Many thanks to my beta readers thekingofsweden1 and rpeh. Their work has improved the story a lot.

Chapter 2: The Return

London, Diagon Alley, August 3rd, 1999, 12.43 hours

Ron Weasley scratched his beard as he waited in line at the checkpoint for international portkey arrivals in Diagon Alley. He still wasn't really used to the beard, the result of a Hair-Growth Potion, nor was he used to having black hair, but Antoine Dupont, visiting from Magical Québec, would be looking a bit too much like Ron Weasley, brother of the famous seeker Charlie Weasley without it. It would be a rather pathetic end for him if he was caught by Malfoy's thugs because he had been too much of a Quidditch fan in his teenage years. There still was a chance that he'd be spotted, even though he had avoided appearing in public for a year, but since he had used muggle means to dye his hair and beard, the British purebloods were very unlikely to see through his disguise.

While a corpulent wizard from the Salem Enclave debated the validity of his papers with the Auror on duty, Ron studied the guards at the back, next to the exit. A wizard and a witch, both wearing the brown robes of the Wands of Britain, they looked like they were barely out of school. But despite their age they were alert and kept their wands ready, casting spells on each arrival. And, Ron noted with a bit of surprise, one of them was keeping an eye on the Auror as well. Dumbledore had been correct then - Malfoy's pureblood regime relied on muggleborn enforcers.

The Wizard from Salem finally managed to get the Auror to accept his papers, and left the checkpoint. Now it was Ron's turn.

"Papers please," the Auror said in a voice still tinged with annoyance.

Ron handed his papers over. Those would pass muster - they were official ones, issued by the Ministry of Québec. Or what was left of it, after their latest disastrous war with the Free Republic of Maine and Vermont. A little gold went a long way in that country these days.

The Auror, a pureblood or he'd not be wearing the red robes, didn't seem to care about that - if he was even aware of it. But Ron caught the muggleborn wizard cast a spell, and grow tense. He forced himself to look bored and tired. His papers were genuine, and his disguise was magic-proof.

"You've imbibed a Calming Draught," the Wand stated. The Auror frowned, but didn't say anything.

"Yes," Ron answered, letting his faint accent show a bit. "I don't take well to magical travel. Unless it's on a broom. But I'm no Jocunda Sykes, so I had to take a portkey to cross the Atlantic."

The wizard nodded stiffly. The Auror rolled his eyes and handed Ron's papers back. "Enjoy your stay in Britain, Mister Dupont."

"Thank you." Ron smiled at the pureblood, then at the two Wands. They didn't smile back, but the witch nodded slightly. Ron had seen friendlier goblins, and the young wizard was quite glad when he passed through the door between them, and entered Diagon Alley proper.

Outside, on the cobblestones of Wizarding Britain's most famous shopping mile, he took a deep breath. He was back in his home country. Back in Britain. The country his family had lived in for hundreds of years, until that day in 1981. Contrary to his older brothers, he didn't remember their home, the Burrow. Not without a pensieve, at least. But he had grown up knowing they'd return, and take back what was theirs. Like all of his family. And he'd do his part.

Though he had to find a place to stay first. According to his brothers, the Leaky Cauldron was the best choice - the owner was said to respect the privacy of his guests. With his traveling trunk floating behind him, Ron started walking. The passersby looked different from the ones he was used to in Paris or Marseille. The robes were more old-fashioned, and of course no muggle clothes were visible at all, but that he had expected. Though the nervous atmosphere was unexpected. He saw several Aurors, their red robes standing out easily among the crowd, but no Wands out on the street.

When Ron entered the Leaky Cauldron he felt like hurting his brothers, who had recommended the inn as 'perfect'. Dirty tables, a dirtier floor, and seedy wizards and witches gathered around a corner table who eyed him as if they could not decide if he was a threat or a mark. Ron narrowed his eyes at them and straightened his shoulders until they looked away - his family had been sorted into Gryffindor for generations, and as a gendarme magique he had learned how to deal with the riff-raff preying on the weak.

The old, bald wizard behind the bar chuckled. "Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron, boy."

Ron frowned slightly at being called 'boy', but didn't try to correct the man, it wouldn't do any good. Another thing he had learned as a gendarme. He headed to the bar, dropped his trunk and leaned towards the man. "Mec, I need a room."

