"Or you'll kill me?" Ginny asked sardonically. "I find that difficult to believe."

"All we have to do is wait you out," Jameson pointed out. "You can't get out of here without leaving the girl. You're nothing more than a shade, and a weak one at that. I wager you'd have waited years more before trying to possess her if we hadn't forced your hand. Sooner or later, you're going to lose your grip."

"You will all be dead before that happens," Ginny said, raising her wand. The motion was mirrored by the hit-wizards and Aurors in the foyer, tension thick in the air.

"I don't think so," Jameson said, raising his own wand. "I think you're barely holding onto her. I don't think you can make her perform any magic of consequence."

Ginny's jaw set contemptuously, and she flicked her wand in a dismissive gesture. Jameson deflected the flash of red light with a reflexive shield spell, shattering a picture frame on the wall.

"Think what you wish," Ginny said smugly. "This one is no longer fighting me. She is mine."

Harry bit down on his tongue so hard he was sure it was bleeding. Rage burned in his chest, threatening to consume him, making him shake beneath Jameson's knee as it dug into his back, numbing his arms, but never had he felt so completely impotent. Even if he threw Jameson off—which he was sure he could do—what could he possibly do? Possessions were rare, he didn't know how to deal with them, couldn't think of anything to do that wouldn't hurt Ginny...

"Sir," he said in a near-whisper, almost wincing at how pathetic his tone was, "Please. Get my son out of here."

"I can't do that, Potter," Jameson said, not taking his eyes from Ginny. But he made a gesture, and the hit-wizards that had been blocking Neville's exit stepped to surround him and James—still blocking his exit, but now between him and Ginny. Jameson let up on Harry's back very slightly, and Harry understood that to mean "This is the best I can do." Another four flashes of red light shot from Ginny's wand in quick succession; shield charms sprang into being to deflect them, shattering them into sprays of sparks as they lost momentum and hit walls or other shields. She laughed, and it was the high, eerie laugh that had tormented Harry's dreams for years; hearing it in her voice made every hair on Harry's body stand on end.

Harry could feel Jameson shift his weight. "Apologies," he said. A fraction of a second too late Harry realized what it meant; Jameson was now pointing his wand at him. "Petrificus totalus," he said firmly, and had Harry been able to, he would have winced at the sudden cramp in every muscle of his body as they tightened and froze. His nose pressed into the rug, and he could only hear what was going on now, the fibers of the rug completely filling his vision save for the shoes of the hit-wizard in his periphery.

The crackling of Stunning spells tore through the room again, this time punctuated by the shattering of glass—a window? It sounded too large to be a picture frame. Jameson rose from his crouch on Harry's back. More spells flew about the room—Harry couldn't identify them, couldn't see the distinctive red glow of stunners from the corner of his eye—uselessly he tried to move something, a toe, a finger, anything—and then there was a great rushing sound and the carpet beneath his nose was green in a flash of light—

He could hear someone hit the floor, feel the floorboards vibrate with the fall. Someone over where Neville had been standing with James. Frantically, Harry redoubled his futile efforts—he had to see—

"Harry, I'm sorry," Jameson said somewhere above him. Harry's eye twitched in a half-blink at the use of his first name; he'd always only ever been Potter. A split second later the pain that had been apparent in those words slammed into place and something horrible filled his chest, something that burned and froze and expanded all at the same time as he physically ached with the need to shout—

"Take her down," Jameson commanded in a cold voice.

No. No, no, NO—

Flashes of red light, blue light, purple, white—the room was illuminated in so many splashes of color it was dizzying. The hit-wizards and Aurors were shouting, Neville was shouting, James was crying again, and Harry could do nothing, nothing but breathe shallowly and more quickly, his glasses askew, his nose pressing painfully into the carpet as he felt the impacts of other people hitting the floor heavily, hear wands clatter across the floor, and feel that enormous pain expanding in his chest, begging for release, and he twitched—just slightly, just his first finger of his wand hand—

"NO!"

The remaining glass in the room—windows, picture frames, a vase in the living room, the mirrors, the porcelain knobs on drawers on a table—shattered into fragments fine as sand as he erupted, his muscles screaming as he tore them from their frozen positions, launching himself drunkenly to his feet, his hand going to the wand at his waist, his mind blank with rage, his only thought to stop them hurting Ginny. His Ginny, whether he and Neville had ever admitted it or not, whether she was aware of it or not, whether or not it was even possible.

