DISCLAIMER: That part of this world and those characters you've seen before belong to their Creator: JKR. The rest is mine - although I cannot quit my day job as I make no $$$

A/N: After this, three chapters or less to go, then the fun really begins…

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: CHAOS FACT

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 2nd, 1990 - POTTER HOUSE, LONDON, U.K.

Neville Longbottom looked at himself in the mirror in his new room. He was dressed all in black. Over his black, long sleeved shirt and trousers was a black belt with a black harness of sorts covered, it seemed with black pouches. In the pouches were all kinds of useful tools. He had potions and medical supplies, vials that could be used for distraction as they made smoke or bright flashes, throwing knives and other useful weapons. On his left arm was a black holster for his wand and another holster held his magically shrunken stave. The only color he saw was his face, hair and hands and the sharkskin handle of his sword which he had received upon completion of his Defense Mastery.

He and his Gran had moved to Potter House a few days before and were now living on the third floor. They had brought little with them from Longbottom Manor. They had their full wardrobes, some books and many priceless heirlooms, but that was it. The furnishings were all Potter House furnishings. Although Longbottom Manor was in lock down and a team of Ward Breakers might need weeks to get in, they had decided to make it look as if they were on holiday, even though they knew they would be here in London for a while.

Neville was nervous. He had not been this nervous in the burning lab when he and his friends had helped save Luna's Mum. Tonight was different. He was to rescue his own parents and it was his plan this time. He really did not want to mess it up. He reached back and removed his sword and scabbard laying it on the dresser before him. He was fairly certain he would not need it. In fact, if his plan worked, all he would need was the golden bracelet that was also lying upon the dresser. His last task before leaving for St. Mungo's would be to turn the bracelet into a timed portkey.

A knock at the door broke his chain of thought.

"Come in," he said. He could hear the door open but chose not to turn around, focusing on clearing his mind in preparation. Neville soon saw the reflection of his visitor in the Mirror. Long, black hair, piercing green eyes, it was his friend Clarice.

"You look dashing," she said with a smile.

Neville frowned.

"What's the matter, Neville?" she asked.

"I'm … I'm worried," Neville confessed. "I'm afraid I'll mess this up and …" He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Neville," Clarice said with as much conviction as she could muster, "it's a brilliant plan. It's so simple. It cannot help but succeed! You'll be there and back in less than a minute and then we can work on curing them."

"What if I freeze up or something?"

"Neville, you didn't freeze up in the fire. This is far less dangerous. You'll do fine."

"You think so?"

Clarice nodded. "You're Neville Longbottom, you can't help but succeed."

"I hope you're right, Clarice," he said turning around. "I really do."

"And when have I been wrong?" she teased.

Neville could not help but smile.

"Come Neville. It's time."

Neville followed Clarice from the room and down the hall a few doors to another large bedroom. They entered and saw that the others were waiting for them, or rather for Neville. Harry and Hermione were there dressed in regular clothes as was Augusta Longbottom. Luna Lovegood was also there, dressed in black just like Neville. She had volunteered to be part of the extraction team in part to say thanks and pay back her friends for saving her mother's life almost a year earlier.

Neville's plan was adopted because it was, without any doubt, the simplest and the one with the least chance for either failure or detection. Hermione had suggested that they cure the Longbottoms and then get them out of the Hospital somehow. The problem was that the cure was not exactly something that one could do in secret in the middle of a huge, open ward. The only way to pull that off would be to stun the Healers on the ward and seal the doors for up to a half an hour at the least. That would be noticed.

It was Neville who asked the "dumb" question. Did his parents need to be cured before they were taken from the hospital or could they be cured later in a sage and secure location? It turned out that there was no reason to cure them first. So Neville came up with his plan. The extraction team would have only two members, Neville and someone else – who would become Luna when it was finalized. They would wear black Defense Master's kit from head to toe, but that was only a back up precaution as they would disillusion themselves before shifting into the Ward. They would go late at night when the Ward was at minimal staff and, nearly invisible under the charm, they would shift right to Neville's parents' bedsides. Each would have a portkey that would transport the Longbottoms from their beds in St. Mungo's to the beds at Potter House. Neville chose two gold bracelets. Once it was on the wrist of the person, it would automatically activate within five seconds. Neville and Luna would shift back once it was certain that his parents were safely away.

"Hey Neville," Harry said. "ready?"

Neville nodded then he looked at his partner. "Luna?"

"Let's do this," she replied.

"Final kit," Neville said. Both he and Luna put on a pair of black gloves and then a black woolen ski mask.

"You two look scary," Clarice said with a smirk.

"Hopefully, we won't look like anything at all," Neville replied. "Disillusion," he said. As he did, we waived his hand over his head and felt the effect like cold water spreading from the top of his head down his body. He looked over to where Luna was and saw just a brief shimmer of light not unlike the effect of heat rising and causing the air to distort slightly.

"Excellent," Harry said. "Shift on my mark in five, four, three, two…"

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 2nd, 1990 - ST. MUNGO'S, LONDON, U.K.

