"Text" – Thoughts

"Text" – Spellcast

"Text" – Non-English Words

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does

Chapter 2 – The Week After

Date: Sunday, July 15th 1995

Location: St. Mungo's Hospital

The symbol of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries is the shape of a wand and bone crossed. It is said that the symbol represented the greatest feat attributed to the hospital's founder Mungo Bonham, who had been the first ever wizard to successfully perform Brackium Emendo, otherwise known as the Bone-Mending charm at the tender age of fourteen. This had been a ground-breaking feat for medical magic, a spell that had spawned many different variations (and some more sinister counterparts) which had evolved into many of the different healing spells we have today.

Arguably however, while Mungo's discovery of the Bone-Mending Charm had been legendary in its own right, the exalted healer's founding of the world-famous hospital could be said to have been a much greater feat, even if it had originally started as an alchemist's workshop almost four-hundred years ago.

Today, St. Mungo's is situated between a set of ley lines in London, allowing for the entire hospital to seemingly exist within the short and condemned building aptly named Purge and Dowse Ltd. Being in these ley lines also had the additional effect of boosting the overall ability for people to heal, hence why the hospital had to be situated here rather in the far more well concealed Diagon Alley.

The Hospital itself contains five floors above ground and an unknown number of underground floors that are used for – ahem – classified reasons. Each of the aboveground floors specialize in treating a specific type of injury, be it an injury as a result of magical creatures, bug and diseases or other natural magics, all of which are treated in the first, second and third floors respectively. The fourth floor almost seems disproportionally large when compared to the lower four floors, to the extent where it would not be physically possible for it to exist if one were to go by muggle physics. This was the floor which treated victims of spell damage.

There were many notorious wards on this floor, including the Janus Thickley Ward which cared for individuals who suffered from long-term mental damage, the Septimus Malfoy Ward, a ward which cared specifically for those who had been inflicted with curses so vile that the healers who worked there had to be subjected to a psychological evaluation every so often to make sure they kept their sanity from treating the patients in the ward.

However, the ward we are most interested in is a very private ward, the virtually unknown Lyra Potter Ward, named after one of the greatest British Healers that had never been officially acknowledged by the Ministry of Magic, or the Order of Merlin for that matter. In many ways, it was a very apt naming for the ward, for only the fewer people who knew about it, the better.

At this time, the ward proper only had one patient, for the other had been released only a few hours prior. Her friend however was still unmoving, seeming almost as though she were in between life and death itself. As ominous as that sounds, it spoke nothing of the state that the healers had found her in.

It had been a warm summer night when the Healers Samson Spencer and Maxwell "Max" Entwhistle had been loudly startled when an alarm had gone off in the muggle neighbourhood of Little Whinging. Hastily recalling procedures they never thought they'd ever use, they were startled as they apparated on scene, confronted with a view so disconcerting that… let's just say that they were forced to sign oaths of silence from the girl's family, Albus Dumbledore and even one from the Department of Mysteries themselves.

Despite the large amount of excitement, the rest of the week passed rather uneventfully as the comatose girl lay on the bed in the same position as they had found her. It had been surprising for the pair of healers, only recently having come back to Britain from their studies in different parts of the globe, to have work that would require their specialized skills. It had also been quite a pride-hurting moment to find that they could barely do anything for the girl, who still lay as though she had been dipped in the Veil itself. Nonetheless, the arduous pair continued to diligently watch over their patient, hoping that they would be able to employ the skills they had learnt soon.

It was on this rather blustery morning when such a chance seemed to come up. Max had been dutifully readying the potions that were to be administered to their patient when he heard a noise coming from her. Almost dropping the vial, Max rushed over to the girl's bedside. The patient was a fifteen-year old girl with light blonde hair that was strewn across the pillow where her head lay. Her naturally cool expression stared back at him, though she remained unmoving.

Max shook his head, believing that the noise had just been his imagination. He resisted the temptation to look back at the beautiful girl, doing his best to keep his professionalism intact as he went back to the potions he had been working on. It didn't matter if he were a prodigal eighteen-year-old who had been taught by the legendary Aleister Crowley, he would be immediately dispatched if another member of staff saw him doing so and far, far worse if it were the girl's parents. Max had met many dangerous men in his travels but few could match the deadly combination of cold logic and unbridled rage that Lord Cyril A. Greengrass possessed.

Another noise.

This time, Max was certain that he had not mistaken the sound and rushed over once more. Daphne Q. Greengrass was still completely motionless to the naked eye. Max frowned as he pulled out his wand.

