Confounded insight

Harry felt like one of those unidentifiable, unspeakable things dragged from the gutter after a particularly excessive night of debauchery. He hadn't slept much following Tracey's night time raid, mostly because he'd been busy soothing his bruises and regrowing a tooth.

And while he looked presentable enough, he still felt very much like a guy who had been walloped by a girl one head shorter than him. Speaking of the devil, Tracey was very prominently absent this morning, and her absence had – unsurprisingly – been noted.

'I don't think you get enough sleep, Harry,' said Leo diligently.

'Right,' said Harry, the tone of his voice a drab monotone of lethargy.

'Did you stay up all night reading again?' asked Daphne.

'No.'

'Could you, perhaps, bestow upon us the joy of answers beyond single words?' asked Draco irritably.

Harry shrugged, suppressing a wince. His shoulder didn't feel quite right yet. 'Maybe.'

Draco gave a dramatic sigh, raising his palms towards the ceiling like a man despairing of life. 'Dear Merlin, I tried.'

'Anyway,' said Amy, 'what was that about Tracey, Daphne?'

'Right. I just gave up in the end. I mean, what was I supposed to do?! Drag her out of there? She just wouldn't leave, no matter what I said or did. She sounded really down.'

'Curious,' said Leo.

'It's probably just one of those stupid girl things,' opined Draco, master of womanly knowledge and conversational politeness. 'She'll probably be back to her annoying bubbly self by tomorrow.'

The girls glared at Draco.

'Maybe she's ill?' asked Hermione. 'Should we ask Madame Pomfrey to have a look?'

'Can't Harry? I mean, he's sort of the stand-in nurse anyway, right?' said Daphne.

It took Harry a second to realise that, apparently, his name had come up. Everyone was looking at him. 'Come again?'

'Two words!' cheered Draco. 'We did it, guys!'

Amy, without looking up from her bowl of porridge, casually smacked the back of Draco's head.

'Can't you have a look at what's wrong with Tracey? I … I couldn't get a good look with her hiding underneath her blanket, but when she peeked out, I thought she rather looked like she had a black eye,' said Daphne. 'Do you think she got into a fight?'

'I … have a meeting with a Professor later today, and I really don't think I can delay it again,' invented Harry wildly. Producing a bit of paper, he scribbled a few lines. 'But these potions should be good enough. You could either ask Poppy or –'

'I'll brew them myself,' replied Daphne immediately, looking excited. 'Murtlap Essence, Invigorating Draught … Hmm … I think I'll manage.'

'Isn't the Invigorating Draught a fourth-year potion?!' asked Hermione. 'Want me to help out?'

Daphne was about to decline when she seemed to reconsider. 'I don– You know what? Yes, please. We'll be done in half the time. I don't want Tracey to feel so miserable all day …'

Amy rolled her eyes. 'She only got into a fight. She'll get better. I admit, your knuckles hurt like hell no matter how you do it, but it'll go away on its own eventually.'

'I want to help my friend!' insisted Daphne.

Hermione smiled. 'Let's get to it after Transfiguration.'

The two third year girls nodded at one another.

Amy shrugged even as Leo gave a faint smile.

'Transfiguration,' said Draco, yawning widely. 'I'm so looking forward to that.'

Memory Lane

'You should have told me sooner,' drawled a cold voice fraught with disappointment.

'But I only just found out, Father!' he insisted. He hated how he still felt like a child whenever his father chided him.

'Such fire. If only you would pay attention to your surroundings with as much passion, we wouldn't find ourselves in this regrettable position. We should have known. I should have known. I could have used the knowledge to gain clout over the Blacks. But – alas – all wasted. All for nothing. Sometimes I really wonder …'

He clenched his fists in his pockets, staring at his feet. He was just as tall as his father by now, but there was no doubt who was the dwarf and who the giant. 'Wonder what, Father?'

'I wonder about your future and the future of our noble house. Will you really be able to –' Father hummed ruminatively, staring down at him with an impassive face. 'We shall see. We shall see. Your mother tells me to give you time.'

He continued to stare at the floor. He was grateful that his mother, at least, had always been supportive.

'But women can be weak,' continued Father mercilessly. 'And there's her blood to consider, too.' Father stood up, leaving him bowing in the direction of the chair like a fool. 'I suggest you better yourself. Otherwise, I might have to entertain the notion of fathering another heir. You understand, don't you?'

'Yes, Father,' he hissed angrily.

The strike caught him right along the ear, leaving him a hurting, whimpering mess on the floor. Father hadn't hit him, of course. That's what he carried his cane for. He wasn't much into touching other people. 'I am not one of those fools you usually surround yourself with! I suggest you keep your flippant tongue closely guarded or I shall have to do something about it.'

'Yes, Father.'

Without another word, the man left, drawing the cherry-wood door shut behind him with nary a sound.

All that was left behind was the frustration, the rage, the indignity, and the pain. He cursed, punching the floor. He wouldn't let it get to him. He was stronger than this!

When he looked up again, he stared at a bright, if massive, front door made of ash.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Harry got to his feet, leaving the respectably dark world of cherry and precious velvet behind. Looking over his shoulder, he realised he was, in fact, standing in a familiar open corridor. There were steep, carpeted stairs behind him with dozens of lively, waving portraits lining the wall. A comforting smell of waffles and coffee was swirling about.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

'Are we expecting visitors, James?'

The woman was walking down the steps, a bundle with a mop of thin, unruly black hair in her arms.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

With a frown, the woman approached the door. 'James?!' she called again.

'Yeah?' came a voice from the kitchen. 'Damn, these waffles are to die for.'