"Name's Tom, not 'Mac'. Do I look like a Scot?"

"It's French for 'mate'," Ron explained.

The man stared at him. "Your English's very good for a Frenchman."

"I'm from Québec, but my family's been traveling a lot in America," Ron answered with his cover story. He twirled a galleon between his fingers. "Do you have a room?"

"Of course. We're a bit too close to muggle London for most." When Ron didn't react to that comment, the man grabbed the galleon and handed him a key. "Number 11, first door on the right at the top of the stairs."

The room was decent - small, but clean, and the window went out to the muggle street. In a pinch Ron could jump out of the window, and disappear in the muggle streets. He put down his trunk and pulled out a well-read book and a notebook. He had his first report to make.

London, Diagon Alley, August 3rd, 1999, 17.30 hours

"Oh, look! They've got new puffskeins!"

Hermione had learned long ago that trying to resist Luna when the other witch enthusiastically wanted to show her something was an exercise in futility. While it didn't lead - contrary to rumors - to dislocated shoulders, her blonde friend simply wouldn't quit if she thought Hermione needed to 'see something other than parchment and work'.

So she let herself get dragged over to the pet shop in Diagon Alley, where two dozens of the colourful balls of fluff were bouncing around in a cage behind the window. Truth to be told, she enjoyed it more than she wanted to admit. With everyone in the corps alerted about the possibility of an attack by deluded fanatics revering the dead Dark Lord, she hadn't had much time to relax lately. With most regular Wands on alert, the Investigative Branch hadn't had the usual support for their work.

Luna stopped poking the window and agitating the puffskeins and turned towards her. "You're smiling! You like them! I should buy you one!"

"Luna! I can't have a pet. I don't have the time for it." She didn't, not really. Her neighbour, Sally-Anne, could probably feed it, if she wasn't home in time, but that wouldn't be right.

"You could carry it around with you," Luna smiled. "Take it out when you take a break. And set it on Draco when he comes too close! Puffskeins can be vicious, under the right circumstances, you know!"

"Luna!" Hermione was scandalised at her friend's joke. At least she hoped it was a joke - puffskeins were harmless, there was no known report of them harming a witch or wizard. Well, one Wizengamot member had choked to death on one in 1823, but that was not the puffskein's fault.

The blonde witch giggled, before growing more serious. "You need more fun in your life, you're working too much."

"My work is important. I'm helping to keep everyone safe. That includes you."

Luna sighed and grabbed Hermione's arm again. "Let's go eat something!"

The two walked towards 'Merrin's Pub'. Frequented mostly by half-bloods, it had both purebloods and Wands among its clientele as well. They would still attract some attention, mostly from guests, since it was very rare for a pureblood to associate with a Wand. Outside the privacy of their bedroom, at least. Hermione raised her chin. She didn't care what everyone might think of her, it was perfectly fine for her to dine with her friend!

Right when they reached the entrance she heard screams from further up the street. She whirled around, stepping in front of Luna with her wand out, and cast a Shield Charm before she knew what was happening. Then part of the street further up the alley exploded, and panic swept through the crowd. Blasting Curse, she realized - it was an attack!

Hermione reacted at once, pushing Luna into the pub and yelling: "Take the Floo back to the Rookery!" She didn't wait to hear what the blonde was saying, and started to sprint towards the fighting, casting a signal spell to alert the Wands on duty at the same time.

Another explosion sent up a cloud of dust, obscuring her view and pelting her shield and the fleeing crowd with stone fragments. Yells and screams next to her told her that not everyone had been protected by a shield. She would love to stay and help, but her duty was clear - a Wand of Britain served her country best by attacking its enemies. So she ran forward, casting a Bubble-Head Charm on herself as she passed a fleeing family.

Out of the dust cloud in front of her stumbled an Auror, coughing and wheezing. Before he could recover, a Cutting Curse from behind him sliced into him, and sent him to the ground, bleeding and screaming. Another Auror ran up to her fallen comrade. She managed to cast a healing spell before she too was hit by a curse - a Piercing Curse, Hermione noted, well aimed - and fell down with a hole in her head.

