The Box
The Dark Lord stared curiously at Augustus Rookwood. On the surface, the man looked as though his condition had scarcely improved, and though there was a semblance of lucidity in his eyes, he continued to dribble like an infant.
"Are you certain he has clarity?"
Severus nodded.
"He cannot speak and his mind is still frail, but he is able to communicate through blinking," he explained. "I would ask simple questions that require a yes or no answer. Rookwood blinks twice for yes and once for no."
The Dark Lord scowled at what had once been one of his most capable and valuable followers.
Rookwood was now only a former shadow of the brilliant man, but he could still prove to be useful.
"I have questions I need answering, Augustus," the Dark Lord murmured. "Is it possible to enter the Hall of Prophecies without alerting anyone."
Rookwood blinked twice.
"Can I send someone on my behalf to collect the Prophecy?"
One blink.
The Dark Lord released a deep breath of frustration.
"Does it have to be me to retrieve it?"
He blinked once more and the Dark Lord frowned.
"Can I be collected by Potter?" Severus broke in.
Two blinks and Lord Voldemort nodded thoughtfully.
"Does it have to be Potter or myself?"
He received two blinks in response, eliciting a growl from the Dark Lord.
"Very well," he sighed. "Severus, I would have you send a message to Nott. Tell him to proceed with the original plan. I will send for Greyback."
"Are you certain, my lord?" Severus asked cautiously.
"I am," Voldemort decided. "We have been idle for too long. It is time to act."
"Will you retrieve it yourself?"
"Perhaps," the Dark Lord mused aloud, though he had another plan he was already pondering.
If only Potter could retrieve the prophecy, it would be best for him to have the boy do it on his behalf, and Lord Voldemort had the perfect bargaining tool to ensure Potter would comply.
With no reason to remain reticent any longer, it truly was time to resume with his goals. The setbacks had indeed been many, but there was nothing that would prevent the Dark Lord from achieving what he had set out several decades ago to achieve.
Dealing with Potter was at the very top of his list. However, he needed to ensure he had all the support he required.
The efforts of the Death Eaters to add to their numbers had born fruit, but the support of Greyback and the giants would be needed in the coming conflict.
Now was the time to act. The Dark Lord had been patient enough.
(Break)
"And could you finally remove the curse placed on this scarf, Mr Potter?"
Harry did so with a wave of his wand and Madam Marchbanks took some notes on her piece of parchment.
"I expected nothing less," the woman murmured.
"Excuse me?"
Madam Marchbanks offered him a smile.
"The magic you wielded during the tournament last year is well documented, Mr Potter. I did not expect your practical OWLs would be too much of a bother for you."
"Thank you," Harry replied gratefully.
"No, thank you, Mr Potter. It is my understanding that you have invested much of your own time helping your peers. Professor Dumbledore believes much of the credit for the exemplary performances we are seeing this year is because of you."
"He might be overestimating me," Harry chuckled.
"I think not," Madam Marchbanks returned firmly, "though I do admire your humble attitude. The Wizengamot will be receiving a fine Lord in a little over a year. You may go."
Harry offered her a final smile before taking his leave of the hall where Hermione was waiting for him.
"How did it go?" she asked excitedly.
"He bloody smashed it," Ron huffed good-naturedly.
"I know, Ronald," Hermione said with a tut. "I wanted to know if they gave Harry anything difficult."
"Not really," Harry answered with a shrug. "Marchbanks just had me removing curses, asked me a few questions, conjure two different shields, and counter three spells she fired at me."
"She shot spells at you?" Hermione gasped.
Harry nodded confusedly.
"Didn't she do that with you?"
Hermione shook her head.
"No, I only had to name two shields that block standard spells, counter two curses, and name a type of cursed fire."
"So, they did make him do more," Ron said triumphantly.
Harry merely shrugged in response.
"None if it was hard," he pointed out. "I've taught most of it to the rest of you already."
"But it is beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level," Hermione explained. "I bet you did it all without using incantations, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"We won't start learning that until next year, Harry," Hermione pointed out.
"Oh, I didn't think of that."
Hermione shook her head amusedly.
"For someone who is quite brilliant, you're quite dense, Harry."
"Ronald Weasley?"
Ron suddenly paled as a short man called his name from the door of the Great Hall.
"You'll be fine," Harry assured him.
