Lily decided to have a tantrum in the minutes preceding the floo call, though Harry wasn't to know the importance of what was coming. She stood in front of the fireplace in navy blue pyjamas, arms crossed tightly over her chest, scowling at Harry.

'I don't see why I have to get up early tomorrow to clean the broomshed.' She said angrily. Harry rolled his shoulders out. He glanced to his left and saw Ginny, reclined on the sofa, suspiciously engrossed in a book about different ways to upcycle old broomstick parts.

'It's ten o'clock, you won't be tired if you go to bed now rather than argue –'

'That's not the point!' Lily's arms flailed. 'I'm not the only one who uses it, but I'm the only one that has to clean it, and I have to get up early to do it when I can do it just as well after lunch! Or not at all!'

'You'll have all the rest of the day to do whatever you want to!' Harry pleaded with a heavy sigh, watching Ginny grin in his periphery.

'James and Al are probably going to be playing Quidditch tomorrow while I have to clean up their mess.' Lily said acidly. 'Or they'll be in Hogsmeade, or eating twenty chocolate frogs, or sleeping, or –'

'Harry,' came a deep voice from behind Lily, who shrieked in surprise. Ginny's book jumped out of her hands and landed heavily on her stomach. She yelped.

Harry looked at his daughter as he moved around her to get to the fireplace. She was desperately trying to regain the momentum she had before interrupted. Ginny was sitting up on the sofa, book forgotten and wedged between her hip and the back cushion.

'Kingsley? What's happening?' Harry asked, crouching so close he could feel the flames warm up the metal of his glasses as they licked heat into the living room.

'I'm sorry, but I just can't give you details over the floo. But we need you in.' Kingsley said, voice and face unreadable.

'Okay. I'll be with you in fifteen.' frowning, Harry reared back from the furnace and rose up, eye line with the picture of his wedding day. He knew Kingsley wouldn't call him in if it wasn't something relatively serious. Kingsley could handle plenty without Harry's help to begin with.

'Harry –' Kingsley said, even though Harry had thought the conversation was over. 'I'll warn you now. It's very personal. Best make it more like five or ten minutes.'

While Kingsley left, the flames regaining their ground, Harry looked sideways at Ginny who was staring back at him. 'Lily, go to bed,' Ginny said stiffly, never moving her eyes from Harry's.

Huffing, Lily stomped up the stairs muttering to herself. Harry could feel her glare burning into the side of his head as she disappeared behind the bannister. He didn't have time to be frustrated about how she immediately listened to her mother, or how Ginny had clearly enjoyed not stepping into the conversation beforehand because they both stopped to listen, with the utmost concentration, for the required 23 steps it would take their daughter to be safely in her room and not spying on them and their conversation.

Door shut, Ginny rubbed her eyes. They both remembered the last time this had happened, back when Ron was his partner and had been badly splinched. 'What do you think he needs you for?'

Harry couldn't think why. He was Head Auror, so it was easy to assume this was a more common occurrence than it actually was. But, his authority came with the fact that it was normally Harry who got people to come in on days off because of emergencies, and he who would take himself to the office out of hours either of his own volition or if one of the aurors had called him. His meetings with the Minister were scheduled and often, and usually in normal working hours.

If Kingsley couldn't deal with whatever the issue was himself, and if none of the highly-skilled, intelligent and talented aurors on duty in Harry's team could deal with it either…

'Haven't a clue,' Harry said finally, eyes focusing again.

'What's personal about it?'

'Merlin knows,' Harry replied. He frowned. 'You shouldn't have heard that.'

'Shut up.' Ginny rolled her eyes. 'You better get going.'

'You should take the Statute for the Prevention of Endangering Highly Secret Information more seriously,' Harry shouted over his shoulder as he walked away from her and towards the back door where he had shucked off his shoes earlier that day.

The water of the Fountain of Magical Brethren danced only for an audience of one as Harry walked past it quickly. The tapping of his shoes was drowned out by the white noise of it, and he just about spotted his own reflection in the frozen sweep of the wizard's cloak.