"Homenum Habitus Revelio."

A wave of purple rushed over the girl's body. A small amount of pitch black mist floated up from her body. Max frowned gently. There was much less mist compared to the last time he or Samson had scanned her, a sign that her condition was improving. However, they, nor the rest of the department could identify what spell remnant that was. Even Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, the latter who had come alongside the former, had any idea what that spell was. Whatever it was though, it certainly was dangerous.

When asked, Lord Greengrass had denied having any knowledge of what the spell was. Given his response, however, both Max and Samson had reason to believe that the former duellist knew more than he was willing to say. How on earth he managed to circumvent the Oath of Truth, on the other hand was not something that neither men could figure out.

"mm…"

Maxwell was so surprised that he almost jumped back, an action that would have sent him into the wall behind him. Luckily, he stopped himself and looked back at Daphne.

"…arry"

Max blinked for a moment before he almost jumped up in surprise. In that moment he quickly realized two things.

Daphne Greengrass was somewhat awake

She was muttering Harry Potter's name

Max still clearly remembered what he had seen that faithful night. He shook himself to rid himself of the unwanted memories as he focused onto one thing. Harry Potter. The boy had been found a few feet away from the unconscious Greengrass heiress and her friend, Tracey Davis, the latter whom had apparently been the one to alert the Hospital. Moments after they arrived, Albus Dumbledore and several other people had arrived and taken the Boy-who-lived's body. It had been an extremely strange breach of protocol but both Max and Samson knew better than to question Albus Dumbledore.

"HARRY!"

This time, Max did jump as Daphne unexpectedly sat up straight. Her eyes opened wide, revealing a pair of milk-chocolate colored orbs.

"Harry!" she spoke again, far softer this time.

Max was in disbelief. He had close to no idea what had just happened but knew he had to take some sort of action. He wordlessly burned the 'Geminus sheet' that he and Samson carried in case of a situation like this.

"You're safe, Ms Greengrass," Max said, trying to console the frantic girl. Daphne turned to look at him, her eyes broiling in fear, anger and many other emotions. If he looked closer, he would have been able to see a strange phenomenon in her eyes.

"Harry! Where is he? Did the dement–"

Daphne began to babble incoherently. Maxwell stood there awkwardly, wondering what course of action he could take to alleviate the situation. Clearly, talking to her wouldn't work and casting any sort of non-sensory spell was completely against protocol unless he could identify whatever spell had been affecting her. Which brought him to his next question – how did she awaken after over a week of being in a coma?

The door quickly swung open Samson strode in urgently.

"What's the sit –" Samson began as his eyes turned to the patient. His eyes opened slightly wider, indicating his surprise, his mouth remaining open for a few more moments before it closed.

"I see."

Max was still highly surprised at the situation but failed at keeping himself fully composed. Samson walked forward towards the babbling Daphne and spoke.

"Ms Greengrass," he said with the slightest bit of force. Daphne stopped babbling and stared right at Samson. The healer froze for a moment, almost feeling paralyzed by the intensely cold glare that she effortlessly outputted.

"Thank you, Healer Spencer, Healer Entwhistle," came a voice from outside the room. Both healers almost jumped in surprise as Cyril Greengrass strode into the room. In an instant, the whole room felt a few degrees colder as Cyril exuded his usual aura. Maxwell heard himself gulp before he even realized himself shivering.

"Lord Greengrass," Samson said, bowing to the head of the Noble and Ancient House of Greengrass. Said man nodded stiffly as he looked directly at the two healers. Under the mercy of the full power of Lord Greengrass's stare, the two could hardly help but wilt slightly under the immense pressure that he radiated.

"I am aware that this is not part of protocol," he said, doubling the pressure he outputted, "but would it be possible for me to have a few words with my daughter before you examine her?"

Max blinked twice. He was about to answer when Samson spoke first.

"Of course, your lordship. Take as much time as you need. Come now, Maxwell." With this, Samson quickly walked out of the room, Max tailing him as quickly as he could to get out of the room with the scary father-daughter duo. A few moments later, Cyril drew his wand and pointed it wordlessly at the door. A pale flash emitted from his wand tip, hitting the door and causing a small rainbow of colors to appear. Cyril stared at it for a moment, faintly smiling before looking back at Daphne.