Healer Trainee Alice Patterson looked at her watch and sighed. It was not even midnight yet, meaning she had over six hours to go on this boring shift. She was beginning to regret telling the old goat to go stuff himself. True, what he said was both unprofessional and personally insulting, but he was in charge of the Trainee rotation and the result of her response was this shift. The night shift in the long term care ward was arguably the worst. Even though there were more than fifty patients, they were all in little or no condition to be a problem. The most exciting thing she could expect was to change an occasional bed pan.

Still, she tried to be conscientious in her boring job and made a round through the ward every hour. It also kept her from falling asleep, which was what she knew most people used this shift for. She did not want to be one of the Healers permanently assigned to this ward as it was usually the dumping ground for those who could not fit in anywhere else in the hospital either due to inability or personality issues. Well, she thought, in a way that's why she was now on this shift. She had issues with her superior. Nothing ever happened on this ward, she though as she picked up her book.

A flash of blue light from somewhere out on the Ward caught her attention. She looked up from her book in time to see another clear flash of blue. She knew what it could be, but could not understand how or why a portkey would have been activated. She noticed a shimmer in the vicinity of where the flashes of light had been, but she blinked and when she focused again, the shimmer was gone.

Alice had been eleven years old and in her first year at Preston Academy when the last magical War had ended. As a Muggle Born, she had not even really known there was a war, certainly not before she started attending school. Even then little was said of it and she initially had thought the strange and scary stories were just that – stories. It was not until You-Know-Who had been defeated by of all things a baby that her classmates began to speak openly of the war that had ravaged their world. She had never truly known the fear and terror of those times. Had she known it, the blue flashes of light where they did not belong would have either scared the wits out of her or made her start shooting any and every hex she could think of into the Ward at whatever might be out there. But she was not scared or on her guard, merely curious.

She rose from her desk and walked towards where the light had been wondering what could have happened or whether the long and boring night shift was getting to her and playing tricks on her imagination, which her mother had always told here was "overactive." She arrived at Beds 35 and 36. They looked unmade and very empty and Alice was certain there had been patients in them earlier when she made her last set of rounds. She could see the charts hanging from a hook at the end of the beds, a clear sign there was supposed to be a patient there. She looked at the first one: Alice Longbottom. Ironic, she thought, that this missing patient share her first name. "Dx: Curse Induced Persistent Catatonic State." That meant the person was not up for a midnight stroll, much less capable of using a portkey. Two patients had seemingly disappeared into the thin air. Certainly more exciting than changing bedpans but …

She noticed an envelope on the now vacant bed. Alice picked it up and opened it. Inside was a piece of parchment with letters on it, clearly looking like someone had cut the letters out of a newspaper or magazine and glued them to the parchment. She wondered what kind of witch or wizard – other than Muggle Borns – watched police shows on the telly. She read the note: "NoW EndS tHAt wHiCH wAs StaRteD." The note made no sense to her at all, but clearly was meant to mean something to someone. She quickly walked from the Ward in search of the Night Supervisor.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 2nd, 1990 - POTTER HOUSE, LONDON, U.K.

Harry and the others waited in silence from the moment his five second count ended with "Now!" It was now up to Neville and Luna. Harry was confident in the plan itself, but a part of him, the part that remained behind while his friends went into harm's way, that part of him was worried. Every second had seemed an eternity to him. He knew he could not do everything, but that did not stop him from wishing he could if it meant that by doing so his friends remained safe. Harry had lived enough of his life without any friends to truly appreciate how special and irreplaceable his friends truly were.

Part of him was already itching to follow, just in case, when a blue light filled the room and the body of Alice Longbottom materialized on her designated bed. A couple of seconds later, Frank Longbottom's portkey delivered him to his bed and Clarice was up at their sides checking them over. At least the extraction was a success, Harry thought.

Seconds later, both Luna and Neville appeared, dropping their disillusionment charms.

"Any problems?" Hermione asked.

"None that I know of," Neville replied. "Went off as planned."

"Definitely easier than the fire," Luna said, "at least for me." She was referring to the day she needed to stay in the hospital recovering from magical exhaustion.

"Still," Neville added, "it certainly gets the heart pumping. Oh, and I added a twist."

"A twist?" Harry asked.

"A note."

"What kind of note?"

Neville described the note he had left on his mother's bed just before he shifted back to Potter House.

"Now ends that which was started?" Hermione asked repeating the message. "What's that cryptic nonsense?"

"Confusion to our enemies," Neville said with a smirk. "I felt something was needed to throw them off. Gran and I would be the most likely suspects, you know."

"Still," Harry began.

"Harry, they are my family. Until Dad's better, I am technically acting Head. I felt the Authorities should have better things to do than look for Gran and me. After all, who knows what they might turn up searching for whomever wants to finish whatever it was that was started."

"You've been hanging around Sirius too much," Hermione said.

Neville shrugged. "Deception is a vital weapon."

"And the twins," Hermione added.

