Chapter 17 - Perspectives

Harry Potter stared at the Elder Wand. It had been a long time since he'd taken it out. As far as he was concerned, it was dangerous—but he was its master, like it or not. He turned it over in his fingers, studying it's texture and odd shape. A slight tingle ran up his arms as he contemplated it, trying to decide what he should do with it. He'd planned to return it to the one he considered its rightful owner, but he hadn't. He knew now that it had little or nothing to do with his increased power, but its sordid history bothered him. He had considered destroying it, but a voice in his mind (with a ring like Hermione's voice) told him this was an invaluable part of British wizarding history. Who was he to make the decision to destroy it, Master of Death or not?

He hadn't heard Ginny come into the room, so when she stepped up behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, he startled a little, but didn't say anything. Harry just kept gazing at the object in his hands. Ginny knew that wand—possessing it—bothered him, so she was curious as to why he toyed with it now.

"A Sickle for your thoughts, my love," she said, kissing his cheek. When she saw the physical embodiment of those thoughts, she sighed. "I thought you'd get rid of that thing, especially after..."

"I know. I think it's dangerous to use, but I'm tempted, Gin," Harry almost whispered. He felt a little ashamed at the very thought of using the Elder Wand—the Deathstick.

She moved from behind him and sat down. She took his hand and began to massage it gently. Then she looked up into his eyes. "Tell me."

"I can't pinpoint what's wrong with the idea that Mafalda would attack the Ministry. I just feel that her plan is something else. However, I have no proof," he said like a lament.

"Could you get your proof if you used the Elder Wand," Ginny asked. She had a way of helping him answer many of his own questions and face his own fear and doubt by asking just the right questions in just the right order. She had such a grasp on reason, Harry couldn't help but marvel at her.

"I don't know. Our magic has become more powerful after that bond formed between us. I just thought I might be able to perform even more powerful magic with the Elder wand," Harry said. "I thought I might be able to use Legilimency to enter Mafalda's mind, even if I don't know where she is."

Ginny looked worried. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"I did it against Riddle, but that was different." Harry admitted. "But yes, it could be dangerous. He was able to use Legilimency to deceive me by luring me...us...to the Department of Mysteries that night, but he also allowed me to know that he had sent Nagini to kill your dad. It saved his life. I'm thinking that I might be able to take Mafalda by surprise, much the same way."

"What other options are there?" Ginny continued to massage Harry's hand and question him through his dilemma.

"Hope that we locate Mafalda's father and learn something valuable from him. And we still might be able to use Malfoy, since he has connections with the Death Eaters. The problem is that there are too many unknowns. Both the Auror Office and the Death Eaters are trying to outsmart each other, and in between stands Malfoy serving as some kind of double-agent, with both sides aware of that.

"What a mess," Ginny said. "So that's the real problem, isn't it? So many possibilities with no absolute leads."

"Yes, it really is. That's why this ruddy wand is so tempting. What if it's a simple, quick, and safe way to uncover Mafalda's plans and finally bring her in? I may have the power to end this now, without anyone getting hurt. If we continue the game and end up outsmarted and outmanoeuvred, we could all be killed."

The thought of losing any more of the people he cared about to the evil influence of Voldemort nauseated Harry. He'd had enough bloodshed. Another slide show played through his mind. James and Lily. Cedric. Sirius. Dumbledore. Hedwig. Moody. Dobby. Fred. Remus and Tonks. Colin. Even the traitorous coward, Peter Pettigrew.

Ginny leaned over and put her arms around her beloved Harry and hugged him. "What does your heart tell you," she asked.

Damn, she's good. Harry didn't have to think too hard on Ginny's ultimate question, because he'd long ago realised that he needed only to search his heart for the answers. His mind had far too often betrayed him. "That the Elder Wand is a last resort, I'm not there quite yet...and that I love you very much."

Ginny smiled. "Well, then. You've solved your own dilemma. Your noble heart tells you to exhaust any and all conventional means before you resort to...drastic measures," she summarized, nodding at the oddly-shaped wand. "And I love you very much." She gave him a sweet kiss and Harry put the Elder Wand away.

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Harry headed to his office at the Ministry the next day. He found a letter addressed to him in unknown handwriting laying on his desk. He was just about to pick it up and open it, when he stopped, his fingers barely an inch from it. He had a bad feeling about it, so he stepped back out into the corridor to find someone who might have some idea where the letter came from and how it got there. He stopped Williamson as he was coming out of the men's loo.

"Williamson," Harry called.

"Potter. What can I do for you," Williamson answered as he walked toward Harry.

"There's a letter on my desk addressed simply, Harry Potter. Someone must have delivered it personally there. You wouldn't happen to know anything about it would you?"

"Blimey, Potter, you didn't open it...or even touch it, did you?"

"No, I got a really bad feeling about it."

"Good call! A couple of years ago, there was an accident in another department with a cursed letter. St Mungo's had a lot to do to get that mess sorted out." Williamson shook his head, but chuckled a little bit. "We'd better have it checked."

Chief Dawlish, Harry, and Williamson performed all kinds of curse-breaking spells and detection charms on the letter and after an hour, they concluded it was an ordinary letter, free of any dark magic or dangerous substances.

"Sure," Harry asked as he made to pick it up. "If it doesn't kill me, Ginny certainly will if I end up at St Mungo's." Dawlish and Williamson laughed as Harry opened it. Nothing happened, so he read the fairly short letter.

Dear Harry,

As your future wife is my third cousin, I thought it would be proper, if a bit late, to welcome you to the family. I know you have heard about me, although we haven't had the pleasure to be properly introduced. I'm Mafalda Prewett. We have something in common, you and I, Harry. We are probably the only two people alive who knew the Dark Lord best. I also think we can agree that his goals were wrong.

I learned that you became an Auror. It surprises me that you would work for the very organization that discredited you, even incriminated you. I think there is a lot we could talk about and learn from each other, but I find it hard to believe that such a discussion should ever take place by any other means than one of us as the other's prisoner. Regretfully, I might add.

I am not your enemy. I have no wish to harm you or anyone dear to you. I'm not the Dark Lord, and I'm not Bellatrix Lestrange. As you probably suspect, though, I do have an agenda. To avoid unnecessary confrontation, I would advise you to resign and live the way a wealthy man like you should, instead of risking your life. After you and Cousin Ginny are married, I'm sure you plan to start a family. I know you wouldn't want to leave a widow and orphaned children behind.

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda

"Is this a joke," Dawlish asked angrily, after Harry finished reading. "The ponce who wrote this letter will be permanently removed from this office!"

Harry read the letter again. Friendly but threatening. Why would she write such a letter? "Malfoy," Harry said, grabbing a quill and memorandum form. He sent Draco an internal memo that he was coming to see him on the double. "I think he might know about that letter. In fact, I'll just about bet that he delivered it."

Harry hurried toward the Muggleworthy Excuse Office with Dawlish on his heels. "Harry, talk to me. I don't get it. It's insane."

Harry stopped and looked pointedly at his boss. "Yes, it might seem insane to you, but Mafalda seems to be the kind of person who has a reason for everything she does. She would have learned that from her mentor. There is a reason she wrote me this letter, how she wrote it, and how she had it delivered."

Harry and Dawlish continued to Malfoy's office. The staff were startled when the two leading Aurors stormed in at full tilt. One member's eyes bugged out of his head when Harry approached him. "I need to see Mr Malfoy," Harry demanded, although politely.

The frightened man swallowed hard and pointed toward a desk. "R-right over there, A-assistant Head, s-sir," the man stammered and backed away. If that's a kid, I'm a ruddy Grindylow.

"Thank you," Harry said with a polite nod and strode purposefully to the desk the bug-eyed man pointed toward, with the Head still behind him.