"Are you alright, Daphne?" he asked. In a single moment, Cyril's entire demeanour changed from that of the cool and logical Lord Greengrass to that of the concerned father, Cyril. Daphne wordlessly took note of this and huffed, clearly displeased.

"I am fine father but I do have a few questions." Her father looked at her for a moment before smiling, which cause Daphne to frown correspondingly.

"Where am I?" she all but demanded. Daphne had visited St. Mungo's a few times over the years, usually to visit members of her extended family who had been admitted, as part of her duties as the heiress apparent. By now, she had quite a good understanding to how each floor of the hospital was laid out. However, she could still not yet figure out where she was at the moment, a fact that irked her slightly.

"We are in the Lyra Potter Ward of St. Mungo's," her father replied swiftly. Daphne frowned further.

"I was not aware that such a ward existed," she said evenly. Given the rather 'colourful' means that her family members had used to get admitted into the hospital, Daphne had also seen many of the various wards of the hospital. She frowned, trying to recall whom Lyra Potter was but failed. Sucking up her pride, she turned to her father.

"I seem not to be able to recall whom this Lyra Potter was," she continued. Her father didn't seem surprised.

"You shouldn't. Lyra Potter is a witch whose name has been virtually written out of history books and casted out of almost all family trees. If I recall correctly, the name is only mentioned here and in the official Potter family tapestry," he replied. Daphne looked surprised.

Being disowned was not something uncommon in the magical world, given the rather extremist beliefs and traditions that some people had. However, being almost written out of history itself was extremely uncommon, as it showed that a person had enough notoriety yet not enough clout to keep themselves from being completely erased.

"What did she do?" Daphne asked, not expecting an answer. After all, if a person was virtually removed from history, it would be highly unlikely that her father knew any more than another person.

"I do not know any details. All I can tell you is what this ward specializes in." Daphne sat up a bit straighter and looked directly at her father as he continued. "The treatment of those who have encountered, yet defied, death itself."

Daphne blinked for a moment before her eyes widened enormously.

"That's… impossible," she stated flatly. It was, after all, one of the cardinal rules of magic. The dead cannot fully return. Necromancy, such as the creation of inferi was just about as close as you could get to as performing resurrection, Daphne quickly recalled. Her father nodded.

"That much is true," he said reverently. "However, Daphne, you have not died." The obviousness of the words made Daphne really want to snark back at her father but she stayed her tongue.

"Explain," she said as neutrally as possible. Her father sighed and took a seat at a chair that he wordlessly conjured up behind him.

"What do you remember?" he asked genially. Daphne looked at him blankly.

"Judging by your experience, I will assume that you have some information on what had happened. In brief, during my visit with Tracey to find Potter, we ran afoul of a pair of dementors who were inexplicably attacking Potter. From what I gather, I'd assume that I was –"

Daphne stopped suddenly. A strange expression took over her face, the mixture of embarrassment and fright. It was clear to Lord Greengrass that she wouldn't speak further without his prompting.

"How long ago would you estimate that to be?" he asked. Daphne took a moment to think.

"A few days. Certainly more than a few hours, given that I have been transported to this ward rather than still being in intensive care." Her father smiled, seemingly somewhat pleased at his daughter's deductive skills.

"You are right. It has been just under one week since you were admitted into the hospital. However, your assessment was slightly incorrect as you never entered the ICU." Daphne looked surprised for a moment.

"That is… peculiar…"

Daphne blinked a few times before squinting at the space in front of her. She looked around the ward, hoping to buy some times as she processed the information she had been given. The room's walls were as bare as any other hospital ward's with minimal decoration. On the far wall from her bed, Daphne spotted what seemed to be some intricate tapestry. It was woven elegantly, a mix of red and green snaked around each other, before transposing into gold and blue. Daphne found herself strangely drawn to it, feeling the wish to move closer to see it.

"Beautiful, isn't?" her father said suddenly. As if breaking out of a trance, Daphne snapped back and looked owlishly at her father. Her eyes widened a fraction and she immediately tried to magically search her mind for magical interference, however her efforts were prematurely stopped by a harrowing echo of pain that coursed through her body. With a large wince, Daphne felt herself lying back on the bed. Her father looked somewhat concerned, a slightly strange expression on his usually stoic face.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Daphne nodded affirmatively. Her father then looked closer towards her, an action that made Daphne almost want to recoil. In her exhausted state, she would be powerless to stop her father's legilimentic attack … which did not ever arrive. Instead, her father withdrew, a frown marring his face.