The fountain had been restored to the grandeur Harry had seen when he first visited the Ministry for his trial, with the exception of a tricky little charm that allowed the flowing water to crash soundlessly into the waiting pool below without causing so much as a ripple. Names of the dead from the last century were carved into the base of the pool, glowing from the light that bounced off the water that might just as well have been glass. There were no coins gathering at the bottom; as soon as they came a breath too close to the surface they disappeared to a pot in the reception of St Mungo's, not dissimilar to the house point hourglasses at Hogwarts.

Names spanning those murdered in Grindelwald's first months to those present at the final fight at Hogwarts were readable from metres away if the reader so chose. There were no birth years or death dates – the latter was often too much of a luxury for the family to know of, and indeed too many people had simply never been found again. In a strange turn of freakish luck, Harry's parents and Fred Weasley's names were clustered together directly under the raised hooves of the centaur.

Hermione was unhappy with the fountain being restored exactly as it was – Harry, too, found it quite unsavoury, the way the house elf, goblin and centaur looked so awed at the witch and wizard – but there were Wizengamots to pacify, and Mugwumps to please.

The watch wizard stared glassy-eyed at Harry as usual as he weighed his wand. 'Holly,' he said in a bored voice. 'Phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches.'

'What?' Harry asked, stopping in his tracks mid-stride.

The wizard turned slowly, daydreaming disrupted as he scowled and shrugged dismissively. 'Your wand.'

Harry stared at him, mouth hanging open slightly. Surely not… his wand had always been eleven inches exactly. He looked at it in his hand as he stumbled away towards a lift. It didn't look any different, or feel odd. It seemed the same as it always did, not unbalanced by an extra half-inch.

Could wands just simply change? Harry thought angrily, not wanting to dwell on something such as this when he had no idea about the situation he was walking into.

'Level Two,' Harry asked the lift, still frowning and staring at his wand by the time he arrived at his destination. The smooth voice announced he was at the Department for Magical Law Enforcement.

The gates were still rattling open when the pale face of Roan Williamson, who was not on night duty this evening, seized Harry's sleeve. 'He's over here,' he said to Harry, brusquely leading him around the corner where Kingsley's tall figure was talking to Amber and Laurence Fogs, a brother and sister who were both aurors and remarkably good at identifying poisons and potions. Both Kingsley and their matching protruding chins turned to Harry, stopping their conversation in an instant.

Unsettled, Harry glanced at Williamson and back again. Kingsley was unreadable, but everyone else loitering around the department looked apprehensive at his entrance.

'Having a party without me?' Harry offered the room lightly, trying to alleviate the clogging atmosphere. He was answered only with blinks and grimaces. Never had they looked so on edge, and never had the night shift been so packed.

'Harry,' Kingsley said, gesturing to the breakroom behind him. Harry followed, and saw him shoot the room at large with a searing look that seemed to translate into some kind of instruction; Harry's colleagues began bustling about with the pretence of purpose.

Harry's eyes slid away from Kingsley rapping his wand on the door to lock itself, to the stained sofa against the back wall which housed a sickly looking Percy Weasley.

'Percy!' Harry said in shock, blinking. Percy looked back quickly, mouth opening and eyes turning immediately to Kingsley. His hands rubbed anxiously at his robes.

'Sit down, Harry,' Kingsley said, sighing, turning around to make a pot of tea. 'It was Percy and I that got everyone in.'

Harry very much doubted Percy had been doing much of anything. His glasses were askew and he gripped the tea Kingsley gave him loosely. He kept glancing back and forth between him and Harry, looking unsure of what to say. He settled on nothing at all.

'What's going on?' Harry asked immediately. 'It can't be too bad or you would have had me in before now, not everyone in the department except me…'

'Like I said, it's personal. We thought we might be able to sort it out without your help but, well,' Kingsley sat heavily opposite Harry, 'you do have a talent for the weird and wonderful.'

Harry's eyes narrowed. 'Why is it weird? Why is it personal?'

Kingsley and Percy exchanged glances. 'What you've got to understand is, it's very realistic.' Percy said cryptically, rubbing his nose.

'What is?'

'We were working late,' Kingsley said, 'and suddenly there's a big black dog at the end of the corridor.'

'The Grim?' Harry laughed, slapping his hand on the table in delight.