"I try to learn from the masters," Neville said. It was clear he was feeling relived that it was over and everything had worked as planned. "How are they, Clarice? Can we get to them?"

Clarice turned from the two Longbottoms. "They're fine for now. They're asleep and probably were when you sent them. I think we should wait until morning. You'll need to be awake and alert and after your brief adventure, I would recommend a good night sleep."

"But why not now?"

"Do you want to wake them?"

Neville shook his head.

"Well, they need to be awake for us to try and I would prefer that they wake on their own rather than be rudely awakened by another in their mindscape. A good night's sleep would be good for all of us."

Against his will, Neville yawned.

"In the morning, then," Augusta said. "And Neville?"

"Yes Gran?"

"In case I forget, I'm proud of you."

"Thanks."

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 3rd, 1990 - ST. MUNGO'S, LONDON, U.K.

Rufus Scrimgeor had been the Head of the Auror Department, Department of Magical Law Enfoecement for two years now. Guy Jacobs had been his predecessor and had taken over the head job not long after the War when the two most figured would take over, now that the job was not a de facto death sentence, had not been selected. Prior to Jacobs, the Head Auror's life expectancy was about three months. No less than twenty-two had been killed by Death Eaters, many in their own homes and with their entire families wiped out. Needless to say, any really good Auror avoided that job like Dragon Pox. Only the ambitious or foolish had accepted the terminal position.

Guy was a dark horse. He was a very good investigative Auror but only average in combat skills and everyone had figured the job would most likely go to the best combat Auror of the bunch, Mad-eye Moody. But when the War had ended, Moody refused the position. He stayed on for another two years rounding up the remaining Death Eaters that could be caught and then retired. Did not even bother to wait for a party. Just walked in, said "that's it, I'm through," and handed in his badge.

With Moody gone, the next best beat was Amelia Bones. She had been almost as ruthless as Moody, although everyone could agree she was also the better at Ministry politics. When Barty Crouch was forced out as Head of Magical Law Enforcement after it was learned that his son was a Death Eater, Amelia had been given that job leaving the Head Auror position still vacant. Thus, the best detective took the job. Guy was probably the right man for the job at the time, many thought. The office had to transform from a war footing to a peacetime police force. True, Aurors were the department within DMLE responsible for major crimes to include murder, but the shoot to kill mentality was no longer considered necessary and Guy had returned the office to its peacetime manner of operations.

Guy was, however, older and near retirement himself. Once he felt the office was where it needed to be he too retired and left it to his handpicked successor, Rufus. Rufus had been a good combat Auror in his day and had also developed a reputation as a thorough and meticulous investigator. He was determined that if his Office caught a perpetrator, the evidence against that person would be unassailable. Under his auspices, while the number of arrests had dropped off, almost every person arrested was now serving a lengthy sentence in Azkaban, a conviction rate Rufus was proud of.

Rufus was more than a little annoyed. In his tenure as Head he had never been called out to a potential crime scene, and certainly never in the middle of the night. Had it been a more junior Auror who made the call, Rufus would be cussing a storm. But the Auror in charge of the scene was among his best and most conscientious. Rufus wondered as he took the stairs up to the Fourth Floor what could have possessed Kingsley Shackelbolt to break with the unofficial protocol.

"Okay Kingsley," he said when he reached a congregation of law enforcement personnel and some of the Hospital staff in the middle of the large Long Term Care Ward, "what's all this then? Don't see any bodies. Why are we here? More important, why am I here?"

"A most unusual case," Kingsley said. "Night watch got the call from MLE who were first responders. They thought the staff here might have been imperioused or something and…"

"Yes, that explains our office, but not you or me."

Kinglesy nodded.

"Murder? Rape? Any sign of unforgivable?"

"Kidnapping, more like," Kingsley said. "I believe that falls within our jurisdiction."

Rufus nodded. "So?"

"Shortly before midnight, Healer-Trainee Patterson over there had just finished her rounds of this Ward and was at her desk when she saw a blue flash of light," Kingsley said. "Two flashes, actually. She got up and came here," Kingsley indicated to the two empty beds. "When she began her shift and when she made that last set of rounds, there were two patients in these beds. After the light, she found the patients had disappeared."

"Portkey?"

"Her description is consistent."

"Unforgivables?"

"No sign of any."

"Why does this interest us? Me?"

"First of all, the patients were Alice and Frank Longbottom…"

"Oh Bloody Hell!" Two Aurors, Rufus thought. They were legends in the Corps both for their ability and, unfortunately, their fate; tortured into insanity by some of the most vicious Death Eaters known and after You-Know-Who hand snuffed it.

"Residual signs of magic consistent with a targeted Portkey," Kingsley continued.

"Through the Wards?"

Kingsley nodded. "The perp either knew the wards or knew how to bypass."

"As in a portkey designed to pass through even more complex wards at destination," Rufus nodded. "No simple task. How'd he get in? Targeted portkey as well?"