"Your eyes…" he murmured. Daphne looked strangely at her father but he did not elaborate. Somewhat annoyed at the whole situation, she spoke up again.

"Pardon me, father, but I do have one more question." Her father gestured for her to continue. "First of all, how in Morgana's name did I get here? My memories of what occurred during last week are hazy at best but…" A faraway look made its way onto her face. With a sudden yelp, Daphne sat up abruptly before sliding down again due to another pang of pain.

"Oof!" she grunted, a look of pain marring her face. However, the expression was quickly replaced with one of desperate fear.

"HARRY!"

Cyril watched with a mixture of concern and surprise as his daughter yelled out the name of her 'boyfriend', clearly in a worried manner. From his experience, it was highly unlike Daphne to have questions about anyone but herself first. It wasn't that she was uncaring of others, rather simply her drive to improve herself usually eclipsed whatever form of empathy she had. Although, in all fairness, the special circumstance may have warranted this strange behaviour.

His daughter had finally calmed somewhat, though given the amount she was shaking, she either had need of some medical attention or was still highly agitated. Fortunately, since neither of their rings had any signal, Cyril was able to assume the latter.

"Apologies for my rather embarrassing outburst, father," Daphne said, blushing slightly. It was almost nostalgic for Cyril to watch his eldest get embarrassed like this. For this reason, he found it rather hard to keep the smile off his face.

"Apology accepted, continue, please," he replied. Daphne coughed.

"I would like to know where Potter is. Given that I ended up in such a state defending him, I would be somewhat irritated if he was not around to thank me for it." Cyril detected a hint of hesitance in her haughty tone. It was almost as though she already unconsciously knew that he had no good news for her. And thus, true to his usual method of delivering news, Lord Greengrass spoke with unwavering directness.

"Unfortunately, Harry Potter's physical whereabouts are unknown. As for his spirit, it has been deemed that it has been absorbed by the dementor that the two of you fought."

Cyril almost winced at how his daughter's expression seemed to melt right off her face. It quickly morphed from her usual haughty expression, to shock, to confusion.

"What! How? I was there! That's impossible I used…" Cyril looked surprised. Did she actually know what spell she had cast? A quick look at his daughter said otherwise. No. It was impossible anyways. Cyril himself didn't even know how… He turned his attention back to his daughter, whose surprise seemed to be fading rapidly. The expression on her face screamed denial. Cyril frowned.

He knew that helping his daughter through this was beyond his capabilities, even more so given his 'conditioning' to the role of Lord Greengrass. It pricked at him to have to let another person take care of his daughter in her time of need, but Cyril knew what needed to be done.

"Daphne," he said, with his usual level of coldness. His daughter quickly looked to him, her eyes clearly watering in desperation. Cyril took a moment to breath before he continued.

"Unfortunately, I have another meeting to attend to right now. Your mother and sister will visit shortly but I must leave. In the meantime, I am certain that Healers Spencer and Entwhistle will be more than capable of helping you."

Daphne looked confused for a moment before her eyes widened a fraction in realization. Her icy expression returned.

"I see," she said, the iciness of her voice almost rivalling that of her mother's when she was absolutely livid. Cyril did not physically react.

"I will see you later. Get some rest, Daphne. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, father."

Cyril took one last look at his daughter, who seemed to be deep in thought. Hopefully, Eve would be able to help her through this, especially since Cyril had absolutely no idea what to do. A small pain erupted in his heart as he walked out of the ward, towards the roaring fireplace that sat a few meters down the corridor.

Now, he had to get to work.

He hadn't been lying when he told Daphne that he had another meeting. Strictly speaking, he was already late to the meeting that he had to attend. Of course, seeing his hospital-ridden daughter took precedence over meeting with Saul Croaker. Surely an old friend could overlook something like this right?

"Ministry of Magic Level 9: Department of Mysteries, Analysis Room 585-789! Passcode: Niflheim!"

A flash of green flame engulfed Cyril as he stepped through the doorway, vanishing from the hospital.

Date: Monday, July 16th 1995

Location: The Burrow

It had been a warm summer in Ottery St. Catchpole since Ron, Ginny and the twins had returned from Hogwarts. Not much had been happening, just the same usual business that would happen at this time of year, including the indiscriminate bangs and strange smells from the twins' room, the alternatingly haunting and beautiful tones of Celestina Warbeck that echoed throughout the small house as well as the hushed conversations held between Arthur and Bill Weasley.