The muggleborn witch flicked her wand and sent a gust of wind against the dust cloud, driving it back and dispersing it. Finally she spotted the enemy - and cursed. Half a dozen or more Death Eaters were cursing anyone they could see! Bodies littered the street already.

She kept running. In a fight, only fools stood still without cover. There was no sign yet of reinforcements - the enemy must have blocked apparition and portkey travel. She would have to attack alone, with only Aurors at her side. No matter - she was a Wand, she'd do her duty.

Snarling, Hermione sent a Cutting Curse at a masked enemy who was aiming his wand at a fleeing witch, and severed the arm at the elbow. "For Britain!" she yelled, and cast a Blasting Curse of her own, which sent two more of the enemy into seeking cover around the entrance to Knockturn Alley. A yellow curse harmlessly splashed against her shield, and in retaliation, her Bludgeoning Curse smashed the chest of the witch who had cast at her to pulp.

When the street near her exploded, she threw herself to the ground, rolling over cobblestones as splinters and one red spell hit her shield. She kept rolling and didn't get up until she was behind the next corner. Two more curses flew past her, one clipping the wall and covering part of it in smoking acid.

Another Auror died, his entrails spread over the ground around him, in front of a burning shop. The Death Eaters would be flanking her any second. She transfigured rocks and debris on the ground into a pack of terriers and sent the dogs at the attackers. Half of them were destroyed before they had made more than a few steps, but it was enough for her to disillusion herself and move across the street to a better position, in the side alley there behind an upturned cart.

She was quite surprised when her textbook roll didn't end up with her behind cover and ready to cast, but with her on top of a wizard already crouching there.

London, Diagon Alley, August 3rd, 1999, 17.30 hours

When he heard the explosion and the screaming, Ron started to run towards them before he realized what he was doing. A result of his training as a gendarme magique, he thought, smiling grimly while avoiding a panicked witch running in the other direction, dragging a little child with her. He didn't stop though. Whatever was happening, it would involve Britain's forces, and any knowledge about their strengths and weaknesses would be useful for the Order. At least in theory.

But when he turned the corner and saw a figure in black robes with a white mask cast a Torture Curse on a young wizard, he didn't even think of waiting, or observing, he cast a Bludgeoning Curse at the Death Eater that smashed both the wizard's mask and face. The man almost flipped flipped over from the impact and fell down hard. A dozen of his comrades were left though. Ron spotted only two Aurors, both dead or unconscious already.

And his spell had caught the attention of the Death Eaters setting fire to the shops nearby. When a couple curses flew at him, he jumped to the side, cast a Shield Charm and ran towards the next corner just as it had been drilled into him by Major Abel - a moving target was harder to hit, and you didn't want to get hit, Shield Charm or not.

He saw a few more red robes in the distance, but didn't think they'd last long, outnumbered like this. A position, he belatedly realized, shared by himself. Well, who would he be to break the family tradition of being brave rather than smart or cunning, even if he had never actually been sorted into Gryffindor?

That didn't mean he had to make it easy for the scum though. While the street behind him was blown up, he jumped behind an upturned cart. It wouldn't stand up to spells for long, but it could hide him for a moment, long enough to get his bearings and think about getting out of this mess alive.

That's when something fell on him, and he realized an invisible wizard had jumped him.

An invisible witch, he corrected himself, after he realized just what he was grabbing.

An invisible, dangerous witch, he added, when he felt the tip of a wand digging into his throat.

"Who're you?" he heard her whisper while he let his hand drop from her chest. Invisible hair touched his face - she must be leaning down while straddling him.

He almost answered with 'Ron Weasley', but caught himself. "Antoine Dupont. I'm a visitor from Québec."

"Run further down this alley, it'll be safe there!" he heard when the wand was, to his relief, withdrawn and the witch rolled off him.

Before he could get up the witch suddenly became visible. Not by her choice, as her cursing told him. His eyes widened when he realized she was a Wand of Britain, wearing the typical robes of the corps. He hadn't wanted to get that close to them.

Then the cart was blown to pieces, many of them hitting his shield. For a second he feared for the witch, but she had managed to cast a Shield Charm herself, just in time. They were not safe though - with their cover gone, they were exposed.