One of the hit-wizards turned and shot a red Stunner at him. A slash of his own wand deflected it before he knew what he was doing; he watched the crackling beam of red light as it ricocheted across the room and hit Ginny squarely in the side of her neck, throwing her head back with a mangled scream, just before a dozen other spells found their target and hit true before she could collect herself to cast a shield.

Ginny's eyes instantly unfocused and rolled back into her head, but did not close as she toppled, oh so slowly, against the wall, sliding down it on one shoulder as her legs folded bonelessly. A fine silver smoke began to flow from her mouth, slowly at first as she did not so much exhale as simply deflate.

"BALE!" Jameson barked. A tweedy-looking wizard jumped forward, one hand brandishing a smokey gray crystal, the other his wand.

"Vis carcer novercalis, tergiversatio phasmatis infinitio!" the wizard intoned, very quickly, in one breath. The silver smoke began sweeping toward the crystal, fighting it like a cloud of insects flying against a breeze, gaining less and less purchase as more of it flowed reluctantly until the last wisp of smoke had disappeared and the crystal turned a solid glossy black and the wizard, breathing heavily, fell to his knees, tapping the crystal with a gesture of finality with his wand. The crystal shuddered in his hand, rang once with a note that sounded like a ghastly scream, and lay still.

Harry stood frozen, by events and disbelief rather than by magic this time, barely aware of what had just happened, his eyes glued to Ginny lying in an unnatural heap on the floor by the wall. Of their own accord, his feet began to force him toward her, and he shouldered aside a hit-wizard in his way as he dropped to his knees next to her.

Her eyes stared straight ahead into nothing as he lifted her head, oddly heavy and loose on her neck. He could see where the spell he'd deflected had burned her, he ran fingers over it lightly, pressing firmly where there should be a pulse, and maybe—there? Yes, yes...

Once...twice...it was so slow, so weak, like a butterfly's wingbeat, but it was there, it was...

"Rennervate," Harry said desperately, waving his wand with less precision than he would normally be able to muster. Ginny's eyelids fluttered, her pupils contracted, she took a tiny breath, and Harry's heart leapt before her eyes lost what focus they had gained, the breath was released with a soft sigh, and her head sagged against his lap again. Frantically he felt at her throat again, could not feel anything—no, that couldn't be it, he just wasn't feeling properly—"Rennervate!" he said again, and once again the pupils of her eyes contracted slightly, a tiny breath, but smaller than the last time, more fleeting before it was gone again... "No. No! Rennervate! Ginny, please!"

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, knew it was Neville's, ignored it for the time being. "Rennervate! Ginny come on, come back—you've got James, you've got me, you've got Neville, please, come back..." The pupils were not contracting, there was no hint of an indrawn breath, not the slightest movement in the vein beneath the skin to prove a pulse...

"She's gone," a familiar voice said behind him. "I'm sorry, Harry, but she's gone. Those spells were meant to penetrate a shield."

"Shut up, Jameson," Harry shot over his shoulder without really looking. He smoothed her hair back out of her face, stared helplessly at the empty gaze of her eyes, the terrible truth settling over him like a coat of snow, chilling him to numbness. Neville went down to his knees next to him, reaching out to take Ginny's hand, James oddly silent sitting on his lap as he looked quizzically at his mother on the floor. He reached out one plump hand, patting her arm, and Harry felt a terrible knot twist inside his stomach, bringing a lump to his throat he knew he couldn't dislodge if he tried.

"We'll need the boy."

Harry's head snapped up, tears streaming down his cheeks. Jameson's face was arranged to look hard and authoritative, the way the Head Auror's face was supposed to be, but his eyes glinted with pain. "He was in her womb for most of the time she was possessed. We need to be absolutely sure the Dark Lord didn't leave anything behind within him."

"No," Harry said, surprised he could talk past the constrictive tightness of his throat. "No. You're not doing anything with him."

"We have to. We can't leave it to chance." He reached out very slowly toward James; with a dangerous furrow of his brow, Neville drew the child close protectively. Harry pushed himself to his feet and shoved his way between Neville and Jameson.