Harry approached Draco's desk and without a greeting, began to question him. "Malfoy, did you meet with Mafalda Prewett and drop a letter from her on my desk?"

"Yes, Potter, I did," Draco answered, sounding a bit annoyed.

"Tell me. What kind of person is she?"

"To tell you the truth Potter, there's only one person I would compare her with. No matter how much it pains me to admit it, I must confess that Mafalda reminds me of Granger. Brilliant, organized, powerful—but very evil. I wasn't exactly in a position to refuse that letter."

It took about half an hour, but Malfoy reported everything he knew about the meeting in the tent to Harry and Chief Dawlish.

"Hmm. The question is...is this Mafalda's plan? To have you tell us this," Harry pondered out loud.

"She's out of your league," Malfoy said with his characteristic sneer. "Your mum protected you against the Dar—Voldemort, otherwise you'd be dead already. This time you're on your own against someone much smarter than you, Potter."

So that's what she's after. She wants to make us think we can't get to her. "Well, she might have been tutored by Tom Riddle, Malfoy, but I was tutored by the only wizard he ever feared, Albus Dumbledore."

Tension hung in the air in the Muggleworthy Excuse Office, but at the mere mention of the former headmaster's name, relief flooded over the office and someone began to applaud Harry. Soon the entire staff joined in, except for Malfoy and Dawlish. Dawlish was affected by the moment too, although more awed by Harry's bold statement than Malfoy's dismay with it.

"Come on, Harry. Let's bring her down and then to justice," the Head Auror said, slapping Harry on the back.

Harry turned back to Malfoy. "I expect a report at my desk before you leave this building today." As an Assistant Head of the Auror Office, Harry held the authority to demand reports from any Ministry employee if said reports concerned a working case. Without another word, he and Dawlish strode out of the department, not acknowledging any accolades the staff still offered. He still didn't like Draco Malfoy, but he had no intention of humiliating him or undermining any authority he may have over that office.

Harry and Dawlish returned to the Auror Office, where they found Ron waiting for them. They wanted to meet with the Minister before they made their next move.

"You went to see Malfoy about a letter," Ron asked. "What did the letter say?"

"It was from Mafalda Prewett. It was friendly enough—congratulations on my engagement to Ginny, welcomes to the family, blah, blah, blah," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "Then she tried to tell me she isn't my enemy, but at the same time told me I should resign before I leave a widow and orphans behind." Harry shook his head at his partner and they both shared a snicker.

"Potter. Weasley. The Minister's waiting for us," Chief Dawlish said, urging them into the conference room. "Let's get going."

"Right, sir," Ron said, raising his tall frame off the chair he'd been lounging in. "After you, partner."

The Head Auror, the Assistant Head Auror, and their best tactician sat down at the conference table with the Minister, each shaking his hand in turn.

"So Harry, what did you find out from our friend, Mr Malfoy," Kingsley asked as he conjured a pitcher of cold water and four glasses. "Anything helpful?"

"Well, first of all, Malfoy compared Mafalda with Hermione. He does know that Hermione is by far the brightest witch of our age, and I must tell you he didn't like admitting that," Harry said, shooting a quick glance at Ron, who muttered something that sounded like slimy git under his breath. "Kingsley, I would like to get Hermione's perspective on that letter. If there are any clues to be found lurking between the lines, Hermione can find them."

Dawlish nodded in agreement. "I only wish that she was an Auror too," he sighed. "I heard she's going to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. A noble work, but a waste of talent, if you ask me." Dawlish looked at Ron as if he could change it.

"Hey, don't look at me. I'm not stupid enough to question her career choice," Ron said defensively with his hands up as though warding his boss off.

"Harry, go ahead and have Hermione take a look at the letter," Kingsley smiled, noting the fear and awe Hermione's brilliance caused even her fiancé. "Where do we stand otherwise?"

"We have people looking for anything they can find on Mafalda's father. It's a long shot, but if we do find him, we might learn something useful," Dawlish said with a modicum of doubt.

"I have this annoying thought I can't get out of my head," Harry interjected. "Why would Mafalda try to take over the Ministry? Surely she doesn't have the resources or manpower Riddle had, because so many of those who might support her are locked up or dead. She can't have rallied that many people to a lost cause."

Kingsley considered Harry's question. It seemed reasonable that the whole idea of taking over the Ministry might be a ruse after all. "Then what do you think her goal is?"

"We talked about it recently with Hermione. Her idea was that Mafalda would work to undermine us rather than attack us, using the our own system against us, by... let's say flooding the Muggles with cursed objects to keep us busy until we collapse. I know it sounds crazy but..."

Kingsley interrupted Harry. "The Muggles. They are surely much safer targets to hit. And she probably knows about every action the Ministry would take. I agree. With limited resources, she probably will use Muggles to destroy our infrastructure while we drown in our own excessive paperwork and strangle on the red tape."

"One little problem. Where will she strike, when, and to achieve exactly what? We're getting nowhere," Dawlish said.

"Tabloids," Harry said flatly. "Gossip magazines and newspapers."

"What," Kingsley asked, taken off-guard.

"Our weakness is Muggles, but it's hers is too. She doesn't give them any credit at all. My Aunt Petunia used to enjoy reading tabloids. They're full of celebrity gossip columns and outrageous articles about all kinds of weird things written by people like Rita Skeeter. Surely Mafalda must have sent people into the Muggle community to study it in order to formulate her plans. If there's one place we can find any loose ends, I'd bet Merlin's blaze-orange socks it's in the tabloids," Harry said animatedly.

"But we don't have the time..." Dawlish began.

"Just hear me out, Chief. We dig up as many of the past year's issues of the major Muggle tabloids as we can find and bring them in to the Auror Office. Since my aunt read just about every one of them, I know their titles and I can make a list. We can assign a team of those not looking for Mafalda's father to read them and glean as much information from them as they can—no matter how outrageous it appears."

"You know, Harry, that's crazy enough to be something a genius like Mafalda might not have thought of," Ron said snickering again. "Ratted out by the Muggle press!"

"Are you saying that I outsmarted her by being stupid," Harry asked mockingly with his Harry-grin.

"Well, let's not jump to conclusions, but sure," Ron replied in mock sarcasm with his own signature lopsided grin.

"I honestly don't know whether I should thank you for your support or curse you, Weasley," Harry laughed, flicking some water from his glass at his partner.

"Hey," Ron said, wiping his face. "That's just wrong, Potter."

Harry's plan seemed to be a good one. The tabloids from the end of the war were chock-full of unexplained mysteries. Comparing the Muggle tabloid reports with what they knew truly happened in the Wizarding world, the tabloids unwittingly had the goings-on in the Wizarding world well-covered. Of course, without a clue what they actually were writing about, it all appeared as qualified rubbish.

After classes, Hermione and Ginny arrived at the Ministry bearing food for their super-sleuths.

"You're a lifesaver, 'Mione," Ron said gratefully, giving her a sound kiss. He dug in, while he perused the Muggle tabloids.

Harry took Ginny in his arms and gave her a welcome kiss as soon as she unburdened herself. "Mm...you're beautiful today," he said. "And thanks. We haven't had much time to eat."

"Eat then," Ginny said, breaking his embrace. "Save the romance for later."

"Hmm...food, Ginny, food, Ginny," Harry teased.

"Food! Eat," she ordered him, shoving him into a chair.

"Okay, okay. I'm eating," Harry laughed as he took a bit of a sandwich. "See?"

"Harry..." Ginny said, pointing her finger. She looked a lot like her mother at that moment.

Harry handed the letter to Hermione. "If we ever needed your wits, it's now."

"Why, Harry? What's going on," Hermione asked, taking a sip of the pumpkin juice they'd brought along. She began to scan Mafalda's letter.