Bill hadn't returned to Egypt after visiting Hogwarts earlier this year, opting instead to stay in Britain for personal reasons. Naturally, his parents welcomed him with open arms, eager to have their eldest with them for as long as possible. And so he sat with his father at the dinner table, discussing a new-fangled piece of muggle technology called a 'cell phone'.

Meanwhile, Ginny was sitting in the middle of the table, showing complete disinterest at what her brother and father were discussing. Instead, she was staring at the wall, contemplating Morgana knew what. Or at least, that's how Ron interpreted his sister's actions.

His mother was in the kitchen, a usual occurrence at this time of day, cooking their breakfast. Molly Weasley was one of the very few witches (or wizards) who spent large amounts of time cooking. This was not, as many believed, because she couldn't afford magical cooking (between her husband and three eldests' income, this particular branch of the Weasleys were relatively wealthy) but rather because she knew that food would taste better with a human hand in it. Those who knew this little fact considered it to be the 'secret' to Molly's delicious cooking.

Ron licked his lips in anticipation of his delicious meal as his thoughts drifted from his family to his friends. He honestly didn't know how this summer was going to pan out, given that so much had changed since last year. His friendship with Hermione seemed to have faded somewhat, something he regretted more than what he would admit to anyone. On the other hand, he had somehow become friends with not one but two Slytherins … that much was surprising.

His parents' and brothers' expressions when he formally revealed to them his friendship with Tracey (and acquaintanceship with Daphne) was mildly surprising, almost as though they had expected something similar. Nevertheless, his mother had warned him about interacting with the Greengrasses, a sediment that seemed to run on through the rest of the family (apart from the twins, who seemed much more interested in his relationship with Tracey). Ron seemed surprised at how the usually laid-back Bill was so firm in his thoughts which prompted some further look into it.

In the background, Celestina Warbeck's performance was about to hit its apex, with the banshees and she chorusing melodiously, or as far as banshees and humans could do in tandem. Ron covered his ears at the impending loud bang at this part of the song. This was (strangely) his mother's favourite part, at which she would stop what she was doing and chant the next part of the chorus alongside the radio. Ron was somewhat embarrassed by it and thus covered his ears more intently to hopefully drown out the cacophony that was about to engulf the house.

Ron counted in his head, readying himself for his mother's chanting. Luckily for him, Ron had 'developed' a method of covering his ears as to prevent as much noise from entering his ears as possible. While not completely infallible (as his memory of a certain event back in his second-year indicated), it was very effective in general.

Unable to resist the urge to take a peek at his mother's singing, Ron looked up, hoping that the scene was not too ghastly. However, instead of joyously belting out the lyrics to A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love, his mother seemed extremely surprised as she looked to the radio. Ron looked to his father and brother, who usually would be doing something similar to what he had been. Instead, they were looking intently at the radio, almost as though they were hunters tracking a wounded animal. Even Ginny seemed to have perked up and was watching the radio. Curious, Ron uncovered his ears and began to listen.

"…–bridge was not found. However, it was by the word of a witch named Arabella Figg, who saw the entire event. To quote Ms Figg, "it was absolutely horrific. The dark shades were…" Unfortunately, that was the end of the quote as Ms Figg declined to make any further comments."

Ron was confused but continued to listen. Clearly he was missing something important.

"Though the news seems quite sudden, many people have already responded to it. I have already received a request from both the St. Mungo's and the Ministry of Magic's respective Owl Posts to ask that you refrain from sending more messages about the event."

Ron's surprise grew as he felt a lump form in his throat. Something really bad had happened, he could feel it in his gut. He strained his ears to listen more clearly.

"And so… ah here we go. The Ministry has now given their official state– … oh my…"

The ominous pause seemed to drag on for an eternity as Ron's feeling of foreboding grew evermore. Jackson Rickards, the radio host was known for his virtually unflappable nature, having grown accustomed to covering the grisliest of stories from the war a decade and a half prior. What on earth could have such an effect on him?

"… excuse me ladies and gentlemen but I must take a moment to compose myself" came Rickards' warbling voice from the radio. Ron felt his senses overload as his foreboding ascended to new heights.

"… ahem. Pardon me everyone," Rickards said, his tone still audibly wobbly. The man coughed once before he continued. His voice returned far cooler and more detached than it had been before. "The Ministry of Magic's official statement on the Little Whinging attack amounts to as follows, 'The attack was not perpetrated by any existing member of the ministry of magic, nor any national or international body. The attack amounted to only one casualty…" Rickards gave an audible gulp. Ron unconsciously braced himself, not knowing what was going to be said. He thought he would be ready for anything.