"No evidence of magical entry anywhere in this building except at the approved apparition point," Kingsley said. "There were no known entries at or within three hours of the event, none of those who arrived within the past five days was even logged into this Ward as a visitor. Certainly no one in the last twelve hours. And Ms. Patterson did not see anyone enter this Ward at any point during her shift prior to the incident."

"And yet they were still portkeyed away." Rufus finished. "Wand signatures?"

"All accounted for," Kingsley said. "Whoever did this was not using a wand at any point while they were here."

"A real pro, then," Rufus nodded.

"Not even the Death Eaters were that good, Rufus. Hit wizards, combat trained MLE, maybe some of the folks at the Portkey office, 'cept they couldn't have pulled this off and leave no trace…"

"You suspect an inside job?"

"Healers? Doubt it. Aside from trace portkey magic, so faint it cannot be tracked and with no recognizable or traceable signature, no evidence. They certainly can portkey casualties in, but out?"

"That and there would be a registered wand signature." Rufus nodded. "We can file the magical trace for future…" his comment was cut off as Kingsley was shaking his head.

"The portkey trace is not a wand trace. Whoever made the portkey did so without a wand so far as we can tell."

"But that's impossible!"

"Nevertheless…"

"Anything else?"

"Just this," Kingsley said handing Rufus a piece of parchment. "It was found on one of the victim's beds."

Rufus looked at it. "Magical trace on the sticking charm?"

"No charm. I believe those letters are stuck to the parchment by Muggle means. Something called 'glue,' I think."

"Fingerprints?"

"Nothing."

"Bugger! We got a real pro here!"

"So it would seem."

"Thoughts on the meaning of this note?"

"Could be Death Eaters coming to finish what they started in '81," Kinglsey said stating the obvious, "but we have nothing to indicate any of them were this sophisticated. They did not hide their tracks."

"Have you contacted the next of kin?"

"No one answers, Sir."

"You do realize that these are the last members of the direct line of an Ancient and Noble House, don't you?"

Kingsley nodded.

"House Longbottom in any feuds?"

"Not that we are aware, Sir."

"But, it cannot be ruled out, can it?"

"No Sir."

"So it looks like someone is trying to end that line then?"

"That is an unfortunate possibility, but it could be a coincidence. Not enough evidence."

Rufus nodded. "Well, I suppose it's good that these two were old news. Last thing we need is the press attention – or that of the Wizengamot."

"Er…"

"What?"

"There were orders, Sir."

"What kind of orders?"

"Um … it seems the Head Healer has orders to inform the Chief Warlock in any change in the Longbottoms' condition."

"What would Dumbledore care about a couple of zombies?"

Kinglsey shrugged. "Nevertheless, I would have to say that their vanishing into thin air constitutes a change in their condition, wouldn't you?"

"Has he informed Dumbledore yet?"

"No Sir. We haven't let him. Crime scene and all that."

Rufus nodded. "I want you there when he does. I want to know what that secretive old goat's interest is."

"And what should I tell said secretive old goat?"

"What's your gut tell you, Kingsley?"

"That the Longbottoms are probably in an unmarked grave somewhere as we speak."

Rufus nodded in agreement.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 3rd, 1990 - HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY, SCOTLAND, U.K.

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office looking at the short letter on the desk in front of him. He so loved it when a plan came together. And this was a plan that was now almost nine years in the making; a plan that would rid the world of Voldemort once and for all.

Unlike most everyone else in Britain, Dumbledore did not believe Voldemort was truly dead. While the events of that Halloween night were a bit vague, he remembered the important details. Most notably, the body of the man once known as Tom Riddle was not at that place. Even in the magical world, bodies did not just disappear. True, it could have been transfigured or something, but he recalled no sign of magic after a flurry of killing curses that killed the young couple in the home that night. No, something else happened. There was some magic signature that suggested a third killing curse was cast and that it hit Voldemort. There were signs on what remained of the evil wizards robes. Odd that was all that remained of the most feared wizard in centuries.

There was more to what happened that night and Dumbledore knew it. But he could not remember. Then again, perhaps now that things were coming together it was not necessary. He could not even remember the names of the couple that had become the last of Voldemort's poor victims. It did not matter. Thousands died in that War. Surely no one could remember all of those names. But what he could remember was no sign of a body or that there had been one. Even at that time, Dumbledore suspected Voldemort had somehow survived. He was convinced, however, that the physical being that was Voldemort no longer existed. It was possible, given the Dark Magic and rituals Voldemort was believed to have known, done and dabbled in, that he was no longer truly human when he met that fate.

Dumbledore specifically suspected a horcrux was involved. That would explain a lot of Voldemort's claims and possibly the absence of a body. It also meant that Voldemort's soul had not passed on and could not so long as the horcrux survived. And that meant Voldemort could return somehow.

From that day, Dumbledore had strove to prevent that return or, if it could not be prevented, make sure the return occurred in such a fashion and at such a time that Voldemort could be dealt with once and for all time. The plan was so simple in concept: lure Voldemort's soul, spirit, whatever, into a trap; a cage which could hold the evil spirit until it could safely be destroyed. The trick was always in the details. The first problem was that if one wanted to lure prey into a trap, it helped if one both knew where the prey was and had the right bait.