"Malfoy met Mafalda. He said she's an evil version of you—intelligent and organized."

"Draco said that," Hermione asked with raised eyebrows and a shocked expression.

Harry nodded. He returned to the tabloids.

"Harry, Love, why are you reading these piles of Muggle newspapers," Ginny asked, flipping through one of them. "They're mental!"

"They're mental on the surface, Gin, but read a little closer. You'll find that they're full of stuff about the war—disappearances, mysterious deaths, unexplained phenomena, odd sightings, that kind of stuff. The Muggles call it tabloid journalism because it's supposedly far-fetched nonsense, but the tabloid press don't realise they were covering a Wizarding war," Harry explained. "We're hoping to find out Mafalda's plans based on what we find here. So far, it's panned out a bit."

"Really," Ginny said, knitting her eyebrows. "It just looks like a load of rubbish to me." She continued to leaf through a few of them just to see what Muggles write about.

"For Muggles, it's entertainment," Harry said sarcastically.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny continued to read the tabloids while Hermione studied the letter. The only sounds were those of eating, drinking, flipping pages, and the occasional scratch of quill on parchment. The four of them were intent on the work when the door opened and a voice startled them all. "What is it, Smith," Harry asked as he re-swallowed his heart.

"Sorry to have startled you all, sir, but we have Mr Prewett."

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Draco Malfoy decided he couldn't go straight home. He needed to think. He had a lousy job that was far beneath him as a Malfoy and as a wizard. He found himself accountable to Harry Potter, for crying out loud. Is this the kind of life he wanted for himself? The only good thing that appeared to have come from all of this was Astoria Greengrass. His dinner date with her the night before was nothing short of amazing. She was the only good thing in his life now, since the war.

The alternative was mildly tempting, but he still knew nothing of Mafalda's plans or goals, or even if her world could be any better. She all but promised him a better job, but she was the apprentice to Voldemort and he promised a lot of things too. But what of those promises? Lies. All lies. His family had been essentially destroyed, their name rubbish. His father sat rotting in Azkaban, his mother was a broken woman, and he, Draco, found himself awash in mindless paperwork in a mindless dead-end job at the mindless freaking Ministry.

The upside, if there was one, was that he was free to make his own choices—his own decisions. Nobody thrusting their agenda at him. He had taken charge of his life for the first time and, dammit, he liked it that way. He knew what he wanted and he was going after it. Anyone who disagreed could go straight to hell, for all he cared. He knew he needed to see her. He walked on, beginning to feel a little better about himself. He found the house and approached the door. He picked up the heavy brass knocker and rapped it against the door. He could hear someone coming from the other side. Please let her be home.

"Draco?"

Thank Merlin! May I come in, please?"

"Of course." Astoria smiled as he entered her home. She closed the door behind him and invited him to the living room. "Please, sit down." She gestured to a loveseat in front of the fire, he on one end, she on the other.

"I have to sort my thoughts. Is that all right," he asked nervously.

"Of course it is. My parents aren't at home, and Daphne's out with friends, so we won't be disturbed." Astoria watched him as he tried to make himself comfortable. She knew Draco Malfoy had had a rough time. He wanted so hard to fit in, she could tell that. He needed peace—something she wondered if he'd ever really known before. He hurt so much and needed a friend so desperately. She wanted to be that friend and was willing to listen to anything he had to say and even comfort him if need be.

Draco leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and his chin resting on his clasped hands. "My parents, especially my father, raised me on the whole Pureblood supremacy thing. I guess I still believe in that, but I've learned that sometimes there are exceptions to every rule," he admitted. "With my father's blind devotion to Voldemort, there were no grey areas, no room for anything but absolutes. In the end..." Draco shook his head, at a loss for further thought and dropped him forehead onto his hands, as if praying for the strength to go on.

Astoria didn't offer any comment. He needed a sounding board right now, not a mentor, so she just listened. She knew enough about the Malfoys to know that humility wasn't their long suit. She watched him as he struggled with his thoughts. How could a man as gorgeous as Draco Malfoy be so sad?

Draco rested his chin once more on his hands and continued. "I always thought Professor Dumbledore was weak, constantly talking about love. But during and after the war, I learned a thing or two. When my mother lied to Voldemort about Potter being dead that night, she did that out of her love for me. Snape, the man I had admired for his strength, had done everything he did out of love for a woman he could never have," Draco said regretfully. "It took me a while to realise, but Potter placed a lily on Snape's coffin for a good reason. His mother's name was Lily—Potter's, I mean. I found out Snape had been in love with her since they were children."

Draco paused again and took a deep, if ragged, breath. He stared into the fireplace for a few moments, again to collect his thoughts. Astoria wasn't sure where he was going with all of this, but it tore at her heart. She had all she could do to keep from reaching out to touch him, to take his hands in hers. She blinked back tears that stung her eyes.

"Astoria, I was dragged into a horrible mess and I have tried for months to make the right choices. I'm trapped between Mafalda and Potter, but this afternoon, I realised I don't have to choose between those two. I... choose you." Draco looked over at her, his grey eyes bright and sincere.

Astoria was overwhelmed, but gave him a smile as a stray tear escaped down her cheek. "Draco, I..." she began. "I don't know what to say. I...I'd dreamed that...that we could be more than friends, but I didn't dare hope..."

Draco gently took her hand. "I've felt so empty, but now...since last night... You fill that emptiness, Astoria. I feel whole when I'm with you. I have no idea where my life is headed right now, but I know that I want to share that journey with you." Draco kissed the hand he held. "Do you know that I actually look forward to coming to work because I know you're going to be there?"

"You do? So do I," she said with a tearful little laugh. "Draco, I'll be at your side as long as you want me to be. I'll be your friend, your confidant, your..."

"Love," Draco finished, pulling her over next to him, gazing intently into her eyes. She's got to be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

"If you wish," she said, blushing, as tears began to flow. He loves me?

"I wish," he said softly. Slowly, ever so slowly, they leaned into another, each of them willing prisoners of the other's gaze. They paused, their lips barely an inch apart. "I wish." Draco took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers.

Astoria let out a quiet sob and melted into his embrace. She held him close, stroking his platinum blond hair, meeting his desperate kisses, as if to draw out all the pain and despair he'd been carrying for so long. She pulled back for a moment to gaze into his gray depths. "You'll never be alone again, Draco Abraxas Malfoy. Never." She captured his lips again.

Draco pulled away. "Hang on. How did you know my middle name?"

"How do I know your middle name? How do I know your first name is really Draconius," she giggled. "Draco, I'm your secretary. I know loads of things about you. You have a personnel file, you know."

He began to laugh and it felt so liberating. "Please don't ever call me Draconius. I hate it—almost as much as I hate Abraxas. My git of a paternal grandfather carried that name all his life."

"Your secret's safe with me. Besides, I think Draco is much sexier," she purred.

"Oh do you? What's your middle name then," he asked playfully. This is fun.

She demurred, her blue eyes falling into her lap. "Helene," she whispered.

He lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger. "Astoria Helene Greengrass. Lovely," he said almost dreamily. Astoria Helene Malfoy. Even lovelier. He leaned in once again for another kiss, but stopped. "So what else do you know about me?"

"Well, let's see...your birthday falls on the fifth of June and you're an only child. Your father's name is Lucius Malfoy and your mother's name is Narcissa Black Malfoy."

"Uh-huh. What else?"

"Oh the juicy stuff? You're tall, handsome, magnificently blond, talented...and hot."

"I'm hot," he asked, intrigued. "How hot?" He was teasing her now.

"This hot," she said with a snarl. She shoved him onto his back and covered him with her own body. Her eyes glowed with a fire like Draco had never seen—and he liked it. She tore open his shirt and slid her hands across his bare chest. He was so surprised by the boldness of her move that his mouth lay slack—just enough for her crush hers to it and slip her tongue in. If this man had any idea how much daydreaming I've done since last fall...