'It wasn't just a dog!' Percy said fiercely. 'It started out like a dog, like the Grim, but then it changed and – and it was a man!'

Harry's smile died. He looked back and forth at Percy and Kingsley. 'You're telling me it's personal… because –'

'Sirius,' Kingsley confirmed. He shook his head. 'I stared at his face for months on end, I'd know what his face looked like even if I hadn't seen him outside of work all the time. They looked exactly like him.'

Harry's mind wandered back to seeing Kingsley's cubicle on the same day he had first seen the fountain. He remembered the glaring face of his godfather staring out at all angles in newspaper clippings and between maps.

'Well – it can't be.' Harry said simply, staring. His heart beat wildly. 'We all know he's dead.'

'Yes,' Kingsley said slowly, eyeing Harry cautiously. 'But we can't find any evidence of trickery just yet. It would be easier if whoever it was just talked.'

There was a long pause. 'So you think they want to talk to me, on account of dressing up as my dead godfather.' Harry said bluntly, anger simmering as Percy twitched. Kingsley nodded, looking at Harry steadily over his sip of tea.

'Well,' Harry said, running his hands through his hair. 'All right. Okay. At least it's not the kids. Right. Which, uh – which room?'

'You're going in with someone. Williamson.' Kinglsye replied, brows creasing. Harry rolled his eyes.

'Fine. Which room?'

'Seven.'

As they walked – the four of them, Percy looking unsure if he should be present – the eyes of Harry's department followed. It was only a short journey to the holding rooms, shorter even to number seven which was on the end of the corridor. Dawlish stood grumpily outside the door, hair ruffled and arms crossed resolutely over his chest.

'Finally decided to join us?' He said nastily to Harry, who rolled his eyes and ignored him.

'Here?' He asked, turning his back to Dawlish who scowled. Williamson, similarly ignoring his colleague, nodded.

'He's calmed down,' he said quietly. 'But I expect he'll get a bit – you know – when he sees you.'

'That's fine,' Harry grimaced. 'They're usually like that with me.' Dark wizards and witches were never particularly happy when Harry Potter stepped into the room to ask them why they were skulking around a Muggle-born Ministry official's home at three in the morning.

Kingsley looked Harry straight in the eyes. 'Stay calm.' He said. Harry felt protestations bubbling up in his throat, and Kingsley must have known because he continued; 'I know you're not fifteen anymore, I know you're head of the department and a father and all that now. But it's a very realistic disguise.' He shrugged with his palms upwards in a Look, I'm just warning you gesture.

Harry nodded reluctantly, feeling chastised and as if he was being given detention. Percy clapped him lightly on the shoulder behind him as Harry signalled to Williamson to open the door.

Stepping inside, Harry's breath caught in his throat. There he was, in the flesh. He wasn't as bad as he had been after being on the run for months, and he wasn't in perfect full health as Harry had often wondered he could've been. He was the same as the day Harry had last seen him, merely in borrowed robes and with a haggard, stressed look on his face Harry had never witnessed before.

He – whoever it was – looked wildly at them entering with dark eyes. He focused on Harry, as those in his seat (chained to it) always did. Harry sat down opposite him as smoothly as he could. Williamson blocked the door.

'Hello,' Harry said as pleasantly as he could muster. 'I understand you managed to break into the Ministry this evening. Well done. You did quite well to stay unseen for as long as you did.'

Opposite him, fake-Sirius looked desperately confused. 'Where are the others?'

'There's more of you?'

'Well – yes,' not-Sirius said, 'with Dumbledore? You must have seen them by now, they weren't in the Department where I left them so they must have moved, I was looking for them when –' He stopped and looked closely at Harry's face. His jaw dropped. 'Harry?!'

'I am rather famous,' Harry said, trying hard to ignore the look on their face, the ache he felt when they said his name with Sirius' voice. Williamson shuffled in the background. 'You're telling me there's someone disguised as Dumbledore running about the Ministry? In the same way you're dressed as Sirius Black?'