Ron nodded and stood at his full height as he entered the Great Hall.
"Don't tell him I said this, but he looked a lot like Percy when he did that," Harry murmured.
Hermione hid her laughter behind her hand as she nodded her agreement.
They waited for only ten minutes until a pleased Ron Weasley returned, giving them both a thumbs-up as he approached.
"Thanks mate," he said to Harry, clapping him smartly on the shoulder. "I just wish potions went better," he added with a frown.
"At least it wasn't as bad as Neville's," Hermione comforted. "His cauldron melted."
Ron grimaced sympathetically.
"Just one more to go," he declared. "Divination."
"Arithmancy for me," Hermione murmured. "It will be the hardest one yet."
"I'm done," Harry said, relieved his exams were finally over.
With how ominously quiet Voldemort had been since the Azkaban breakout, he'd been granted the time to study for his OWLs. Now that they were over, however, whatever the Dark Lord was up to was on his mind once more.
"I suppose I'd best get to it," Ron grumbled. "Maybe if I fail, I won't have to continue with it. Catch you later."
"I need to go too," Hermione announced. "Defence Club tomorrow?"
Harry nodded.
"Quidditch tonight, Defence Club tomorrow."
Hermione offered him a smile and wave as she left the Entrance Hal to sit her final exam, and Harry made his way outside to enjoy the late June weather.
A year.
It had been a year since the final of the tournament, and though it felt to be something of a distant memory, he'd never forget it and all that happened that night.
Reaching for the Thestral talon he wore around his neck along with the broomstick, he released a deep breath.
"Come Death, come," he murmured to himself.
He'd respected Katie's wishes, and even if he wasn't ready to move on, he'd been relieved of the burden of guilt he'd carried for her death. If she didn't blame him, he knew he couldn't blame himself any longer.
It would serve only to dishonour the memory of the girl he'd been so fond of.
He still was, but Katie had been right. She was gone and Harry had his entire life ahead of him. She wanted him to live it, and when all was said and done with Voldemort, no matter what inevitable heartache and suffering he would endure, he intended to do just that.
Sarah and David had remained in contact with him, and Harry looked forward to their letters when they sporadically arrived. Sometimes they simply wished to know how he was, and others, they would share their treasured memories of Katie when she was growing up.
"I suppose you'll be getting an Outstanding in your Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL," a familiar voice commented.
"As will you," Harry replied. "If you don't, I'm not going to carry on teaching you. It would be a waste of my valuable time."
"Tomorrow night?" Daphne asked.
Harry nodded.
"Have I ever let you down?"
"Only every time I see you, Potter," Daphne sighed, "but I am grateful for your help. I'd be disappointed if I didn't get an Outstanding in Defence, and Runes."
The duo had begun working on the latter of the subjects together a few months prior. Daphne was a keen practitioner of Ancient Runes and between them, they'd lessened their workload considerably from their combined efforts.
"Tomorrow night then," Harry chuckled.
Daphne offered him a rare smile before she took her leave and Harry removed the letter he'd received at breakfast that he hadn't had time to open before his exams.
The scrawl across the front was one that he'd become familiar since the new year had come. Not a week went by that he didn't exchange a letter or two with Gabrielle who was quite insistent she be allowed to show him around parts of Magical France Harry had yet to see.
He certainly wasn't against the idea.
Gabrielle was, in many ways, a welcome distraction from the responsibilities he had at Hogwarts and Magical Britain at large. She never mentioned the war, never asked him for anything other than a reply to her letters, and she certainly couldn't care less about his fame, other than his feat of rescuing her and Fleur from the lake.
It also helped that she was not fixated on the life debt that hung between them.
'I'm sure you will one day find something suitable I can do to make-up for it.'
That was all she had said on the matter and had pointed out that she wanted them to be friends above any outstanding magical debt.
That had already somewhat been budding before the incident in the lake, so it only made sense for Harry for that to not change.
"Might I have a word, Harry?"
"I thought with my exams being done the rest of the year would be peaceful," Harry snorted.
"It will not take long," Dumbledore assured him amusedly. "Perhaps a stroll around the lake?"
Harry nodded and fell into step with the headmaster.
"I do not take time away to do this often enough," Dumbledore mused aloud. "I fear I often take for granted the privilege I have of residing in the castle. The grounds are truly magnificent. Of course, the credit for that belongs to Hagrid."