Draco Malfoy was stunned by a female for the first time in his life. It took a second or two for him to register what Astoria was doing to him, but when he finally did, his tongue joined hers in a slippery waltz. Slytherin's serpent uncoiled somewhere deep in his stomach and began to undulate slowly into his chest. He returned her kiss and squeezed her tight against his body, her warmth filling cold places and making him feel alive again. "If I'm hot, you're the flame." Draco Malfoy had fallen in love. Professor Dumbledore had been right all along. His choice was made.

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Prewett was terrified. He had been taken by surprise when a squad of Aurors had Apparated into his home. They declared that as a subject to Wizarding law, they were there to accompany him to the Ministry of Magic, but that he was in no way under arrest. It sure felt like an arrest. He wasn't asked to come—oh no! He was forced to come, and that meant arrest to him.

They brought him to a plain room and told him that the Assistant Head would be with him in a few moments. He wanted to ask him some questions. Had this something to do with Mafalda? Was she all right? By Merlin's crooked quarterstaff... The door opened and two young men entered, one black-haired and the other ginger.

Harry understood that having been dragged in here all of a sudden might have upset Mr Prewett, and the look on the man's face confirmed it. He was shaking and muttering to himself, his eyes darting and full of mistrust. He'd even jumped when he opened the door. He decided that the best approach was to set them man at ease. "Good evening, Mr Prewett. My name is Harry Potter. Please allow me to apologize for the abrupt way you were brought here, but we're having a bit of an emergency."

"I may be a Squib, but I've heard of Harry Potter," Prewett said abruptly and then turned to Ron. "And you must be a Weasley. One of my cousins married one of them. Would she be your mother?"

"Yes, sir," Ron said not unkindly. "I'm Ron Weasley. Your cousin, Molly, is my mother."

"Mr Prewett, I know you have every reason to mistrust the Wizarding community, and I know you did your best to stay away from us. But we really need to know about your daughter," Harry told him. "Why did you leave her three years ago?"

So this is about Mafalda. Damn. "It wasn't exactly voluntary," he spat out.

"Please. Tell us."

"I used to hate wizards," Mr Prewett said with a provocative tone.

"I can understand. My aunt does too, having grown up with her gifted witch sister," Harry said, nodding. Common ground. This is good. "We know Mafalda met Tom Riddle in Little Hangleton. What we don't know is how that happened."

Mr Prewett was fighting his disgust for wizards and his anger about being brought here against his will. "They...took her. He said she was talented and told me to leave."

"I know you must feel a lot of hate and anger," Harry said sympathetically. "But could you tell us anything that might help us find her?"

Mr Prewett's eyes narrowed and he fixed a piercing glare on Harry. "What do you want with her?"

"I want to stop her before she does something really stupid," Harry admitted.

"And kill her," Prewett asked sarcastically.

"No, we don't want her dead. We believe she's a danger to herself and other people. We want to help her," Harry told him with a fixed gaze.

Ron nodded in agreement. "We want to bring her in before she hurts herself...or someone else. We know she's had the influence of dark wizards and that she..."

They want to help her? For some reason, Prewett found himself trusting these two young men. They had honest faces and this Potter kid—there was just something about him he couldn't put his finger on. Perhaps it was the influence of all the stories he'd heard or that Harry Potter is a hero of some kind. He wanted his Mafalda back and if these two young Aurors could return her to him, then by all that's holy, he'd trust them. "Mafalda was eleven. I didn't want her anywhere near Hogwarts, and that's when he showed up. He seemed to have the right ideas. He..."

"... flattered you, made you feel good about your gifted daughter, and ended up deceiving you?" Ron assumed.

"Yes..." Mr Prewett admitted and started to cry. "He took her from me, and it's my own fault, because I raised her to believe that the disregard of blood purity had put us in our situation, and if our so called Pureblood family had really been pure, I wouldn't have been born a Squib." Mr Prewett sobbed piteously. "He had her marry a man she didn't know, and forced me to approve of it. Then he sent me away. He took her and told me never to come looking for her. What was I supposed to do? Me—a Squib."

"The marriage was designed to lift the Trace so Riddle could teach her magic...dark magic," Harry said.

"Riddle," Mr Prewett asked, blinking in confusion.

"His real name. Tom Riddle," Harry clarified. "Soon after the wedding ceremony, Mafalda's husband was murdered. We know almost nothing after that."

Mr Prewett appeared to be a broken man. He had raised his daughter with a belief that seemed to be fulfilled by meeting Voldemort. However Voldemort had done what he did with everyone else. He used them. "You may find it hard to believe, but I love my daughter. Can you save her, Mr Potter," Mr Prewett asked desperately.

Harry knew he couldn't answer truthfully. "We'll do what we can."

"May I have a quill and a parchment," Prewett asked, almost hopeful. He knew she had done some terrible things, but he was still Mafalda's father and she was all he had left in the world. "There are a few places Mafalda used to love as a child and she might use one or more of them as hiding-places. There's little more I can help you with."

Ron left the room to find writing materials for his mother's cousin. Harry conjured a tea service and poured the man a cuppa to steady his nerves. "Sugar?"

"No, just plain, thanks," Prewett shook his head sadly. "This is all my fault. I taught her to hate and now she's...she's not quite right, Mr Potter. She needs professional help. He..."

Harry didn't say anything because there was nothing to say. He had a hunch that Mafalda might be mentally unstable, and her own father just confirmed it. This could be bad. If she was unstable and full of Voldemort's violent tendencies, taking her alive presented a real challenge. On the other hand, unstable people made mistakes, didn't they?

Her first mistake already had been to align herself with leftover Death Eaters, none of which had been in Voldemort's inner circle, and for obvious reasons. That elite group were all either dead or rotting in Azkaban. Since Mafalda had been trained by Voldemort, her own fatal mistake might turn out to be the one Voldemort himself made—underestimating an opponent, namely Harry. Judging by her letter, she underestimated the Auror Office, half of which consisted of Harry and a few choice members of the DA. Fatal to her cause, yes, but if Harry could help it, not necessarily to her life.

A few minutes later, Ron reappeared with a quill, a bottle of ink, and a sheet of parchment. He set them down in front of Mafalda's shaken father. "Here you go, sir," Ron said respectfully. While he drank his tea, Prewett quickly scratched out a list of all of Mafalda's favourite places and handed it to Harry.

"Thank you, Mr Prewett," Harry said kindly. "We'll do all we can to bring her in safely. You're free to go, unless Head Auror Dawlish has any further questions."

Harry and Ron exited the room with the list. They walked along the corridor back to Harry's office, each of them turning over Prewett's verbal deposition in their minds. "Despite everything, I feel sorry for him," Ron admitted.

"Yeah, me too. All he wanted was the very best for his daughter in a world he didn't think welcomed him. The one part of our world he had hopes for, the supporters of blood purity, betrayed him. Like everyone else who had the misfortune of falling under Riddle's spell, he was used and discarded. He's lucky to be alive," Harry said in mild amusement. "As a result he's been subjected to interrogation by the Aurors because we hunt his daughter like an animal."

"Bloody Riddle took all Mr Prewett had in the world and warped her already unstable mind until she became the female embodiment of his own hate. A junior Bellatrix Lestrange." Ron shuddered at his own conclusion. The last thing their recovering community needed was another Bellatrix on the rampage. "Let's see what Hermione got from Mafalda's letter, mate. We can compare that and this list with whatever we got out of the tabloids."

"Great idea. If there are strange reports in the tabloids in or near one of these locations, it might indicate that Mafalda has at least been there." Harry opened the door to his office, where they found Hermione and Ginny waiting for them.