"For the Dark Lord!" Three Death Eaters charged at them, wildly casting spells as they ran.

'In a duel, accuracy beats speed', Ron remembered as the spells flew wide while he crouched down and his own Piercing Curse hit the one in front in the leg. The man went down, clutching his bleeding leg. Then the street under the Death Eaters exploded, and the two still running were thrown into the walls. Ron ducked as his shield failed under another volley of stone fragments.

He winced when he saw what was left of the first Death Eater, who had caught the brunt of the explosion on the ground.

"What are you waiting for? Run!" the witch yelled at him.

"And get cursed in the back after they get you?" He stood up.

The Wand huffed and moved forward, towards the entrance of the alley they were in.

Ron followed her. "Covering left," he whispered, as if he was in a training exercise again.

She nodded, then seemed startled for a second. Whatever she had been about to say was interrupted by the appearance of two more Death Eaters running towards them. No, they were running from something.

"Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!" The witch next to him sent stunners flying while Ron banished the rubble the Wand's Blasting Curse had left at the Death Eaters. One was hit by a stunner and a few rocks, and went down, the other managed to dodge both, but got hit by a Cutting Curse from behind that clipped half his head off.

Ron found himself staring down the wands of two more brown-robed wizards who had chased those Death Eaters, and for a second he feared he'd be their next target. Before he could jump to the side and conjure some obstacle, the witch at his side barked: "Stand down, Wands! He's a civilian!"

The two other Wands complied at once. Ron wasn't surprised - the girl sounded quite bossy. Or commanding. "Wand Dean! Report!"

"Those two were the last; the other survivors retreated out of the area of effect of the Anti-Apparition Jinxes and fled," the dark-skinned wizard said.

"Bag the prisoner here, then secure the area!"

"Yes, Wand-Leader!"

The witch - a Wand-Leader, at her age? She couldn't be older than himself - turned to Ron. "Stay here! You'll be questioned afterwards!"

First caught in a Death Eater attack, and now about to interrogated by a Wand… Ron didn't think his first mission for the Order of the Phoenix was off to a good start.

London, Diagon Alley, August 3rd, 1999, 17.50 hours

Colin, who had appeared with the other Wands, was still taking pictures of the area when the last of the wounded who hadn't been sent to St. Mungo's with emergency portkeys were treated. By now, half the reserves of the corps had arrived and secured the area. More Aurors had arrived as well, Hermione had noted. Sadly, Head Auror John Dawlish was among them. The witch didn't know how such a wizard had been promoted to that position. He wasn't exactly incompetent, but he was far too confrontational, wrecking what little cooperation between the Wands and the Aurors existed. And he was walking straight towards her.

He didn't bother with a greeting. "Half a dozen fine Aurors were killed today. Where were the Wands?"

"Our forces engaged the enemies as soon as they were alerted," Hermione answered. She wasn't quite standing at attention - Wands answered to the Minister, not to the Aurors - but she was standing straight.

"Obviously, not fast enough. I told the Minister your kind wasn't fit for this."

"If we had patrols out, we'd have been faster on site," Hermione answered, suppressing her anger. The man's position, if not himself, demanded that much respect, even though his words didn't make much sense if even a smidgen of logic was applied to them. "But current doctrine demands that the Corps' forces are kept ready at our base." She didn't mention the guard duties Wands had - those wouldn't be pulled from their posts to intervene unless the Minister personally ordered it. Smiling sweetly, she added: "After this though I'd expect that doctrine to change, should the DMLE support such a proposal."

Dawlish glared at her, then turned away. Hermione caught a muttered 'mudblood' from the man. It didn't faze her. She knew her blood was impure, tainted by her muggle ancestry. And yet the Minister had seen fit to let her and her fellow Wands wield magic in service of Britain anyway. Trusted them with his and his family's lives, even - despite her ancestors having hunted witches, murdering them out of jealousy, religious fanaticism and blind hatred, until the wizards had been forced to hide not only themselves, but the very existence of magic if they wanted to survive.

Hers was a legacy of guilt.

After checking that Colin was still doing his job, Hermione walked back to the wizard she had met during the fight. Had fallen on top of him, actually. She snorted, imagining Luna's reaction to that story. She schooled her features quickly though - a lot of people had died today, and it wouldn't do to appear amused.