"I see him out here at all hours," Harry replied. "Does he sleep?"
Dumbledore chuckled.
"He assures me that he gets enough rest. I expect his parentage means he does not need as much as most."
"What's my excuse then?" Harry asked.
"I cannot say for sure," Dumbledore murmured. "I have found that I have required little sleep myself. Maybe it is the nature of our magic that means we need less. Perhaps it is something I will look into when time permits."
"When you retire?"
"Are you so keen to see me leave Hogwarts?"
Harry shook his head.
"Wizards do retire, don't they?"
"Most do, but some opt to work until the very end. We are creatures of habit, and those that have dedicated their lives to something are seldom able to step away from it entirely."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"I don't suppose you wanted to discuss the finer points of sleeping and retirement?"
"I did not," Dumbledore sighed. "It is something of a more pressing nature. The Prophecy."
Harry frowned at the mention of it.
"I have it on good authority that the Dark Lord's patience has worn thin. I am unsure of what his plans are, but it is clear he intends on acquiring the prophecy soon. I would prefer that he did not."
"You want me to take it."
"In due course," Dumbledore said with an encouraging smile. "It may mean little to you, Harry, but to Tom, much of what he will do next hinges on it. I believe it would serve us well to ensure he has no perceived advantage."
"But he doesn't," Harry pointed out.
"Not as such," Dumbledore agreed, "but when he comes to learn of the contents, he will remain cautious of you. He will not, however, be reluctant to pursue his other goals. It would be detrimental to Wizarding Britain."
Harry nodded.
"Are we going to have to break into the Department of Mysteries to get it? He will proceed anyway if he thinks it's out of his reach."
Dumbledore frowned thoughtfully.
"I expect that would be the best approach. So long as he believes it is still there, he will remain hopeful he can obtain it. Perhaps we will be able to find a way to use that to our advantage."
Harry conceded the point with a muttered curse.
"I will get it during the summer," he assured the headmaster. "If there's anything you can tell me about getting in and out, it would be helpful."
Dumbledore offered him a bow.
"Thank you, Harry. I will make some notes of what I know of the department, but I suspect your cloak will be most useful in this venture. It truly is rather peaceful here. I think I will remain a little longer."
Harry accepted the dismissal and headed back towards the castle.
With the exams finished and a session of each Quidditch and the Defence Club to attend, the summer holiday would be upon him once more, though he did not anticipate simply enjoying a break from his schooling.
With Voldemort seemingly ready to continue with his efforts, albeit from within the shadows, Harry suspected he would be getting little rest in the coming weeks, months, and likely, years.
(Break)
Sirius had become something of a familiar face in Knockturn Alley over the past months, even if he could feel the loathing from the other patrons in whichever pub he chose to frequent.
As ever, he would enter, only for silence to fall. Many would simply take their leave and go elsewhere, but those who felt they had nothing to hide remained. Some would even make conversation with him, much to the chagrin of the others who wished him gone.
"Fucking hell, Black, you're costing me a fortune," Damien, the owner of The Flogged Hippogriff grumbled.
"I can't help it if people are offended by my presence," Sirius replied with a shrug. "I'll have the usual."
Placing a dozen galleons on the bar to quell the man's fury, Sirius took a seat, his gaze sweeping across his company for the evening.
Just about every miscreant and lowlife in Wizarding Britain would come to the frowned upon alley often enough, though they seemed to have learned their lesson with the deaths of the dozens of the comrades who had attempted to obtain the 100,000-galleon bounty placed on Sirius's head.
Of course, it had been Lucius to place the bounty. Very few had such a sum of gold begin with, let alone to fund the hunt for Sirius's life.
The Lord Black chuckled to himself as he accepted the Firewhiskey from Damien.
"Can you not go somewhere else?" the man all but pleaded. "My reputation is already down the shitter because of you."
"I quite like it here," Sirius replied airily. "You should be grateful. This lot are on their best behaviour when I'm here."
"I wouldn't rely on that idea, Black," Damien warned. "There's only so much they will tolerate. They might shite themselves at the sight of you now, but we both know that won't last."
"What do you know, Damien?" Sirius pressed interestedly.
The man took a step back as he held up his hands.
"I don't know anything," he said firmly.
He was lying.