Ginny rose from behind Harry's desk and leapt into his arms, while Hermione stood and walked straight into Ron's.

"So how're the NEWT studies coming along," Harry asked, giving Ginny a fierce hug.

"Brutal," Ginny replied, laying her head on Harry's chest for a moment. "My head still hurts."

Harry kissed the top of her head. "Perhaps a kneading this night, Milady?"

"'Twould be most welcome, sire," Ginny replied in kind. "And your meeting?"

"Well...you know we spoke with Mr Prewett," Harry began. "He gave us a back story on Mafalda and how she ended up where she is now." Harry sighed heavily and rested his chin on her head.

"And...?"

"Let's sit down. As soon as Romeo and Juliet over there come down from their balcony, we'll fill you in."

"Hey, we heard that," Ron said, tearing his lips from Hermione's. "It's been a long day already, and this beautiful witch I have the pleasure of holding in my arms..."

"Yeah, whatever. You have a room back at Hogwarts. Take it up there," Ginny teased. "I want to know what you two found out from cousin Prewett. And besides, Hermione has something to tell you about Mafalda's letter."

"All right, all right," Ron said snarkily. He turned his attention back to Hermione. "Later, love. Business before pleasure." He pulled out a chair for Hermione and then sat down beside her, his arm across the back of her chair.

"So what do you reckon, Hermione," Harry asked.

Hermione put the letter on the desk and looked at them. "There are the obvious facts in the letter. Threats, however very politely presented. She points out her similarities with you, Harry, and your connection to Riddle. But the interesting thing is that she declares that she doesn't consider Harry her enemy," Hermione said pointedly.

Ron snorted with frustration. "Even I could get that from the letter."

"The question is why," Hermione continued as though she didn't hear Ron's remark "Did Harry ever tell her he considered her his enemy? No. She's jumping to conclusions. I think that's a mistake—a mark of immaturity. What would give her that idea in the first place?"

"Hang on," Ron said. "We used to jump to conclusions and we were usually right."

"Ronald," Hermione sighed. "Remember first year? We assumed Snape was after the stone, when it was really Quirrel. It even took us most of the year to realise that it was Voldemort who wanted it in the first place."

"Oh yeah. And second year, we thought Harry was some seriously evil wizard because he could talk to snakes," Ron continued as Ginny stiffened. "What?"

"Think about it, mate," Harry said softly. "Second year."

"Oh right. Sorry, Gin-Gin. I forgot," Ron said, reaching over to stroke his sister's hair. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm good, Ronnie. No harm done," she assured her older brother. She leaned onto Harry's shoulder and held fast to his arm. This man saved my life when we were just kids, and I'll love him forever.

"Anyway," Hermione interjected. "What would lead Mafalda to believe she's Harry's enemy without ever having met him?"

No one said anything for a few moments, then Ginny broke the silence. "She thinks Harry went after Voldemort to avenge his parents?"

"Most likely. That means she has no real clue about Harry's and Riddle's...er...relationship at all. And judging from what we know about him, he didn't tell her. We're probably the only ones who know much about Riddle's life."

There was a short space of silence until Hermione asked another question. "She also says she wants Harry to live. Why do you suppose that is?"

This time Harry answered. "To kill me herself?" It made sense to him. Somebody had been trying to kill him all his life, why should now be any different?

"I rather think she believes it would be worse for you to be alive than dead after her plan takes effect," Hermione said pointedly. "She wants you to suffer, Harry."

Harry's first thought was that Ginny was in danger. Without thinking, he pulled his arm out of her grasp and wrapped it protectively around her shoulders. His jaw clenched and his eyes went dark behind his round glasses.

"Harry? Harry," Ginny said. Damn. Brood coming on.

"What's with him," Ron asked, looking at Harry.

"I don't know, Ron," Ginny replied, "but he's got that I've-got-to-protect-Ginny look about him again."

"Bloody hell. He's brooding, isn't he? He used to do that when we..." Ron shook his head.

"While we were on the run," Hermione finished. "He'd go quiet and stare into space. It was pretty frightening. There were times..."

"I'm still here, you know," Harry grumbled. "And yes, I do need to protect you, Gin. Mafalda may be immature, but she's almost as crazy as Bellatrix Lestrange and just as evil," Harry explained, his tone less peevish, but his eyes still dark.

Ginny sighed. Tell me we're not doing this again. "Harry, I know you love me and want me to keep me safe. I get that—I have always gotten that. But I know how to defend myself. I learned from the best," she cooed, stroking his face.

"Besides, Harry, it's not any of us she's after," Ron reminded him. "Remember our brainstorming meeting back at Hogwarts?"

"What are you talking about," Harry growled.

How soon they forget. "You asked me what I might do if I had wanted to bring down the Ministry, remember? What did I say?"

Harry had to think a moment, and as he did, his eyes began to brighten again. "Oh yeah. Cursed objects for Muggles to find, bury the Ministry in its own paperwork..."

"Precisely, mate. Ginny's a witch, so she doesn't qualify as a target," Ron said in hopes of setting his partner's mind at ease. "If what Hermione says is true, and you know it probably is, the way she wants to make you suffer is to create havoc by killing and maiming Muggles."

"That's right, Harry. Mafalda believes, and she's right in this, that the best way to get to you—to destroy you—is to put you in a position to have to watch, presumably helpless. That's a pearl of wisdom she very likely learned from Riddle," Hermione hypothesised. "The trouble with her plot as I see it, Harry, is that she underestimates you and your team's ability to stop her before she can make her plans reality."

How does she do that? "Are you are sure you read the same letter as we did," Ron asked with a snicker. "Honestly, 'Mione. Your powers of deduction are...bloody uncanny!"

Hermione gave Ron her best matter-of-fact look and waved the letter. "The same."

"Blimey. With your powers of deduction, my tactical skill, Harry's leadership, Ginny's level head, and the DA's drive, we'll bring her down in very short order," Ron said with an air of rapture.

Harry began to laugh. "Ron, you have an active imagination! But perhaps you've got something there. These Q&A-slash-brainstorming sessions have produced some plausible, if not spot-on, theories. Let's put those level-headed tactical powers of deduction to work and see if we can make something of the tabloids."

"And then you can lead the hell out of the driven DA and fulfil the fantasies in Ron's active imagination," Ginny said with a grin.

The four of them sat in Harry's office exchanging puns and laughing uproariously as the jokes became lamer by the moment. It felt like old times in the Gryffindor common room, puzzling out mysteries and laughing at one another's theories. Only this time, there were four in the mix and they not only loved one another, but they had become two couples very deeply in love, each with his and her own. Their love bound them now as never before and that made their laughter all the more purgatory—all the more precious.

"Feeling better now, Harry," Ginny asked softly into his ear.

"Mmm...much," he replied intimately. "I don't know what I'd do without any of you—especially you, Love." Harry leaned in to claim Ginny's lips with his own, giving her a kiss full of longing and promise. The unspoken thing passed through their bond in a gentle wave.

"Oi! A little dignity," Ron called as Hermione giggled.

"Yeah, Hamlet and Ophelia. You have a room back at Hogwarts. Take it up there," Hermione mocked them. They laughed at her joke, but then she went quiet. Neither couple initially paid much attention as they teased one another, but both of those Shakespearean love stories ended in tragedy and death.

"'Mione, what's wrong?" Ron noticed she had stopped laughing and took on a far-away look. "Hermione?"

"What? Oh nothing. I was just thinking," she said quickly.

"Newsflash! Hermione Granger thinks," Ron said with a snicker. "We'll alert the media."

"Oh touché," Hermione said, slapping his arm. "Let's get to work with those tabloids."