The foreigner, Antoine Dupont, was leaning against the wall where she had left him earlier. That didn't mean he was harmless, of course. He was a skilled fighter, despite his young age. She hadn't seen enough of him to be certain, but he might be almost as good as the average Wand. And that meant he had either been trained very well, or had had a lot of experience for his age. Given that he was from Québec, she was betting on the latter - Magical North America was full of wars and insurrections, and Québec had just been beaten by the Free Republic of Maine and Vermont in one of those bloody conflicts. If he had told her the truth about his origin, of course. Dean had checked his papers already, and they had proven to be genuine, but one could never be really certain.

He saw her approaching, and pushed himself off from the wall, smiling at her. He was handsome, she thought, now that she had the time to look him over. Dark hair, a well-groomed beard, fit body… quite a difference to most of the purebloods she knew.

"Mister Dupont," she said, nodding at the young wizard, "thank you for waiting."

"No problem," he said, with a very faint French accent.

"I'll have to ask you a few questions, about this incident. Standard procedure."

"Shoot." He flashed her a quick, confident smile. So far he fit the reputation of the Americans as being far more casual than Europeans.

She pulled out a piece of parchment and her quill. "How did you happen to get involved in this attack?"

"Well, I heard the explosion, and the screams, and I ran towards their source. When I saw one of those masked people torture a child, I simply reacted, and hit him with a spell, and after that, they were on to me." Antoine shrugged, as if having fought for his life against Death Eaters had been anything but special.

"Do you always run towards danger, Mister Dupont?" She studied him closely.

"Not always. But… " she saw he winced slightly. "Some habits are hard to break, even after I left my home."

"You've fought in the war then?" That would explain his skill and reaction.

"I've seen my share of combat."

She narrowed her eyes a bit. He could be simply modest, or he could be evasive. It was hard to tell. A few months ago the Wands had been informed that there could be trouble from Québécois trying to gather more supplies and recruits for their war in Britain. Nothing had come of it, so far. She asked him a few questions about the fight itself, which were answered in detail. Better, she thought, than she'd expect from an Auror in his place. If that hypothetical Auror would have survived the fight. He could be a trouble-maker, maybe a mercenary looking for work. But he had helped her, had fought the Death Eaters. There was no reason to take him in.

"So, are you satisfied?"

She nodded. "Yes, Mister Dupont. If we have more questions we'll contact you. Where are you staying?"

"In the Leaky Cauldron, room 11."

She wrote the address down.

"I never got your name, Miss."

She blushed briefly when she realized her lapse. She should have introduced herself before the interview. "I'm Wand-Leader Hermione."

"We're on a first name base already?" He smiled widely. "Call me Antoine."

"Wands of Britain have no family, the country is our family," she repeated what had been drilled into her since she could remember.

"So, you're Hermione Britain? It's a cute name."

She opened her mouth to dress him down, but he held his hand up. "I'm sorry… I grew up with some bad jokers, and they rubbed off on me."

"It's alright," she answered. He seemed sincere enough.

"Can I buy you a drink as an apology?"

She looked at him, surprised. That didn't happen to Wands. Purebloods didn't flirt with muggleborns, other than to mock them - and she didn't know many who'd mock a Wand-Leader. Apart from Draco Malfoy, of course.

For a moment, he seemed as surprised as she was, then he smiled. "I know you're busy, now, but… maybe tomorrow? To celebrate that we both survived this?"

She should have turned his invitation down. She was a Wand of Britain, her life sworn to defend her country, not some pureblood girl looking for… whatever. Instead she muttered something noncommittal about not knowing if her schedule would permit it.

"I'll send you an owl then, to check."

And with that, Antoine - Mister Dupont - left.

If she ever told Luna this, her friend would be even more amused.

London, The Leaky Cauldron, August 3rd, 1999, 18.40 hours

Ron Weasley sighed. Flirting with a Wand-Leader. Inviting her to a drink. What had he been thinking? Granted, if he played it right, she could be a good source of information. But from what he had seen after the fight, when he had waited at the corner, she wasn't just a Wand-Leader, but also in charge of investigations, or whatever the Wands of Britain called that. At least she had ordered most of the other Wands around, especially that annoying kid with the camera.