As with every other business owner in the alley, he knew much more than he would let on. From fear, likely, but Sirius had no doubt there were those just waiting for the Dark Lord to creep out of the shadows so that they may declare for him.
It was not beyond the realm of possibility that many already had and were simply following in the footsteps of their master.
Not that it mattered to Sirius.
Soon enough, war would be upon them, but until then, he was content to continue frequenting the bars, making the patrons feel quite uncomfortable by his presence, and paying over the odds for his drink of choice in order to enjoy that.
"Relax, Damien. If I wanted to cause you problems, you would no longer have a bar to stand behind," Sirius said pointedly. "You heard what happened to Bletchley?"
Damien swallowed deeply as he nodded.
"He should have stayed behind his bar instead of thinking he could kill me. Just like the rest of them."
Damien picked up a rag and began polishing some of the glasses nervously.
"He should have," he murmured in agreement.
"I think I'll have another," Sirius murmured having finished his drink.
Damien's eyes widened suddenly, and the glass fell from his grasp, shattering on the ground.
Sirius frowned as he turned to see what had spooked the man, chuckling humourlessly as he found himself faced with every patron in the bar now garbed in Death Eater robes with their wands pointed at him.
It was not this that caught his attention, however.
Standing at the entrance was the oddest being Sirius had seen; tall, pale, red, slitted eyes, and without a nose of which to speak. At the very same moment he realised the gravity of his predicament, he felt several protections falling into place.
"I didn't know you were so short of gold that you're doing Lucius's bidding," Sirius commented, pondering his next move.
The Dark Lord shook his hairless head disappointedly.
"You are a fool, Black," he said simply. "Those who came before you were to be admired and treated with caution. You do not compare to your predecessors."
"Neither do you," Sirius returned evenly. "You'll never be Grindelwald nor Herpo nor any other Dark Lord."
Voldemort smiled in response.
"They could never hope to achieve what I already have," he concurred. "Now, let us not waste any more time with petty insults. You are more use to me alive, Black. You must know you cannot win, even if those you chose to watch over you were in any position to help."
Sirius frowned at the grinning man who stepped aside, and every fibre of his being burned with indignant fury at the sight of the lifeless and bloodied Shacklebolt and Remus.
If their expressions of agony was anything to go by, they had died suffering.
"Bastard!" Sirius hissed, whipping his wand upwards.
The force of the resulting explosion shook the entire bar, and the pained screams of the wounded men who had failed to defend themselves filled the air.
Not pausing to admire his handiwork, Sirius unleashed a barrage of spells around him knowing he had no allies here.
Another round of screams, and he was forced to throw himself to the ground to avoid the rebuttal.
The smoke caused by his first attack had ben to his advantage, but it was quickly swept away by Voldemort who hurled his own plethora of spells at Sirius.
He rolled away before diving behind the bar and landed in a warm pool of liquid. Looking for the source, he found himself staring into what remained of Damien's face.
Half of it had been torn away, and what remained was filled with shards of glass.
Had he a moment to think about it, Sirius knew he would feel rather sickened by the sight.
"Come out, Black!" Voldemort called.
Sirius took a deep breath as he looked desperately around for anything he could use, but beyond broken wood and glass there was little other than a few bottles of alcohol.
With a nod, he levitated and set them ablaze before banishing them over the bar he was hiding behind.
A growl of irritation sounded, and Sirius's eyes widened as the entire bar was torn away. Now, he was faced with an irate Dark Lord whose robes had been singed.
Knowing there was nothing else for it, Sirius delved into the Black family magic he had been studying so diligently since he'd returned to his ancestral home.
At first, it appeared as though the Dark Lord was taken aback and even struggling to defend himself from the onslaught, but Sirius quickly realised the man's smile had not wavered. If nothing else, Voldemort was toying with him.
Bellatrix.
His maniacal cousin may not have been able to teach her master the family magic, but she'd certainly have been able to show him how to defend himself from it.
"Come on, Black, I expected much more from you," Voldemort said disappointedly as he strung together an attack of his own.
Sirius was forced backwards into the wall from the power behind the spells, despite having conjured a shield against those he could not avoid.
From then on, everything went by in a blur of attacking and defending himself until he was fighting to breathe and his movements became laboured. How long he fought Voldemort off for, he could not be sure, but as another wave of spells was sent his way for the umpteenth time, he could barely raise his wand in time to parry away the first.