Mr Prewett's list turned out to be the puzzle piece they needed to make heads and tails of the tabloids. It had been fairly simple to sort out the articles most likely dealing with magic, but that was only half the battle. They would have to investigate hundreds of cases all over the country. With Mr Prewett's list, they could narrow their search.

Hermione's and Ginny's organisational skills proved invaluable in their endeavour. They sorted the articles into several categories according to headlines, including the actual places on Mr Prewett's list, places near the actual places on Mr Prewett's list, unexplained natural phenomena, strange sightings, and mysterious deaths or disappearances. They chucked everything else. There were still many issues to peruse, but less than half of the lot they started with.

The Mysterious Blackout Night was an article claiming an entire community lost its collective memory in Mafalda's pre-Little Hangleton home town. Hermione determined a super-strong memory charm.

Drop Dead was an article about a young Muggle couple found dead of unknown causes outside another of the places on Mr Prewett's list. Harry immediately suspected the killing curse—no marks on the bodies, no signs of disease, and most chilling—no motive.

Anglo-Saxon god, Tiw, Spotted was perhaps the most striking of all the headlines. A man claimed he had seen Tiw, the mythological god of warfare. The proof was a vivid tale of red bolts of lightning shooting from the arms and the fact that it happened on a Tuesday, the very day named for that deity. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny instantly recognised that a wizard fired a stunner despite the colourful Muggle tale.

"We need to report to the Chief right away, Ron. You two," Harry said pointing between Hermione and Ginny, "go on back to Hogwarts. I don't know how long this is going to take and we all know you have studying to do."

"But..." Ginny began.

"Gin-Gin, you can't come to this briefing meeting. Strict Auror business," Ron said forcefully.

"Come on, Ginny. It'd be boring anyway. They're just going to tell the rest of the team what we already know, since we helped ferret it out," Hermione said. "We'll see you two at supper." Hermione and Ginny kissed their men and left the office.

"Hermione, I'm worried," Ginny said as they waiting for the lift. "I mean, this is bigger than I imagined. All that stuff in the tabloids and then the whole Shakespeare thing..."

"What Shakespeare thing," Hermione asked as their lift opened. They stepped inside and Ginny pressed the button marked Atrium.

"Hermione, I may have grown up in a Wizarding home, but I've read a bit of Shakespeare. I even like Muggle classical music," Ginny confessed. "I've read Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet."

"Atrium," a sickeningly-sweet female lift voice announced.

Hermione and Ginny stepped off the lift and walked over to a vacant fireplace to Floo back to Hogwarts. "Ginny, what does Shakespeare have to do with the tabloids? Why...oh." Dawn broke over Hermione's horizon. "The jokes, right?"

"Yes. Hermione, have you read Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet?" Ginny already knew the answer.

"Of course I have. They're love stories," Hermione replied.

"Hermione, they're tragedies! They end in madness and death! Romeo and Juliet commit suicide for love of one another, and Hamlet and Ophelia lose their minds and are either killed or commit suicide," Ginny cried. "We can't joke about them anymore. We..."

Hermione didn't want to admit that she had had the same disturbing epiphany back in Harry's office after her own joke about Hamlet. "Ginny, that's not going to happen to us. They're fictional characters in four-hundred-fifty-plus-year-old plays characteristic of their time," Hermione said. "Listen, let's get back to Hogwarts and we'll talk about it some more, okay?"

"Right. Okay," Ginny sniffed and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. She stepped into the grate and called, "Headmistress' Office! She tossed the powder and in a whoosh of green flames, she spun out of sight. Hermione immediately followed.

"Miss Weasley. Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said over her square spectacles. "How are our two Aurors coming along in their investigation?"

"Quite well, actually," Hermione answered."A team of Aurors located Mr Prewett and Harry and Ron interviewed him. Harry said he gave them a little back story on Mafalda and then he jotted down a list of some of her favourite places."

"And to what purpose," the headmistress asked, removing her spectacles. "Do they plan to search these places?"

"Yes, but not right away," Ginny told her. "Harry thinks that Muggle tabloids might hold the key to her plan. We compared Mr Prewett's list to the relevant tabloid articles we gleaned from a pile of them from all last year and sussed out some possibilities."

"Tabloids. You mean those Muggle gossip papers and magazines," McGonagall asked in surprise. "They're utter nonsense. I've read a few of them."

"At first glance, they're certainly rubbish, but to a Muggle, they're entertainment. To an Auror, they're clues," Hermione said. "If you read them closely, you'll find that the tabloids did a marvellous job of reporting the war, Professor."

"So they have a plan then," Professor McGonagall asked.

"They're having a briefing meeting right now," Ginny replied. "I guess they'll have one hammered out by suppertime, at least Harry and Ron hope so."

"Growing boys, yes?" Minerva McGonagall made it a point to know her Gryffindors and she knew Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley well. Those two could both tuck in a big way when they were peckish, especially Ron.

"Exactly," Hermione laughed. "See you at supper, Professor."

"Right. Good afternoon," Ginny said.

"Good afternoon."

Hermione and Ginny left the office and made their way to Harry's and Ginny's room. Ginny shrunk back into her Shakespearean stupor while Hermione tried to concoct arguments to bring her out of it. They arrived in the Defence Against the Dark Arts office and approached the appropriate cabinet. "Lawnmower," Ginny said and tapped it. The door appeared and clicked open.

"Incendio," Hermione said, flicking her wand at the cold grate. A warm fire erupted from the empty grate and began to warm the immediate space in front of it. "Ginny, about Shakespeare..."

"Hermione, we cannot joke about that anymore. It hits too close to home. Harry's life has been madness and this war made life madness for all of us. You were nearly killed at Malfoy Manor, Ron was nearly killed by poisoned mead, Harry's been nearly killed more times than I care to count—in fact, he actually died once—and I was nearly killed in the Chamber of Secrets and then again last year," Ginny gushed. "We can never joke about Romeo and Juliet or Hamlet and Ophelia ever, ever again!" Ginny began to cry in earnest.

Hermione couldn't deny Ginny was upset, nor could she deny the terror Ginny's reasons resurrected in herself. She closed her eyes to blink back hot tears stinging her own eyes as her mind took her back in time, back to almost exactly a year ago. That horrible night that they and Dean Thomas had been taken by Snatchers and delivered to Malfoy Manor, Hermione had been tortured mercilessly by Bellatrix Lestrange while Harry, Ron, Dean, Luna, and Mr Ollivander lay in a cell in the manse's dungeons.

The pain had been excruciating—like none she'd ever experienced in her young life, and like she hoped she never would again. She had wanted it to end, she wanted Bellatrix to just kill her and get it over with, but no. When her time came, it would have been at the hands...or paws...of Fenrir Greyback. But somehow, Ron and Harry managed to get everyone to safety with the help of Dobby the House-elf, who lost his life saving hers.

And what of those who had been lost...or nearly lost? What of all the Capulets and Montagues lost in the war and their devastated families? The Rosencrantzes and Guildensterns? Just how closely did Harry's state of mind on the run parallel that of the tormented Danish prince, with Ron as his Yorik? Hermione had come up with a dozen arguments against Ginny's fears, but none of them seemed remotely valid anymore.

Hermione drew Ginny into a sisterly hug. "None of us are Romeos and Juliets nor Hamlets and Ophelias. We're still here, and whole, and none of us are going anywhere. But Ginny," she paused to conjure handkerchiefs for both of them to wipe streaming tears from their eyes.

"Yes, Hermione," Ginny said, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.

"We have to be strong for Harry and Ron. They have a very dangerous job and right now, they're planning a very dangerous mission," she explained. "They're going to need us when it's over. We need to be there with our arms open to receive them when they return to us. And they will."

Hermione wasn't sure who she was trying to convince at this point—herself or her future sister-in-law. She was terrified for Ron and for Harry. She knew as well as Ginny that they could be killed at any moment chasing Mafalda and her rag-tag band of Death Eaters.