No matter how he thought about it, fooling her would be difficult, and dangerous. And that didn't even touch the problem that he hadn't been thinking about using her as a source of information when he had asked her out. He had just thought she looked cute. And his lines... 'Hermione Britain? Cute name'? He closed his eyes. If his brothers knew about this, they'd tease him for days. They'd do it anyway, he realized, even if they thought he had been planning to use her.

He let himself fall down on his bed. At least he had something to report now - the Death Eaters were already attacking Britain, and he had a rough take on their and the Ministry's level of skill. Not bad for his first day. And he hadn't made stupid mistakes during the fight. Other than getting into it in the first place, of course. But, merde alors, if he wanted to stay safe he wouldn't have volunteered to go to Britain! Though he needed a real bolthole now, that his residence was known to Malfoy's Ministry. He had a wizard tent, for emergencies, but a purely muggle flat would be better. He doubted that Malfoy's goons would be familiar with the muggle world. Hm. If he could confirm that, then that could be a major weakness - a staging area right next to the heart of Wizarding Britain's government.

He rolled over on his stomach and grabbed his disguised code books, transfiguring the fake into the real one. He had another report to make. Hopefully, back in France they'd not expect him to keep that frequency up.

London, Ministry of Magic, August 3rd, 1999, 20.00 hours

Lucius Malfoy put the report of the attack on Diagon Alley down. It wasn't as bad as he had at first feared. Or had expected, when Severus had told him about the Dark Lord's plans. The attackers killed almost to a man, no Wand lost, and less than a dozen dead civilians. Enough to serve as an excuse for some controversial orders. The deaths among the Aurors were regrettable, but he hadn't expected them to fight as well as his Wands. And his Wands certainly had proven their worth. Efficient and deadly. Just as he wanted them. His 'allies' and 'supporters' hopefully would quickly realize that he controlled their best hope to beat this 'new' menace.

He leaned back in his seat and clasped his fingers, ignoring the still slightly off sensations in his artificial hand. Even if his Wands performed as well as he hoped, it wouldn't matter much until the Dark Lord was dead. And to kill him he had to track down those thrice-cursed Horcruxes. A task Augustus had made remarkably little progress in, despite all those years he claimed to have spent on it. He could but hope Severus was more successful. The ones they had destroyed so far were mostly the result of chance - the diary had been literally handed to Lucius himself, and the locket had been given to Narcissa by the Black's deranged house elf after Lucius had claimed to have defeated the Dark Lord ten years ago. That meant that four more were hidden out there - if Horace's memory was to be trusted. Four Horcruxes, and ten years without anything to show for.

First things first though. He signed the prepared decree that authorized the Wands of Britain to use the Unforgivables in battle against the Death Eaters, 'after this shocking display of just how depraved those deluded 'Death Eaters' have shown themselves to be in their attack on innocent wizards and witches in Diagon Alley'. Of course Dawlish would ask the same authorisation for the Aurors as soon as he heard of this, and Lucius would of course grant it as well - after making sure that everyone knew Dawlish was to blame for not thinking of it, and that Lucius hadn't wanted to go over the head of the Head Auror.

He summoned his secretary with a flick of his wand that rang a bell at the door.

"Yes, sir?"

He handed her the scroll. "Have that passed to the Corps, and distributed to the Department heads, the Wizengamot and the Daily Prophet."

"Yes, sir." She bowed. "Your wife asked me to remind you that you have a dinner scheduled in half an hour."

For a moment he wanted to cancel. The attack on Diagon Alley was certainly a more than good enough excuse. And Narcissa hadn't stopped asking him to confiscate No 12 Grimmauld Place, the Black's ancestral house in London, ever since Malfoy Manor had been destroyed. And she didn't understand that overruling the will of Orion Black would seriously - severely - damage his position since all the other rich families would not tolerate such a blatant grab of a family fortune. Not even from him.

On the other hand, such a dinner would show that the Ministry wasn't particularly alarmed or even afraid of this new threat. He nodded. "Thank you."

He checked his watch. He had more than enough time to get presentable. And get additional guards. Just in case Severus was wrong about the Dark Lord's plans.