Everything faded to black as he felt a heavy pressure in his chest, and his final thought was that he had failed to avenge Remus, the second from last of the Marauders to fall.
(Break)
"This is it then," Angelina said sadly when the team had landed and huddled together after their final training session had ended. "They'll only be the three of you left next year," she added to Harry, Ron, and Demelza. You'd better keep winning."
"We'd better have some good replacements for you lot," Ron snorted.
Harry couldn't help but agree.
Losing Katie and Wood had been difficult to adjust to, but to lose Angelina, Alicia, and the twins in one fell swoop was another matter entirely. Each of them were as irreplaceable as the other and he did not envy whoever would be made Captain next year.
He frowned at the thought.
Given his seniority in the team, it would likely be him.
"We've still got Harry," Demelza said encouragingly. "No one is beating him to the Snitch."
"They haven't yet," Angelina said proudly. "Even as a little firstie, none of them could beat him; Diggory, Chang, and definitely not Malfoy. I think we all know that won't change."
"You never know," Harry said with a shrug.
Angelina tutted.
"Give it up, Harry. You'd probably fly rings around most of the professional Seekers already. Especially the one who plays for the Canons," she added teasingly to Ron who did not disagree.
"She's right, Harry," the redhead agreed.
Harry could only shake his head in response.
"Anyway," Angelina continued. "I will miss playing with all of you, and Wood, and Katie."
The last name was spoken quietly, though Angelina smiled fondly at the mention of her.
"What I'm trying to say is that it's been great being your Captain, and an honour to represent our house."
The rest of the team applauded the girl before heading to their respective changing rooms.
"You've never mentioned what you're going to do," Ron pointed out to the twins. "Are you going to try to play professionally? Angelina and Alicia are going to the Harpies, aren't they?"
"They are," Fred confirmed. "We've not really decided. We wanted to open up a shop of our own, but that won't be happening for a while. We will have to do something until then, so maybe Quidditch is an option. The Falcons have offered us trials for their reserve team."
"Brilliant!" Ron exclaimed.
"You want to open a shop?" Harry enquired.
"We want to put Zonko's out of business," George declared with a grin. "Well, we don't really. We want a shop where we will sell our own products. We love Quidditch, but we're a bit like Charlie. It wouldn't be as fun for us if it was work. Maybe it's a Weasley thing."
"It's not," Ron denied. "I'll be a Keeper one day."
"You might well be," Fred acknowledged thoughtfully. "Professional Quidditch is great, but we are passionate about our products. We've put years into them."
"Even before we came to Hogwarts."
"Then you should do it," Harry urged.
"We'll get there eventually," George assured him.
"No, I mean you should really do it now. I'll give you gold to start it up."
"What?" the twins scoffed in disbelief.
"How much do you need?"
"Harry, you can't…"
Harry waved off the protest and offered the older boys a pointed look.
"I think he's serious," Ron snorted.
"I think he might be," George whispered to Fred. "Did he fall off his broom?"
"Was he dropped on his head as a baby?"
"No, I can't imagine his mother being so clumsy."
"What about his father?"
"He was a sound bloke from what we know."
"How much will you need?" Harry pressed amusedly.
Fred shook his head.
"Harry, it will take around three hundred galleons just for a reasonable lease and enough materials to fill the shop. You can't…"
The boy's eyes almost bulged from their sockets as Harry produced a large sack of galleons from his trunk and offered it to them.
"He just walks around with a sack of gold," George snorted.
"It's my winnings from the tournament," Harry explained. "I can't think of anything better to spend it on, and Katie would have loved the idea of you two running your own shop. Take it."
"Harry, that's a thousand galleons," Fred protested.
"More than what you need to get your shop up and running," Harry pointed out. "Take it. If anything, you'll be doing me and everyone else a favour. We could do with a little more laughter."
"A thousand galleons," George murmured. "We could get a shop in Diagon Alley for that."
"With a flat to live in," Fred added.
"There you go, you already have a plan," Harry said encouragingly. "Bloody hell, take it or I'm going to invest it in the Chudley Canons."
The bag was all but snatched from his grip and Harry laughed.
"We don't know what to say," Fred murmured humbly.
"You don't have to say anything," Harry said dismissively. "Take it and do what you love."
Before he could contemplate what had happened, he found himself being tightly squeezed between the two elated redheads who were bouncing up and down enthusiastically.