"Not a word of this to either of them, deal," Ginny asked, offering Hermione her hand. "Strong, supportive, yeah?"

"Yeah. Deal," Hermione agreed and shook her hand.

The two girls waited by the fire and cried out their fears, comforting each other as they wept. They both realised that there would be many a lonely moment just like this one as their men patrolled the night, protecting them and their world from darkness.

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Harry knocked on the Head Auror's door, marked J DAWLISH, HEAD AUROR.

"Enter," Dawlish called from the other side. Harry and Ron entered. "Potter. Weasley. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Chief, we have some leads," Harry said, handing the list to his boss.

"From Prewett?"

"Yes sir," Ron replied.

"And what's this list all about," Dawlish asked, tapping it with his wand. "Geminio." He returned Harry's original copy.

"Mr Prewett said this is a list of all of Mafalda's favourite places. He thought perhaps we might find her lurking about in any one of them," Harry told him.

"Anything else?"

"He gave us a little background on Mafalda's descent into Voldemort's...er...madness," Ron replied.

"He mostly blames himself for instilling some pretty unhealthy philosophies in her, but he insists Voldemort turned her into the twisted wretch she is today," Harry said.

"Anything on the husband?"

"Only that she was just eleven when Riddle took her away and orchestrated that mockery of a marriage in order to remove the Trace. That jives with her underage magic report. Prewett says he never saw her again after that. Riddle had sent him away," Harry said, summarising the finer points of the interview. "He's lucky to be alive, really."

"What about the Muggle tabloids?"

Ron handed Dawlish another stack of parchments containing the notes they had taken comparing Prewett's list with the articles in the tabloids. "You'll find that quite interesting, sir," Ron said. "Harry was right about the tabloids. They're loaded with clues and that list confirms many of them. The rest of the articles reveal obvious stunning spells and killing curses being thrown all over Britain, with Muggles making the reports...and dying mysterious deaths."

"Does Hermione have any opinions about that letter?"

"She does. Several actually," Harry replied. "Mafalda believes that I killed Voldemort out of revenge. She assumes I considered her an enemy and she thinks I'm an idiot. Essentially, she's an immature little brat—an evil one—who has underestimated the Auror Office, namely me."

"And she wants Harry to suffer," Ron cut in. "Hermione says Mafalda clearly believes that if she can create enough havoc to bury us in our own paperwork, the Ministry will fall, the Wizarding community will be thrown into utter chaos, and Harry will somehow be blamed for it. What was it she said about getting to you, Harry?"

"Getting to me...oh yeah. Hermione says that Mafalda probably learned about my noble nature from Voldemort and that the easiest way to torture me is to hurt innocent people while I'm in no position to stop it. Chief, she doesn't want to take over the Ministry—she wants to destroy it."

"It all makes sense," Dawlish said thoughtfully, "in a twisted sort of way. Do you have a plan, Weasley?"

"Uh...yeah, we do," Ron replied.

"Then let's call everyone in and put it into action," Dawlish said

The call went out for the meeting. Within the hour, every Auror in the field and off-duty arrived, including Harry's DA elite. Dawlish called the meeting to order and surrendered the floor to his Assistant Head and chief tactician.

Harry and Ron moved to the front of the room and sat on a table facing their fellow Aurors. "All right, people. This is phase one. Our interview with Mr Prewett and all the work we've done with the Muggle tabloids has given us some leads. The purpose of this mission is to locate Miss Prewett and her DEs, if we can, and report back. You will be divided up into teams and given a short list of places to investigate. The first name on each team is your leader.

Team A: Chang, Boot, Goldstein." Cho nodded and gestured for Terry and Tony to join her.

"Team B: Finnegan, Brown, Bones." Seamus nodded and gestured for Lavender and Susan to join him.

"All right, Love," Seamus asked Lavender under his breath.

"All right," she whispered with a sly grin. "Good as new."

"Team C: Potter, Weasley, Williamson." Williamson joined Harry and Ron at the front of the room.

"Team D: Dawlish, Smith, Richards." Dawlish gestured for his team to join him.

Harry handed Ron the lists to distribute to the team leaders. "Again, the purpose of this mission is to locate, not engage. Use caution. These locations may be loaded with curses and covered by strong protective wards. Any of these may be hideouts—perhaps several, if not all of them. Keep an eye out for sentries. I must stress that you are not to go in or engage unless you're attacked. Any questions?"

"Wha' aboot the rrest of us, sirr," an unassigned Auror asked with a heavy brogue, gesturing to his colleagues. "Any orrders for oss?"

"Oh yes. Sorry," Harry apologised. "Your job is administrative. You will co-ordinate the incoming reports and create a document for the debriefing meeting to follow. Please be accurate. In fact, since you seem so keen, you're in charge...er..."

"Thompson, sirr. Andrroo Thompson," the Auror replied, offering his hand. "Jus' call me Jock, sirr. Everryone else does."

A Scotsman. They're tough buggers. "Right. Thompson-Jock. You're in charge then," Harry said, shaking it. "And please, call me Harry."

"Aye, sirr. Thank ye, sirr...er...Harry," Thompson replied. He sat down with a satisfied grin on his face.

"Anything you'd like to add, Chief?" Harry relinquished the floor to his boss. I've got a scrappy Irishman leading a team in the field, and a hardscrabble Scot running the operation here. This ought to be fun.

Dawlish rose from his chair. "Go home. Get some rest. Good hunting tomorrow. Dismissed."

"What do you reckon, mate," Harry asked Ron as they made their way to the lifts. "I'm sure those lovely ladies of ours are wondering what's become of us."

Ron looked at his watch. "I reckon they are because it's almost supper time and I reckon I'm starved." For food and Hermione. Ron grinned wickedly to himself.

"If it's that late," Harry said, "we should probably not try to Floo back. Professor McGonagall's probably already headed down to the Great Hall and I wouldn't feel right barging into her office when she's out."

"Then we Apparate, yeah?"

Harry and Ron boarded the lift and pressed the button that would direct their car to the atrium. "Atrium," the female voice said softly. They stepped out and made their way past the new memorial to those who died to make the Wizarding world a better place. Sirius Black, Colin Creevey, Cedric Diggory, Albus Dumbledore, Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, Alastor Moody, James and Lily Potter, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Severus Snape, Fred Weasley, the list went on. Would they add Gawain Robards to that monument? Probably not.

Harry contemplated the centaurs, who usually stayed out of Wizarding business, suddenly—almost miraculously—appearing in organised ranks at the edge the Forbidden Forest, sending volley after volley of arrows into the mass of advancing Death Eaters, and how they took curse after curse as they charged and joined the fight hand-to-hand.

He thought of Kreacher, who valiantly led the Hogwarts house-elves, kitchen knives and cleavers in hand, in an all-out assault against the legs of the Death Eaters who managed to curse their way into the castle. Kreacher had survived, but Dobby didn't. If Dobby hadn't rescued him and the others from Malfoy Manor, they couldn't have completed their mission and Voldemort would still have a stranglehold on the Wizarding world.

Harry ran his fingers across the names of his parents, Sirius, the Lupins, Dumbledore, and Snape, as Ron ran his own fingers across those of his brother and their uncles, twins themselves. "I notice that there's no mention of the centaurs or house-elves that joined the fight, not to mention the Thestrals," Harry said dejectedly. "They still don't get it, do they?"

"Harry, it's going to take time if it happens at all," Ron said, placing a large hand on his friend's shoulder. "But if and when it does happen, you'll know Hermione will have had something to do with it." Ron guided Harry away from the monument and pushed him toward the Apparition point. "Now how about those lovely ladies and a hot supper?"