"Harry James Potter perished in combat against the pair of dementors. While his body has yet to be found, Miss Arabella Figg's provided memory has given irrefutable evidence that…"

To anyone still listening, it was obvious that Rickard's was stricken by the news, though he continued bravely as he delivered the shocking news. However, no-one in the Burrow could hear his voice.

A thud. Two thuds. No-one noticed.

For Ron, that moment seemed to last an eternity. The moment that he heard Harry's named uttered by the radio host seemed to last forever to Ron. Somehow, his vision seemed to contort wildly. Time froze that instant as Ron did his best to process the information.

Harry was dead.

No, wait that was impossible! Harry was the boy-who-lived! The one who beat You-Know-Who as a baby! He was virtually invincible! Ron's brain went into overdrive, trying to come up with some explanation for what had happened. He didn't care how naïve his ideas were, he just needed some way to…

And just like that, time unfroze. Ron felt all the energy leaving his body as he almost collapsed onto the table. He looked up and saw the origins of the two earlier thuds, his mother and sister, the former of whom appeared to have fainted. Mrs. Weasley was on the ground, an expression of clear surprise on her face. On the other hand, Ginny hadn't outright fainted but instead had a distant look on her face. It was almost as though her soul had exited her body, given how pale and despondent she looked.

"Th… they're just pulling our legs right?'

Ron slowly looked to the door. His older twin brothers were standing there, both with almost identically shocked expressions on their faces. Not a hint of their usual mischievousness or devilishness remained. It appeared that they had rushed down when they heard the urgent broadcast.

"No."

The voice was his father's. The finality in the tone drove home the message that all of them were trying vehemently to deny.

Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, was dead.

A very soft wail came from Ginny but no-one really noticed. The air around them all had stagnated and they could all feel it. It was almost as though the air had turned solid, or perhaps it was simply that they collectively thought that if no-one made a move, the situation would simply stop, that time would stop in that moment.

To delay the terrible conclusion that all of them had already realized.

The eerie silence was broken by the fireplace of their house bursting into emerald green flames.

"Arthur, it's Arnica. We need you here in the office right now," came the urgent message. A moment later, the green flames subsided and returned to their usual red-orange color. However, the still air had already been broken.

Moving at an incredibly lethargic manner, Arthur Weasley stood up shakily. He looked as though he had aged several decades since he had sat down and his harrowed look only served to contribute to that image. He turned unsteadily to his family.

"Well…" he muttered, "I seem to need to go…" It was clear that his mind was elsewhere but Arthur gently shook his head. Putting on a façade of confidence, he turned to his eldest son.

"Bill, help your mother up. Afterwards, call Charlie and Percy and tell them to come back at their earliest convenience for an emergency family meeting." Bill nodded solemnly.

"Understood, father," the tallest redhead said, with a tone far more severe than he had ever used before. It was clear that Bill was absolutely livid but kept his emotions in check in front of his siblings. Arthur barely reacted.

"Well then, I'm off," he said. Arthur drew his wand and whispered something to it. A moment later, a bag whizzed into his grasp. Using his other hand, Arthur grabbed a sizeable amount of Floo powder from the jar on the mantelpiece.

"Ministry of Magic Level Two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office." With a roar of green flame, Arthur Weasley left the burrow.

A few moments of silence passed before Bill too stood up.

"Well, I better get to doing what dad told me to do," he said shortly. It was clear to Ron that Bill didn't want to talk as he trundled out of the room, passing the frozen twins as he headed for his room.

The stagnant air returned as no-one moved once more. Ron's mind was in overdrive, not knowing what he could do. He knew that he wasn't the only one close to Harry. Tracey, Hermione, Greengrass… how were they doing? Something felt as though it dropped inside Ron's thoughts moved to the one person who cared more about Harry's safety than he.

"Sirius…" he murmured.

Location: 12 Grimmauld Place

A deafening silence could be felt all around the grim, old mansion that had housed the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black ever since the aftermath of the Third Giant Uprising. Over the many centuries, the once regal and grand manse had been reduced to a mostly well-worn and drab house. Cluttered pieces of old furniture, decorations and other odd things lay scattered around the shadowy house. The house was, very fittingly, a grim old shadow of its former glory.