"Get off of me!" Harry groaned.
Of course, they didn't listen, and all Harry could do was wait until he was released from the grasp of the overjoyed Weasley twins.
Truthfully, he could think of no other who deserved the help. Form the very beginning, they had treated Harry kindly, and never wished to be his friend for fame or any other reason than their mutual love of Quidditch and mischief.
Fred and George would be great at running a shop, and Harry had no doubt the business would be a resounding success.
He would certainly be a regular patron of theirs.
(Break)
It was a rather thankless and difficult job being the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but Rufus Scrimgeour knew he was the right man to have succeeded Amelia Bones.
The woman had done a fine job throughout her years, and there had been no slack he'd needed to tighten since taking the post. Nonetheless, he could do with an increased budget, more aurors, and less politics to contend with.
"Who is it?" he called as a knock sounded at his office door.
It opened to admit a concerned Auror Tonks along with a woman he did not recognise.
"I apologise for interrupting, sir," Tonks offered, "but I was wondering if you'd heard from Auror Shacklebolt?"
"Has he not reported for duty?"
Tonks shook her head.
"And he did not come home last night," the other woman said worriedly.
"You must be Mrs Shacklebolt," Rufus acknowledged as he rifled through his schedule. "Ah, it says here that Kingsley was due to finish his shift at eight pm last night, to be relieved by Auror Tonks and Auror Dawlish. You were supposed to finish an hour ago, Tonks."
The woman nodded.
"I was just finishing when Yolande arrived, sir. I think something has happened to Kingsley."
Rufus frowned.
"Pray, tell me what you think has happened to him?"
Tonks swallowed deeply.
"There's a strong chance he was in Knockturn Alley with Sirius. He's been spending a lot of time there."
Rufus's frown deepened.
The Black debacle had proven to be a blemish on the reputation of the department.
"I see nothing amiss with that. Many people frequent Knockturn Alley of an evening."
Tonks shook her head but faltered with her words.
"Auror Tonks, if there is something I should know, I would have it out of you immediately."
"Before I came here, I paid a visit to Sirius's home. He's not there, and neither is Remus Lupin. They've been in Knockturn Alley, keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity."
Rufus was not getting the full story, and it was beginning to test his patience.
"Suspicious activity?" he pressed irritably.
"Death Eaters."
Rufus huffed as he leaned back in his chair.
He had heard all of the rumours, paid close attention to what had occurred at the conclusion of the blasted tournament a year ago. Since then, however, all had been quiet, despite the rumours that continued to circulate.
"Unless you have anything of substance, Auror Tonks, I do not know what you are expecting from me. As far as I am aware, Auror Shacklebolt finished his shift at eight pm last night and is due to return tomorrow."
Tonks nodded and gestured for Mrs Shacklebolt to follow her from the room.
When he was left alone, Rufus deflated.
If there was indeed a resurgence of sorts on the horizon, the British Ministry was ill-equipped to deal with it. Over the years since the war had ended, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been depleted by budget cuts and lack of viable candidates for Auror training.
Shaking his head, he stood and exited his office.
"Auror Tonks," he called to the retreating women as he approached. "Let us find out what has happened. Is there any way you can contact Black or Shacklebolt?"
Tonks frowned before she nodded.
"His elf!" she said, chastising herself. "I'll check with Sirius's elf."
"You do that and keep me informed. I will do a little digging of my own to see if anyone has seen them. I have a few contacts in Knockturn Alley I can check with."
Tonks nodded gratefully and Rufus walked purposely towards the lifts.
"If Shacklebolt or Black had been in the alley the previous night, he would know it within the hour."
(Break)
"Keep it up," Harry urged as he observed the gathered students.
Over the weeks and months he had been running the Defence Club, around three quarters of the school had begun attending. It was no easy feat managing such a large group, but with Ron and Hermione's help, it was much easier.
"Move your feet, Seamus!" Harry instructed. "Don't stand in one spot too long."
The Irish boy nodded and began circling around Dean Thomas, anticipating the attack from partner.
"Good," Harry praised as he moved on to watch Daphne and Tracey facing off. "Come on, Greengrass, you're quicker than that. You're doing her no favours by holding back."
"Piss off, Potter!" Tracey said good-naturedly, only to groan as Daphne disarmed and bound her in thick ropes.