"Sounds good to me," Harry replied. They turned, spun downward and were gone with a pop!

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Hermione and Ginny had finished their cry. They still sat on the rug in front of the fire, just talking, when they heard a noise outside. The door opened and Harry and Ron stepped through. "Where have you been," Hermione cried, leaping into Ron's strong arms. "We were getting worried!"

"Tactical meeting...Love. We're...moving out...tomorrow," Ron replied between kisses.

"Tomorrow," Ginny cried, now clinging desperately to Harry. "S-so soon?" Tears began to well up in her chocolate eyes. "H-harry?"

"It's just a fact-finding mission, Gin. We don't plan to engage the DEs or anything. We just want to pinpoint their hideouts, that's all," Harry explained as Ginny sobbed into his chest.

"That's right. We have four teams of the best of our lot checking out the locations we sussed out this afternoon," Ron added, stroking a now-sobbing Hermione's hair. "What's with all the waterworks anyway?"

"It...it's nothing. We're just a little knackered and a lot hungry," Hermione lied as Ron wiped her eyes for her. She stole a sidelong glance at Ginny, who had just received a wave of the unspoken thing from Harry. She was already smiling a little while Harry brushed her tears away with his thumbs.

"Well we're a lot knackered and a lot hungry, so what say you," Harry smiled and drew himself up with all of Percy's pomposity. "Shall we dine?" He offered Ginny his arm and she took it.

"Good show," Ron said in his worst upper-crust accent. "I say, Hermione. Spiffing, wot?"

Hermione took his arm and raised her nose to the air. "Indubitably, Ronald," she replied in a hideous high-pitched clip. "Harry, Ginevra. Come along."

Ginny would have none of it. She decided to drag them all back down into the gutter with her. "Less go, then, mytes. Toim's a-wystin', toim's a-wystin'." The others joined her in a round of laughter for her horrid Cockney. Harry extinguished the fire in the grate and they trooped out, still laughing at one another's bad impressions, and headed to the Great Hall to indulge in another of Hogwarts' wonderful feasts. For a few hours, their apprehension about tomorrow's mission was temporarily forgotten.

After a very satisfying meal, the four friends bade one another "Goodnight," and made for their rooms. Ron and Hermione couldn't get out of the Great Hall fast enough, but Harry and Ginny took a leisurely stroll hand-in-hand.

"You're awfully quiet," Ginny said, nudging him as they walked. "Sickle for your thoughts."

"I'm just thinking about tomorrow," Harry said. "Running it over in my mind. No worries."

"Are you sure you're not going to be in...danger," Ginny asked with a gulp.

"Gin, in my line of work, there's always some degree of danger. You know that," Harry said, squeezing her hand. "But I promise you: there will be no fight tomorrow if we can help it. It's just a little snooping about, that's all."

"If you can help it," Ginny repeated warily. "What if..."

"We'll have to cross that bridge if we come to it, Gin. There are no guarantees that this will come off without a hitch," Harry said, letting go of her hand and wrapping his arm around her waist. "But if everyone does their job as he or she should, we should all be fine. Don't worry, okay?"

As they walked on, Ginny thought about what Hermione had said to her about being strong for Harry. We need to be there with our arms open to receive them when they return to us. And they will.

"Now, Milady," Harry said, tapping on the appropriate cupboard door. "I believe I promised thee a kneading. Dost thou still desire it?"

"Aye, my brave and handsome knight. I do so desire," she replied with a giggle. "I glory in thy ministrations."

"Come then, dear lady," Harry laughed as he swept her off her feet and carried her into the room. "I shall see thee safely to thy glory." He kicked the door closed. It latched behind them as Harry waved his hand at the fireplace, bringing it back to life. He carried her to the bed and laid her on it. "Allow me, fair Ginevra," Harry said, undressing her.

"Thou art most kind," she replied.

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The next morning, Harry rose early. He kissed his sleepy fiancée and left their room to report to the Auror Office at the Ministry. He wanted to make sure he was prepared for this mission. The operation at King's Cross had been a major task to plan, mostly because of the paperwork. Slipping into the police station had been child's play, but this operation might result in the people he commanded ending up in St Mungo's or—Merlin forbid—the morgue. He wanted to look over the plan again to make sure he hadn't missed anything. He hadn't.

An hour later, Ron had finished his breakfast and joined him. "Morning, mate. No breakfast this morning?"

"Nah. Too wound up, I guess. I expect you've had a hearty one, though. You've got egg or something on your nose," Harry laughed, pointing at his friend's face.

You've got dirt on your nose, did you know? Just there. "Bloody hell," Ron grumbled. That was one of the first things Hermione had ever said to him...back on that first day on the Hogwarts Express, when he considered her a nightmare. She was a dream come true last night.

Within a few minutes, Williamson showed up. "Morning, gents."

"Morning, Will," Harry and Ron replied together. The three looked at each other as if waiting for one or another to speak. "Ready to check our first location then, mates," Harry asked.

"I had the Portkey Office equip us with Portkeys that will transport us to a safe distance from our individual target locations in a specific order," Harry said, holding out the hubcap from an old Ford Anglia. He smirked at Ron, who began to chuckle.

"What's so funny," Williamson asked. "It's just an old hubcap off a...oh! You two did the thing with the flying car several years ago! The Prophet had a field day with that, and we thought Fudge was going to drop one right in his office!"

"Right in one," Ron laughed. "That was us! We were in so much trouble! Snape was in a right snit, threatening us with expulsion! For detention, I had to polish trophies, but Harry had to help Professor Lockhart with his ruddy fan mail."

"Gilderoy Lockhart? That fraud," Williamson laughed. "You got stuck with him?"

"Yeah, but Ron had to polish trophies, but under the watchful eyes of Filch and his demonic cat," Harry laughed. "And all the time, Ron was coughing up slugs and getting the trophies all slimy!"

Williamson was in stitches. "Coughing up... Why the hell were you coughing up slugs, Weasley?"

"Broken wand. We crashed the car into the Whomping Willow. We're lucky to be alive," Harry said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

"It wasn't funny then, Harry," Ron said, elbowing his partner. "I tried to repair my old wand with Spellotape, but it didn't work. I cast a spell and it backfired. Slugs. It took ages to bring them all up."

Williamson had to excuse himself to go to the loo before they Portkeyed to their first location. He was still howling as he disappeared into the men's. When he returned, Harry held the hubcap out and activated it. "Portus," he murmured, tapping it with his wand.

"Let's go," Ron said, as he and Williamson took hold of the hubcap. Moments later, they felt the familiar tug behind their navels as Team C were transported out of the Auror Office to their first location.

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"My Lady," the servant called, breathlessly stumbling into the room.

"What is it," Mafalda asked, annoyed.

"One of our teams was forced to act," the man said.

"What do you mean? Explain," Mafalda demanded.

"The Muggle you were planning to snatch was leaving England, or so a rumour said... a Muggle rumour." He clutched a stitch in his side as he gave her his report.

Mafalda shrieked. Someone had acted without her order. "Who is it they snatched?"

"It's a Muggle sportsman, a David Heckbam...or something like that. He's like one of our Quidditch stars. Our team learned that he and his club weren't on the best of terms, despite winning some major Muggle titles. So they heard he was leaving for Spain."

"And on that basis, without orders, they moved in," she asked calmly. "Where is he now," she demanded.

"In one of our safe houses," the servant declared proudly.

"Fools!" Mafalda raged as the servant cowered under his mistress' wrath. "Those bloody idiots need to be taught what pain is really about. And that Muggle, David Heck... whatever the hell his name is... We'll have to alter his memory and return him to his home. Hopefully we can do some damage control and salvage our plan!" The servant cowered under his mistress' wrath. In a trice, she had donned her cloak and Disapparated to the safe house.