Beauxbatons, France, August 3rd, 1999, 22.14 hours

"Come in please," Albus Dumbledore said when his spells informed him of Harry's arrival, putting down the message from young Mister Weasley.

"Professor." Harry nodded at him as he took a seat. "I came as quickly as I could after I received your Patronus."

"I hope Miss Weasley was not too angry about this." Miss Weasley's temper was well-known at the school, after all.

"She understands, with her brothers off as well," Harry said, though Albus didn't miss his slight wince.

"Understanding does not preclude anger, but I digress." He handed the message from Mister Weasley over. It matched the intelligence from Severus, but there was no need to inform Harry of that.

The young wizard read it quickly, then looked up. "This looks like open war." He understood, then.

Albus nodded. "Attacks by Death Eaters on Diagon Alley in broad daylight only happened at the height of the last war, shortly before the Dark Lord's defeat at your hand."

"My forehead, you mean," Harry interjected, touching his scar.

Albus chuckled, even if the humor was rather dark, given the circumstances. "Indeed. Even enraged by Lucius's betrayal, and affected by his soul having been split, I would have expected Voldemort to be too smart to attack Britain without first building up his forces."

"His followers could have prepared for his return."

That was a possibility. Albus wasn't certain if he preferred it to an unstable, reckless Dark Lord whose forces might fall too quickly to Lucius's. "In any case, our window of opportunity might not be as long as I had expected."

Harry stiffened. He knew what that meant. He nodded, slowly. Brave, as had been his parents. And so many others, lost in that senseless war. And as were too many others, already risking their lives in this new war. "Now, then?"

"Yes," Albus answered, fighting down his guilt.

"Best get down to it then." Harry stood up, and only a slight trembling betrayed his nonchalance for the lie it was.

Albus stood up as well. "I've prepared the ritual in my chambers." He opened the doors to his private office, and with a swish of his wand, unstuck and rolled up the carpet hiding the pentagram drawn on the stone floor.

"Where do I stand?"

"Sit down in the center."

As the boy, no, the young man, sat down, Albus raised his wand. He had created this spell years ago, but he had never cast it, not for the purpose he had created it. He knew it would work though, and he knew its price. Focusing on the casting, he started to weave his wand back and forth in increasingly complicated movements while he chanted words from a language not spoken in millenia. When he finished, he was breathing heavily from the strain, and the tip of his wand, won from Gellert so long ago, was glowing.

He touched it to the trembling man's forehead, and closed his eyes when the screaming began.

"Five more shards. Four Horcruxes and the Dark Lord himself," Albus mumbled.

"And this. Can't forget this. I know, I tried." Harry pointed at his forehead. It had taken him an hour and a rare potion to stop shaking, but he seemed to have recovered his often biting wit.

"We will deal with that afterwards."

"We better. Wouldn't want this pain to have been for naught."

Albus forced himself to grin, even though he didn't feel like it. The burden he had placed on Harry… "First things first though. Can you locate them?"

"Vaguely. I know four lie in this direction," he pointed, "and the fifth in that." He moved his hand a bit to the east. Four in Britain, then, and one in… half of Europe lied in that direction.

"We shall hunt down the single one first." They'd have to move around a lot to pinpoint its location, but that wouldn't matter much in Europe. Tracking the ones in Britain would be far more dangerous - and not just because one of those would be the Dark Lord himself.

"When?" Harry asked in a tone that suggested that the answer should be 'right now'. That wasn't feasible though.

Albus met the young man's eyes. "In three days. My absence during the week would raise suspicions." Suspicions he'd rather avoid, for all the trouble they could cause.

Harry didn't look happy, but nodded, if reluctantly. He understood the need for secrecy and subtlety. One good thing that had come from being raised by Sirius Black.

Albus handed a few vials of dreamless sleep over to Harry. At his stare, the old wizard added. "Just in case you start to have nightmares."

Harry snorted. "I already have nightmares. Occlumency deals with them just fine."

"The link I created might render that discipline less effective than you are used to," Albus explained.

Harry frowned. He did take the vials with him when he left through the office's Floo connection, leaving the old wizard alone with his thoughts, and with his guilt.