"That's better, Greengrass."
Daphne shot him a smirked and Harry frowned as an unfamiliar owl landed in front of him and presented it's leg.
Removing the small box and opening, Harry felt his heart sink at what was inside accompanied with the brief note included.
"Are you alright, Potter?" Daphne asked worriedly, her eyes widening at the expression of fury that crossed his features.
Without answering, he summoned Mallory and climbed atop her before barrelling towards the castle.
(Break)
With the exams for the year completed and only a few days left until the end of the term, Albus was simply enjoying the school being at peace. It was now that he would be preparing for the next term of Hogwarts, and at the very top of his list of priorities was finding a suitable candidate to accept the Defence Against the Dark Arts post.
In these trying times, it would not be easy, but he was hopeful he would succeed.
He frowned as the fire in the hearth flared green and he pointed his wand at it to accept the floo call. It was a deeply concerned Nymphadora Tonks that appeared and before Albus could speak, the woman beat him to it.
"Albus, we have a situation. You need to come through to Grimmauld Place!"
Her head vanished and Albus felt a sense of dread wash over him.
Without preamble, he stepped through the fireplace where he was greeted by the frantically pacing auror. Standing in front of her were an almost pleased Kreacher.
"Tell him!" she demanded of the elf. "Tell him what you told me!"
"Kreacher?" Albus questioned sternly.
"Master Black has been captured by nasty Dark Lord," the elf explained. "Wolf man and the other auror is dead."
Albus searched the elf's gaze for any hint of deception, but there was none.
"Why would he capture Sirius? Wouldn't he just kill him?" Tonks questioned.
The feeling of dread only intensified at the realisation of the only reason Tom would capture Sirius alive, and already, the weight of the apparent deaths of Remus and Kingsley weighed heavily upon him.
How they had been captured and what they had been doing to find themselves so vulnerable was neither here nor there for the time being. No, there was a more pressing issue.
"When did this happen, Kreacher?"
"Last night," Kreacher answered. "Nasty Dark Lord and nasty men in the bad alley."
"Nasty Dark Lord?" Albus questioned curiously.
Kreacher looked fearful but refused to answer the enquiry.
"Albus, what are we going to do?" Tonks asked worriedly.
"I expect it is out of our hands, Nymphadora," Albus sighed. "He has something that he can bargain with and I have little doubt that he will not linger in making his demands."
"So, we just wait until we hear from him?"
Albus shook his head.
"It will not be me he contacts," he acknowledged as he sent a summons to the rest of the Order. "What he wants is something that only Harry can give him. Explain what has happened to the others when they arrive. I must speak with him immediately."
Turning back towards the fireplace, he stepped through to his office, and immediately took his leave of his sanctuary. The more he pondered the situation they now faced, the more daunting and unsettling it became.
Harry would not abandon Sirius, and Albus would not expect him to, but with all but no control over how this latest development would unfold, it was as unsettled as the headmaster had felt in almost a decade and a half.
Albus's heart sank as he exited the castle to see Harry bounding towards him mounted on his thestral companion. The noble beast came skidding to a halt in front of him, and Harry's expression told Albus all he needed to know.
The young man was furious beyond belief and said nothing as he handed Albus the small box he clutched. Within it was the familiar ring of House Black, still worn by the dismembered finger of the current lord of the family.
The attached note was brief and confirmed what Albus had expected, though the additional caveat was an unpleasant stroke of genius by Tom.
Harry Potter,
You know what it is I want, and if you truly are a clueless fool, then Dumbledore will tell you.
Retrieve it.
I do not care how, but you will do so and then you will activate the included portkey. Yes, it is the finger of your loving godfather, but worry not. The rest of him will remain intact so long as you obey my order.
Do not attempt to deviate from my instructions. If the portkey is tampered with, Black will die.
I expect you soon.
Lord Voldemort
"The prophecy," Harry whispered.
Albus could only nod his confirmation.
"What will you do, Harry?"
The boys' nostrils flared dangerously and his lips were pulled back over his teeth in a feral snarl.
"I'm going to give it to him, and much more. If he thinks I'm going to be giving in to his commands so easily, he's got another thing coming."
Before Albus could question him further, Harry had taken to the sky, and Albus could only watch as he vanished into the distance, the feeling of dread that was plaguing him not having been alleviated in the slightest in the last few moments.