Finding his prey had taken years. For the first few years after Voldemort disappeared, there had been no sign of whatever was left of him. Dumbledore was convinced that the evil spirit had left Britain altogether. He was not surprised. As arrogant as Tom Riddle was, the man knew that were he to remain in Britain Dumbledore would find him. But the world was a big place and the spirit could be anywhere. Still, there would be signs and as Chief Mugwump of the I.C.W., Dumbledore had access to information and sources that could reveal the signs.

A few years ago, the signs began pointing to Albania. A forest region was reputed to have "gone dark." This was not a normal occurrence, although alone it was not conclusive proof of anything except an overly liberal attitude regarding the Statute of Secrecy in general and the regulation of dark magical creatures on the part of the Albanian magical government. Then again, Albania was secretive and generally played by its own rules whenever it could. However, Dumbledore soon learned of a rumor of a huge, poisonous snake stalking that newly dark forest. Riddle was said to have a magically enlarged viper as a familiar; one that would dwarf the King Cobras of India, the largest poisonous snakes in the natural world. While this did not conclusively prove Voldemort had settled in Albania, it was extremely suggestive; enough so that Dumbledore had now turned his attention to that tiny country on the Adriatic.

Dumbledore then needed his bait. He needed to lure Voldemort not only out of hiding but to Hogwarts itself where he could be trapped. He needed something so enticing that the evil wizard could not pass on it. He also needed some vessel or means for that spirit to make the journey, preferably in a manner that could easily be trapped as well as a means for Voldemort to catch wind of the bait. The bait was the easy part. The one thing Voldemort coveted above all was immortality. Thus the bait would be that chance.

Immortality had been a goal of magic for millennia. The horcrux was an attempt at achieving such goal; and attempt that was arguably a failure. True, the user of such a vile magical art did not completely die and could return, but it was not eternal life rather it was merely an absence of final demise. The body could still die in any number of ways, including advanced age. True immortality was the inability of the body to die as well such that one was alive and in corporeal form seemingly forever.

It was well known throughout the Wizarding World that Albus Dumbledore had been friends with a man named Nicholas Flamel and his wife Perenelle. Flamel had been born in 1323 in France. He was a wizard and what was not generally known was that he was a Muggle Born. After attending school for wizards on the continent, he apprenticed as a potions maker receiving his Mastery in 1344 and opening an apothecary shop in Lyons where he met his wife, a Muggle Born witch. Whether by accident, as was often the case, or the design of his later recognized genius, Flamel invented a potion that could cure the Black Death, at least in magical folk. While the Plague that swept Europe beginning in 1346 claimed people without regard to wealth or magical status, the magical folk fared better than their non-magical neighbors largely due to Flamel's potions. Needless to say, the young Flamel's came out of the Plague years quite wealthy.

Flamel had retired for the most part at the ripe old age of twenty-six and he then began an exhaustive study of the ancient art of alchemy. This art was an offshoot of potions making and one magical art that was actually practiced, studied and well documented throughout the non-magical world and had been for almost two thousand years. The Ancient Greeks had surmised that it was possible to create through alchemy a substance of immense potential. (They were not the only ones as the Chinese reached a similar conclusion around the same time.) This substance, which the Greeks called the Philosopher's Stone, was said to be a critical component in an elixir that would grant the user true immortality. It also could be used to turn any base metal into gold, thereby allowing the immortal ample wealth as well. For almost two thousand years, alchemists tried to discover the "Stone." They created many interesting substances, not in the least of which were Greek Fire and gunpowder, but the Stone eluded them. Until Nicholas Flamel, that is.

Dumbledore had met Flamel around 1890 while touring France on holiday. At the time, Nicholas and his wife were living in Burgandy and running a small yet successful vineyard. They lived under the name Pierre and Constance DeMoray. Dumbeldore had been actually invited to visit as the Flamel's considered him the leading magical academic of his age and about once every hundred years or so the couple liked to engage in correspondence with such personages. Dumbledore learned that the couple had, since discovering the stone, lived until Penerelle was ninety and then faked their deaths, relocating to another part of Europe and emerging under a new name as a mid-twenty year old couple. They raised their next family, enjoyed their next life and when old and gray again, faked their deaths and started over.

When Dumbledore met them, the Flamels were in their mid forties, about mid way through their sixty-fifth incarnation. For about forty years, they were friends of Albus Dumbledore before disappearing again on their next adventure. Dumbeldore had never seen the legendary Stone, but it was widely believed that he had. The bait was based upon this belief. He would let Voldemort know that Nicholas had entrusted the Stone to his safe keeping. Of course, anyone who had actually known the Flamels as Dumbledore had would know that was a lie. Why would the Flamels, with over five hundred years of magical experience each, entrust such a priceless and powerful thing to a mere child by their standards? But only Dumbledore knew this.