Only a few rooms in the house actually seemed somewhat hospitable, a number that had slowly increased over the past week as the last Black had returned to his childhood home. It had been a long uphill battle for the frail man, who not only had to attend to the house but also to his own health, his pet hippogriff as well as fight an inane battle against the resident 'house' elf. Thankfully, his (living) best friend was there to offer him moral support (in the form of jibes at the former top auror for being outsmarted by an ancient house-elf).

The pair had decided to take a break after an almost 20-hour shift which had seen them fully clean up enough of two bedrooms for the both of them to sleep in. About time too, since the mattress they had been able to transfigure was getting a little too lumpy.

This had been the scene a few minutes ago, the two men relaxing on somewhat gaudy armchairs that they had checked multiple times for various curses, jinxes, hexes and other maleficent magics. They had been sharing a good bottle of firewhisky, one procured from a certain Dumbledore in Hogs Head, recounting old stories of their days in Hogwarts that had been said countless times. Back in a simpler, more peaceful time.

Back before James had died, and before Peter had betrayed them.

Sirius had gotten up to the old radio that he had 'obtained' during his travels. His long matted hair that had stayed with him for over a decade had been trimmed finally, after weeks upon weeks of Remus's urging. While his clothing was not anywhere close to what his standing in the Wizarding world would indicate, it was a far cry from the rags he had been wearing for most of the past fifteen years.

Across from him, Remus looked somewhat older than his true age would expect. The full moon had only passed a few days ago and the harrowing transformation had taken a toll on the werewolf's body. Nonetheless, he looked much better than he had a few nights ago and his attitude reflected it. He was extremely thankful that 12 Grimmauld Place had such a large supply of potions goods, allowing for Sirius and him to brew up Wolfsbane Potion for him in preparation for the dreaded full moon.

Sirius had casually flicked on the radio, hoping to get some news on the Wizarding World. With a groan, he quickly tried to change the channel from Celestina Warbeck's 'awful' voice to something more soothing when the announcement came up.

And that brings us to now.

A wave of smoke rose from the remains of the worn radio. It looked as though it had been forcibly blown up from the inside. Judging by the lack of whimsical vapours or energies emerging from the ashes, one could assume that the magic powered radio had its power source used as a makeshift bomb, detonated with the power equivalent to a standard hand grenade. Another's magic took effect, sending the remaining smoke and dust away and out of the room.

Remus lowered his wand. Inside, he was barely able to accept what he had heard, though it would have explained why Harry hadn't replied to his and Sirius's latest message almost a week ago. It also served as an explanation as to why Dumbledore had not visited in the past week, despite having promised to do so… Remus shook his head, trying to keep himself from falling into despair. Warily, he looked at Sirius.

The dog animagus still had his wand raised, having not withdrawn it since he had unexpectedly destroyed their only reliable source of information on the outside world. It was difficult, even for Remus, to identify what spell Sirius had used but he could at the least tell how dark the spell probably was. It wasn't hard to guess how Sirius felt at that moment, even without looking at his face.

"Sirius…" Remus croaked out. He was slightly surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded before he felt the weight of the situation hit him. Remus felt his composure rapidly fall, so much so that he didn't notice Sirius getting up.

"That's the last straw."

Remus took a few deep breaths and looked upwards to look at his friend. Sirius's face was mostly obscured by his hair, though glimpses of enraged sorrow could be seen from his stance. Blood was coming from his clenched fists which he held shaking. The wand he held in hand almost broke under the pressure that he held it in.

Suddenly, Sirius jerked his head, allowing his face to be revealed. It was grief unlike any that Remus had ever seen before, not even when Sirius found out his Uncle Alphard had died, or when he received news on Regulus's demise. Sirius's eyes were bloodshot, his eyes dancing wildly in a chaotic frenzy. Sirius was heaving heavily, as though he had completed an intense physical endeavour as he began to move. His eyes met Remus's for a moment, and the werewolf was able to see what the wild insanity of Sirius's eyes hid – the cold despondence that had been brought by his stay in Azkaban.

Sirius walked a few steps towards the desk that he and Remus had cleared. On it lay a few items they had been able to salvage from the Office of Lord Black, a room that had been vacated since the death of Sirius's uncle Cygnus in 1992. One of those was a small black stain box which Sirius had been extremely intent on finding. Remus knew before he had been told exactly what was inside – the Ring of Lord Black. Upon finding the priceless heirloom, Sirius joked that he would be one of the most revered men in Wizarding Britain once his claimed his title, a big step up from his current 'position' of 'greatest traitor in modern wizardry'. Remus had laughed, adding that he would even outrank Harry after the latter's ascension. Now, that memory was almost harrowing to recall.