"You're not taking my son," he said in a cold voice that wavered with the enormity of the grief that was thrashing inside him.

"Yes, I am," Jameson said in an equally cold voice. "We do what we must." He took a step forward.

Harry forgot he had a wand. He reached out and shoved, a powerful thrust forward into Jameson's chest that caused the Auror to stumble back several steps. In a flurry of movement, the hit-wizards and Aurors still standing had their wands trained on him, and he glanced to his feet to see his own wand lying uselessly there.

"You will relinquish the boy," Jameson said steadily.

"I spent years with a bit of Voldemort in me," Harry said hotly. "I'm fine. You aren't taking my son anywhere."

Suddenly ropes were winding about him, wrapping his arms tightly to his torso and binding his legs together. He whipped his head around to see Adams, an Auror three years his senior, apologetically lowering her wand as she finished off the nonverbal spell. Harry struggled against the bonds, succeeded only in losing his balance and falling heavily into a sitting position on the ground.

"Mr. Longbottom. The boy," Jameson commanded.

"Don't do it, Neville!" Harry said in a half-command, half-plea. Neville looked uncertainly between the two, holding James so tightly that he began to squirm and whimper in protest.

"He'll be returned to you," Jameson said in that maddeningly even tone, "Once we're sure he's clean."

"Don't! Don't, Neville!"

Neville slowly got to his feet, shifting his hold on James as he did so to keep his tight hold on him. He looked Jameson squarely in the face, being of a height with him, and Jameson returned the look unblinkingly.

"You remember when I was training," Neville said in a voice that almost seemed to glisten with barely-controlled grief.

"I do," Jameson responded.

"You remember what I did when I finally cracked during the anti-torture exercise. Why I was put on probation, why I was encouraged to leave the force."

"I do," Jameson repeated.

"You know what I'm capable of doing if even one hair is out of place when we get him back."

Jameson nodded once, briskly.

"Neville, no!"

Neville set his jaw, but otherwise ignored Harry on the floor. He hugged James hard, planted a long kiss on his forehead, and then took a deep breath, steeling himself. Face like stone, he wordlessly shifted James into the Head Auror's arms.

"NO! NOT MY SON!" Harry kicked out uselessly, aiming for Jameson's legs, but his bonds restricted more tightly.

With a jerk of his head, Jameson ordered the hit-wizards and Aurors to file out the front door. Four of them carried their two dead between them, the rest supporting the others that could barely walk; one paused and with a wave of his wand, set the battle-torn foyer to repairing itself. Chips of wood flew back to their spots in the banister, and mirrors coalesced like a reverse snowfall.

Jameson was the last to leave, ignoring Harry's wordless howls on the floor. "We'll send someone for...the body. And notify her family."

Neville gave a terse nod, glancing at Harry on the floor, still thrashing against his bonds. Jameson's eyes flicked to the floor.

"He'll be released once we're gone." He sighed heavily, a tiny crack appearing in his hardened exterior. "He won't hear it right now, but tell him how deeply sorry I am."

"Are you going to apologize to me at all?" Neville asked stiffly, his hands fists at his side. "I loved her too. He's my son too. Did you forget that? Or did you think that just because I'm not falling apart in front of you that I don't care?"

"I know you care. And I know that you already know how sorry I am. Harry will take some time, and he'll never forgive me."

"I don't think I will either," Neville said, anger leaking in to color his voice.

"I don't expect it." Jameson glanced once more at Harry before turning and striding out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

Neville sagged down to his knees as the door closed, the stony facade crumbling.

"How could you?" Harry demanded in a voice somewhere between an accusation and a sob. "How could you? Our son, Neville!"

"You know we had to," Neville said desperately, half-crawling to where Harry lay next to Ginny's body. "You know we did."

Harry didn't answer as the bonds melted away into wisps of smoke and he pushed himself up to a kneel. For a wild moment Neville thought Harry would strike him; but Harry turned back to Ginny, reached out with a shaking hand and closed her staring eyes.

"Everyone," he said tremulously, in a choked voice so full of grief it was raw. "Everyone I love is always taken from me."

Neville reached out hesitantly and drew Harry to him. "Not everyone."

As though a switch had been flipped, both of them clung tighter to one another, Harry's wordless sobs shaking them both and echoing up through the stairwell of the empty house.