For some reason that escaped him, Dumbledore knew he had to have his trap baited by the fall of 1991. Sometime thereafter, Voldemort had to be lured into the trap. That small problem had caused him fits for years until the past spring.

Quirinus Quirrell had been a professor at Hogwarts for about a decade. While he had been a brilliant student, as an academic he was merely passable. He had taught Muggle Studies, mainly because all the "hard" magical courses had been staffed when he hired on. It was known that both he and Professor Snape desired the posting as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Deep down, Dumbledore trusted neither with the job. Snape clearly had the experience, but as a former Death Eater the man might be tempted. Quirrell lacked any experience in that field. He had worked training trolls before Hogwarts which was part of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, not dealing with Dark Arts. But, the man was eager to give it a try.

For almost thirty years, the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts had been a pain in the old Headmaster's neck. No professor since 1960 had managed to stay in the post more than three terms. There were many reasons why, but it was a revolving door and Dumbledore had all but given up trying to fix it.

Last spring, Quirrell announced he would like to take a year off to study about the Dark Arts and travel Europe in search of knowledge so that he might be considered for the post on some future occasion. That had given Dumbledore the rest of his plan. He would send Quirrell to Albania with knowledge of the Philosopher's Stone to temp Voldemort out of hiding and into his trap which he was building deep beneath Hogwarts castle. Dumbledore knew that if Voldemort took the bait, it would probably mean the death of Quirrell in the end, but one death against the Greater Good was a small price to pay.

He smiled as he read his letter from Bamir, an acquaintance with the Albanian Ministry of Magic. Bamir had been asked to keep an eye out for Quirrell and then direct the man into the new Dark Forest. The letter had stated that Quirrell was in fact in Albania and had taken an interest in their Dark Forest and was already well along in preparing an expedition into its depths. By this time next year, Dumbledore thought, Voldemort will be here trying to find his way through the defenses guarding "the Stone." He smiled again and opened the desk drawer wherein lay a very large but otherwise quite ordinary amethyst. Everyone assumed the Stone was a stone so why not use one? The truth was only Flamel really knew what form the "Stone" really was. It could be anything or nothing at all. But the desperate man will believe a convenient lie, and therein lay the key to the trap.

Dumbledore was about to turn his attention to the real pressing problem – that damnable Time Chamber. It still existed and would probably see use again unless he could get the laws changed. As much chaos as his revelations regarding the sexual exploits of those who now claimed to be paradigms of pureblood virtue had caused a few months ago, the oligarchy that was the Wizengamot had remained wholly ineffective in dealing with the issue. Dumbledore wanted it to end and only Voldemort was a higher priority.

Just as he decided to turn to this vexing issue, a loud knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Enter," he said, slipping into his gentle, grandfatherly persona.

A tall, dark skinned man entered his office.

"Ah! Kingsley. To what do I owe the honor of your presence?"

"Professor Dumbledore," Kingsley replied formally. "It is about the Longbottoms."

"Indeed? Has something happened to Augusta or her grandchild?"

"We don't know, Sir. What we do know is that Alice and Frank are missing."

"Missing?" Albus replied in surprise. "Last I checked they were in long term care. Did they improve?"

"They were still there, condition unchanged as of last night, Sir. But now, they are missing." Kingsley then explained everything about the mysterious disappearance.

Dumbledore remembered something. "They must be found," he said far more forcefully than was normal for him. "They have information – vital information – locked away in those heads of theirs. Information that we cannot have afford fall into the wrong hands."

"Sir," Kingsley said, "their condition precludes…"

"And we assume that their condition remains as it was? What if it has not? No. They must be found! Dead or alive they must be found!"

"We cannot even say for certain where they are or even if they are alive…"

"A small inconvenience in light of the current situation! Find them! This is of vital concern to our government."

"The Ministry presumes they are dead, along with Augusta and the lad. Most likely a line feud we were unaware of…"

"Let's hope that is the case, Kingsley. But I doubt it! Based upon what you told me someone went to great trouble to remove those two shells – for lack of a better word – from St. Mungo's. An assassin would have just killed them, don't you think? No, something else is happening. Something Dark. Something that could be ill for us all. Whoever is behind this is not someone we can afford to take lightly! Not even Voldemort at the height of his powers had such audacity! They want something! Whoever wrote that note wants something and it is in our collective best interest to see to it they FAIL! Find them!"

"Yes Sir!"

"It is the wish of the Wizengamot that they are found."

"Understood Sir." Kingsley knew what this meant. If the Ministry refused the Chief Warlock on this, there would be a new Minister for Magic within the month, and probably a few new Department Heads. "Should we alert the press?"

Dumbledore thought for a moment. "No. Let our new adversaries think they've succeeded. They will become confident, arrogant and invariably make a mistake."

"Yes Sir." Kingsley left for the Ministry to pass on the concerns of the Chief Warlock.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 3rd, 1990 - POTTER HOUSE, LONDON, U.K.