Sirius opened the box hesitantly and stared at its contents. The ring lay unmoving, though it seemed to shine brilliantly as Remus and Sirius looked at it. It was extremely finely crafted, with orichalcum forming the ring itself while it was adorned by a single pure-black onyx with the coat of arms of House Black engraved on it. Of course, the ring was imbued with powerful magicks but the simplicity of the design simply added to the elegance and class that the ring proclaimed.

Both men stared at the heirloom. One solemnly, one regretfully.

"Sirius, you know you can't…" Remus began even though he knew his words were futile. Sirius was not known for following anyone's rules but his own. The shaggy haired man clearly had lots of pain in his eyes.

The moment passed.

With a single fluid motion, Sirius, took the ring out of its box and slipped it onto his finger. A wave of magic coursed through his body, causing him to wince in pain. Remus had just about figured out what Sirius was trying to do and rushed over to aid his friend.

Sirius however, simply waved away Remus and stood up. His eyes were no longer filled with the chaos that had been swimming in them for the past few minutes. Now, only resolute rage remained.

"I," Sirius began, choking back the tears that were still in his eyes. "Sirius Orion III, hereby proclaim myself as the claimant apparent for the position of Lord Black under the old ways. May magic judge me as it sees fit. Forsooth I swear so mote it be."

The ring glowed for a few moments as both men held their breaths. There was a reason why Sirius had not attempted to do so earlier, one being because of the laws governing the lordship of Noble Houses (and the other being because of Dumbledore's request). They both had heard many gruesome tales of 'failed' attempts to claim lordship, where the magic of the Lord's ring would exact punishment on the unworthy person who attempted to wear it. For a House that dated back to the time of the founders of Hogwarts, the ring's magic probably contained spells not heard of since the ISS's establishment.

The glowing stopped and the men sighed in relief. It seemed that Sirius would live to see another day, despite the risky gambit that he had just taken. Though Sirius was not truly Lord Black yet, having the ring accept him granted him enough privileges at the moment. If the situation were less severe, Remus would have smiled. Now, all he could do was watch as Sirius raised his hand now once more.

"For my first order as Lord Black, I hereby terminate all contracts of free passage into this building. Only Remus John Lupin and myself are able to come ago go."

A flash of light and a whole page of parchment on the office's wall vanished, replaced only with one name. Remus gulped. Sirius was doing more than he expected.

"Are you sure, Sirius? Going against Dumble–" Remus was silenced as Sirius shot him a look, quaking with rage.

"He. Let. Harry. Die." Sirius enunciated every syllable. Remus could see the despair in his friend's eyes now, burning as radiantly as his rage was. Remus knew that he himself was barely keeping the tears at bay as he watched his closest living friend sink onto the floor in tears. Remus felt himself barely able to stand and collapsed as well. His mind was a mess as well, not knowing what to think.

All he could do was hope that what they did was right.

Location: Longbottom Manor

While the torrent of exchange was flooding virtually every wizarding family even remotely connected to Britain had been ongoing, a certain young Gryffindor had been sound asleep. Neville Longbottom, son of celebrated aurors Frank and Alice was having a restful sleep, as he usually would on mornings like this. As such, he was blissfully unaware about the goings-on around him.

An owl landed on his windowsill, which he had forgetfully left open last night. The bird crept up on the unsuspecting boy. Without any warning, it delivered a sharp peck to Neville's right arm.

"Gahh!" he screamed, waking up instantly from the piercing pain. It would be some time before Neville would grow to have much better instincts, but that would be a story for a later time. Instead, he looked around confusedly, wondering what had attacked him.

The owl hooted at him, causing Neville to almost jump back in shock. Unamused by the human's antics, the owl pointed its beak at the pouch that it carried. Though somewhat groggy, Neville instantly recognized the symbol emblazoned on the pouch, Hogwarts's distinct symbol. Timidly, Neville reached towards the pouch and pulled out the letter gingerly. The owl hooted once more and took off, flying back to wherever it had flown from.

Neville sat surprisedly as he looked at the letter in front of him. This was clearly something important, judging by the sender. Curious, Neville quickly tore open the letter and began to read.

Dear Neville,

This is Professor Dumbledore…

Spells Used

Brackium Emendo – Bone-Mending Charm

Homenum Habitus Revelio – Human-Condition Revealing Charm

Next Time: Anger Point