To be fair to whoever it was, Harry thought, they were doing an excellent job of playing dumb. He wasn't sure why they were pretending to do so because they had clearly gotten what they wanted – Harry's audience – and he couldn't understand what other purpose there was for running around as Sirius. Even if that wasn't their purpose, acting as if they didn't know who Harry was despite dressing as his godfather was a bit misguided.

'I – I am Sirius Black.' They said. 'I thought you were here to put me back! But – Harry, is that you?'

'Put you back where?' Harry interrupted. 'Prison? Azkaban?'

The fake-Sirius looked at him oddly. They spoke slowly. 'Yes … of course, Azkaban.'

'Well, I must say, I've never had someone we've caught be quite so upfront before. It's very refreshing.' Harry felt riled up by this confusion… it annoyed him more than it should have and crawled under his skin and lodged there. He tried to handle his anger as he had so often before in situations similar.

'Harry, why do you look… different,' not-Sirius asked. He was paling rapidly. 'You look much more like James now –'

Harry recoiled from the man physically, chair screeching with the effort on the cheap flooring. 'Excuse me?' He hissed. This was a turn he had not expected. Williamson coughed behind him, as a reminder of his presence.

'Harry, everyone tells you that. Everyone.'

'I admire your commitment to the act,' Harry said, trying to convince his muscles to ease up and let go of their tension, trying to convince his fists to unwind, trying to become professional again.

'I'm not acting!' Not-Sirius said fiercely. 'I am here because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named made you think he had me, and you and your friends – kids! – decided to handle it yourselves!' His eyes slid to Williamson for a second, and Harry knew he was assessing him somehow.

'You know we've been guarding it for a while,' He was leaning as far as he could in his chains, trying to get closer to Harry who refused to move. His eyes flickered to Williamson again. 'One moment I'm fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, and next thing I know everyone's gone and Kingsley's casting –'

'Enough.' Harry said darkly. 'I'm not sure how you know how Sirius Black died, or the circumstances around it. But I'm sure if you asked the right people, it wouldn't be too hard to find out. But I want to know just why you are impersonating a man who has been dead for years. A cheap shot at me? A message?'

Fake-Sirius stared at him slack-jawed. 'Dead?' He whispered. 'You think I'm dead? I'm here! I should be asking you why you look the way you do – surely you can't be Harry! It's not right – you're not right –'

'If it weren't already obvious,' Harry said angrily, 'you are not in a position to be asking questions at the moment.'

'I want to know where my godson is!' Not-Sirius said, voice rising with each word. 'I want to know he's all right!'

'I am Harry Potter!' Harry thundered, standing up violently and taking a few steps away from the chair. He thought about Kingsley looking in, watching, most likely highly disappointed. Harry closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, trying and failing to blame his reactions on the time of day.

'If you're Harry Potter,' Not-Sirius said, sounding just as angry as Harry felt, nothing left to lose now he was caught, clearly; 'tell me about Buckbeak! Tell me about when you got me out of Flitwick's office and I said you were just like your dad and I told your friend Hermione that she was an incredibly bright witch and how I accidentally broke Ron's leg earlier on that night, and –'

Harry failed to exhale the deep breath he had just taken. It was caught in his stomach which had dropped miles. He looked at Williamson, who looked nonplussed and uncomfortable, like he was intruding. With great effort Harry turned back to not-Sirius stiffly who was still ranting.

'How do you know about that night?' He asked quietly, scared to move an inch. The chains were the only noise as they rattled alongside their prisoner turning to stare back, voice dying in their throat.

'I was there,' the fake snapped back.

Light-headed, feeling as if he was surely missing something because everything had moved so fast and escalated so quickly, Harry turned to Williamson. He felt cold sweat bead on his forehead.

'We need to speak to Kingsley again.' He said. Williamson nodded in a non-committal way which bordered on a shrug, generally looking relieved to get out of the situation.

They both turned to the door. Not-Sirius was rattling his chains and shouting after them, confused and angry. Harry spun on his heel, ignoring the silent people outside the door, pointing his index finger at the man in the chair. He stopped shouting when Harry turned.

Harry flailed around trying to find something to say. He wasn't sure what he wanted it to be. He floundered with non-words and phrases, random beginnings of sentences leaving his mouth before he settled, frustrated, on – 'Fuck!'