Alice Longbottom sat on a small couch in one of the Ground Floor Parlors of her quite overly large prison. She still had trouble believing she was truly imprisoned in her own mind for she was unaware of any magic that could achieve such a result. Still, it was the only explanation that fit the facts as she had seen them. For ages it had just been her in this place. Well, her and a couple of House Elves she had never seen before. For ages she felt she was a prisoner. Then one day some time ago a boy had come to her prison cell – if one could call it that. He said it was 1989 and he was Harry Potter. Were it not for the fact she had not seen or heard from another human being in so long, she would have been mean to the lad. He was, after all, most likely an interrogator or something. Yet, starved of any human contact, she humored the lad.

Then she had met her son. She was forced to realize that she was either being subjected to the cruelest torture imaginable, or that the boys were telling her the truth, that all of this was in her own mind, except for them. She so wanted to believe them and so hoped they were real and all of this was fake. Still, it was a lot to take on, even over time. The part of her that hoped it was real did win out to some extent, particularly as Neville had kept his promise to visit her as often as he could. But the logical side of her continued to harbor doubts just in case she really was losing it once and for all. It would be easier to not believe than to believe and find it was all a horrible lie. Still, she so looked forward to his visits.

He said he also visited his father this way, but admitted he preferred visiting her. Frank had given into his logical side and was being stubborn, as usual. Every time this poor boy visited him, Frank tried to trick the lad into revealing the truth. The problem was, the boy had told her, the truth Frank believed was the lie and the lie he hoped to reveal was the truth. The boy merely wanted to get to know his parents, and Frank seemed to fight him at every turn. This Neville had admitted he could understand why, but surely a visit – any visit – was better than what they had before.

Alice admitted as much to herself. If this was a lie, it could be far worse. She did look forward to his visits. Still, if this was real then it must be so hard for the boy. To have and yet not have his parents in his life? A part of her felt sorry for this Neville and hoped for his sake that he was as real as he said and one day she could leave this fantasy and become the mother she was supposed to be. She often asked him when that day would be and all we would say is when they were ready. It was infuriating, and reinforced her view that maybe this was truly all in her head, but the lad seemed so hopeful it was almost infectious.

She so hoped he would visit her today, even if he was not real.

Her reflections were interrupted by a knock on the door. She smiled and looked up from the book she was reading. True, she had read the book before. Every book in this place she had read before she had been sent here and several times since. Still, there really was nothing else to do, unless this Neville stopped by for a visit.

She looked up and saw that it was not Neville in the door. It was a blonde haired girl about eight or nine, she thought. The girl smiled at her and slowly entered the parlor.

"Mrs. Longbottom?" the girl asked.

Alice nodded.

"Oh goodie! It worked! Nev will be so pleased!" the girl gushed.

"And who are you?"

The girl blushed slightly. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I'm sure my Mum would die of embarrassment. Manners. I'm one of Neville's friends, Luna Lovegood…"

"He has spoken about you. You're Xeno and Jasmine's daughter?"

Luna nodded.

"They had only just married when Frank and I went into hiding. We never knew… Neville thinks a lot of you, you know? Says you're nice and smart as well."

"Yes. Neville is sweet and considerate. But don't let that fool you. He's also quite strong and brave as well. He helped save my Mum's life, and mine, and as it turned out my baby brother and sister and…"

"Excuse me? He did what?"

"Oh, well they knew something bad would happen to my Mum and told me and told me to tell them if it did and it did and I did. There was an explosion and fire and I told them, but had to wait for them to come, but had to save my Mum 'cause the fire would get her if I didn't and it very nearly did. I passed out before they saved us, but Neville, Harry and Hermione got my Mum and I out of there and Clarice put Mum back to rights and we found out then Mum was expecting and …"

Alice was completely lost.

"I am sorry," Luna said. "Lousy telling. Nervous I guess and excited that it's really working. I can get either chatty or go completely silent. Guess you got me chatty."

Alice nodded. She almost laughed but suppressed it figuring it was rude. "Why are you here?" she asked after a pause.

"We're going to try and get you and Mr. Longbottom out today," Luna said.

"You're what?"

"Trying to rescue you," another voice said.

Alice looked up and saw another girl had entered her "parlor."

"Hermione Granger," the girl said.

"Neville's mentioned you too," Alice replied. "Says you live with my godson and his sister, but I don't recall your surname."

Hermione nodded. "I was adopted as a baby," she said. "My parents were killed in the War and the Grangers raised me. You may not remember my Mum and Dad, but you know my Great-grandmother."

"I do?"

"Minerva McGonagall."

Alice gasped. "This cannot be real. I'm losing it for certain!"

"You're not losing it, Mum," another voice said. Alice looked up and saw that Neville had joined them along with the boy she had met the first time – Harry. "This proves that the ritual worked," Neville said with a smile.

"Ritual?" Alice asked in shock.

"We performed a ritual," Hermione said. "When we first contacted you here, well, the spell that was cast upon you would allow one person not related to you to enter and one blood relation and that's it. That's how Harry was able to come to see you and why Neville has. The ritual broke down the artificial occlumency shield and it is now possible for anyone skilled in legilimancy to enter; at least until you leave this mindscape."

"You're telling me the four of you can do legilimancy?"

Hermione nodded.

"But that's impossible! You're only children!"

"Mum," Neville said, "either this is real, it is possible and we can get you back, or you can believe it's not real and we cannot help you or Dad. Which do you want?"

"I want it to be real," Alice said softly.

"Then please come with us," Neville said. "We need your help. I need your help. Dad's being stubborn."

"But I can't do legilimancy."

"You won't have to," Neville said. "If you trust me, I can lead you to him. But you must leave here first. Come mother?"

Alice nodded. She was too confused to answer. Deep down she hoped all of this was very real. She rose from her seat and soon followed her son and his friends out the door into the main hall. They turned and headed to where a front door should be, where one had never been in all the time she had been stuck here. Yet there was one there now and it was open and there seemed to be an outside beyond it. Alice stopped.

"Come mother. It's a lovely day outside," Neville said.

Alice nodded and followed the four children. They passed through the door and she hesitated for a moment. She had not passed beyond this point since she had been trapped here and… Carefully she stepped through the door and into the sunlight beyond it. She turned and saw no sign of a door behind her, just a large open field amidst rolling hills.

"Where did it go?" she asked in surprise.

"It's gone forever, Mum. The spell that had held you captured is gone. But, now comes the hard part."

"Hard part?"

"This is as far as we can bring you," Neville said. "We are free of the mindscape, and have entered what could best be called your dreamscape. This is your true mind, not the one created for you. But, we are still in your mind. For you to come all the way back to us, you have to accept that and want to wake up and rejoin us in our world. You have to want to come home."

"What if I can't?"

"It is not a question of what you can and cannot do, Mum. It is now only a question of what you want to do. Right now, the real you is asleep. All you need to do now is wake up. You have a life ahead of you and it's time to wake up…"

Before Alice could reply, she watched in horror as Neville and the others faded away. Far in the distance, as if from another reality she could still hear his voice. It seemed to be pleading with her.

"Please wake up, Mum," it said, "I need you."

____________________________________________________

Alice slowly opened her eyes. The fields were gone and she was lying in a bed somewhere. Her vision was burry, but she could see people were around her.

"Mum?" her son's voice asked.

"Is this real?" she asked in return, surprised at how hoarse her voice was.

"Do you want me to pinch you?" Neville's voice asked in reply.

"Ouch!" Alice gasped. "Neville Longbottom!"

"Wasn't me, Mum! I swear!"

"Damn it Sirius," another voice said. Alice could swear it was Augusta Longbottom.

"Augusta?" Alice croaked. "Sirius? Not Sirius Black! I mean Neville told me he was sent to prison for something he didn't do but please don't say my son hangs around with the scoundrel."

"Okay, I won't," Sirius replied. "Welcome back, Alice."

"Where's my Neville?" she asked. Soon she felt a pair of arms embracing her.

"Right here, Mum."

Alice knew this was real. She knew she was back.

"Right then," Augusta's voice said. "Now let's see about that lay about of a son of mine!"

____________________________________________________

"This is just like where I was," Alice said standing in another entrance hall.

"Rather the same," Neville replied. "We think it's modeled on a real place or at least one that existed when the Mind Trap was invented."

Alice nodded. She had held Neville's hand when they performed the ritual to unlock her husband's mind trap. She knew that the real Alice was still lying in a bed, too weak to stand, but the hand holding allowed her mind to follow her amazing son here. Augusta was with them as well having travelled in holding Harry's hand. The two girls were nowhere to be seen.

"Where are the others," Augusta said.

"Trying to reason with Mr. Longbottom," Harry replied.

"He refuses to leave his room," Neville added.

"We'll just see about that! Where is he? If he thinks he can while the way the hours like some no account Lord, he's got another thing coming!"

"This way Gran," Neville said. "Up the stairs.

Alice followed the others up a grand flight of stairs and soon could hear her husband's voice in the distance.

"If you think I am going to believe this rubbish," the voice ranted. "This is just a Death Eater trap! You're trying to trick me!"

They followed the voice to an open door and walked in. Alice saw her husband yelling at the two girls who had helped her come back and saw red.

"Frank Longbottom," she screamed, "how dare you yell at those girls!"

"A-Alice?" Frank began.

"And here I thought I raised you properly!" Augusta jumped in. "Well, at least your son turned out right!"

"Mother?"

"If you think I spent the last nine years making sure you had a son you would be proud of when you came back just to find that you wanted to waste your life in this fantasy…"

____________________________________________________

Frank Longbottom opened his eyes. He was no longer in the woodlands that had replaced the Manor where he had spent the last several years of his existence. He was in another room, on a bed, lying on his side and the first thing he saw was his wife lying next to him looking into his eyes. She looked terrible, as if she had been ill for ages. He hoped he looked better than that but if the others had been truthful, he'd be lucky if he only looked that bad.

"Alice?" he asked in a gravelly voice.

She nodded. To Frank, she had never looked so beautiful.