The woman rolled her eyes, reaching for the doorknob. But it burst open on its own, and a swarm of black-clad figures stormed inside, wands at the ready. Spells soared through the entry hall like a particularly wild light show. The woman was already collapsing before the door crashed with a loud thud against the wall. One of the attackers lowered his wand, pulling back his hood. He was a bulky man with thick eyebrows and a nasty scar ruining the entire right side of his face. One ear appeared to be burned off. He drank deeply of the air, his enormous chest heaving before he let out a happy little sigh.

'Lily?!' called the man from the kitchen. 'Lily? Who is it?'

James Potter, wearing a striped apron, entered the hall with a wand in one hand and a ladle in the other. His eyes widened when he saw his wife lying on the floor, surrounded by a flock of masked intruders, but that shock was nothing compared to his expression when he saw the softly smiling man.

'Dolohov! You!' he snarled, throwing himself behind a decorative palm tree that rose from the base of the stairway almost to the very top. His wand became a blur, firing hexes and curses, trying to summon his unconscious wife into safety.

The man's, Dolohov's, grin only widened. 'We've invited ourselves round to tea. Do I smell waffles, Potter? I do like myself some waffles.'

A female masked assailant strode through both the ring of eagerly watching vultures and the blaze of James Potter's spellfire, dodging or redirecting curses as if they were a mere annoyance. Casually, she cancelled the Summoning Charm, placing a spiky heel right on top of Lily Potter's throat. 'Hmm,' she said, her voice purring. 'Such a delicate little neck. Twitchy, twatty – stabbidee stab!'

'Oi, don't hurt the brat,' called Dolohov from behind.

'NO! You bastards!' screamed James Potter. 'Duel me then! Or are you cravens as well as mongrels?!'

'–ck …'

The woman laughed, ringlets of fine hair escaping her hood. She took her foot off Lily Potter's neck. 'Oh, I do love it when they fight back. Let me have this one, Antonin. Young Master Potter and the rest of you may watch if you don't mind your cloaks getting messy …'

'… Black …'

'You crazy bitch,' snarled Dolohov. 'Fine, the rest of you secure the mansion, throw up some wards, set up traps near every entrance. Those cocksuckers from the Ministry will be here eventually, and we'll gut every last one of them like the pigs they are until it's done.'

'It won't take longer than five minutes,' said the woman with an appraising look at James Potter.

'Fine, just don't play around too much–'

'Black!'

The world started to collapse inch by inch. The walls and people came tumbling down as if reality were disintegrating into the particles of imagination, to be replaced first by calm white and then the very un-calm face of Professor McGonagall.

'Would it be at all possible to get your attention for just a second, Black?!' she said, trembling with fury.

Harry had a look around. He was currently attending Transfiguration (or maybe more accurately, supposed to be attending). The entire class was staring at him. There was some scattered sniggering. But his mind was miles away.

'Right, I apologise, Professor,' he muttered hastily, getting to his feet. 'Not feeling too well. Blood pressure. By your leave …'

He hurriedly gathered his books, shoved the peacefully snoring Draco off his copy of Intermediate Transfiguration, and fled the classroom, leaving McGonagall's indignant protests and a thoroughly bewildered class behind.

He made it just in time to the restroom to fetch up in the washbasin.

Fighting for breath, he stared through red eyes at the ghostly mirror image in front of him. The vision – memory – was still perfectly clear. A man standing in the hallway of Potter Mansion, taking deep breaths, smirking mockingly at the peaceful atmosphere.

Who knew Transfiguration could be so instructive? Just now, he'd learned more in his sleep than during the last two years combined. He'd learned one of the faces that had thrown him into hell. One of the faces responsible for his torment of mild neglect, apathy, and servitude at the hands of the Ministry. Worse, one of the faces responsible for the condition that had overshadowed nearly ten years of his life. One of the faces belonging to the people he was going to relieve of their mocking smirk forever.

Better yet, he was close. Within arm's reach.

Dolohov!

Memory Lane

'Say that again – to my face!' growled Boris, flexing his fists.

'Did I speak too fast for you, you bearded, smelly ape? What part of "fetch me something to drink, brute" didn't you understand?'

'You've got some nerve, Glucksburgh. Just you wait; the boss won't be around forever to save your sorry arse.'

'It's Glücksburg,' said Glücksburg with maddening patience, stressing each syllable. 'I know your monkey brain has problems with higher functions, but do try to keep up, for heaven's sake.'

Antonius sighed, rubbing his eyes. It had started sooner than he'd feared.

'I'll snap you like a twig, you skinny twerp!' snarled Boris. 'Come on, want to find out what happens when we have a go at one another? Muscle or magic, your choice! I'll crush you!'

Glücksburg gave his colleague a patronising look. 'Yes, probably. And what will that prove? That you're the more vicious, brutish thug between the both of us? Go pound your chest and scream mad, masculine defiance for all I care. But would you please – please with a cherry on top – fetch me something to drink when you're done displaying your pitiable drive for overcompensation? Thanks.'

Boris stared at Glücksburg for three seconds, mouth slightly parted. Then, without another word, he jerkily stormed off, kicking at a few saplings. Glücksburg leaned back in his conjured sunbed, readjusting his shades.

'I'm glad you're entertained, but would you please keep your antics to a minimum? We need Boris,' said Antonius wearily.

'Antics?' asked Glücksburg innocently. 'Whatever do you mean? Ah – Fujiwara,' he exclaimed loudly, jumping to his feet to offer a polite bow before he gently took her hand, brushing his lips against her skin. Antonius had to give it to him; even though he knew the German was just fooling around, nobody could deny his confidence. He was, perhaps, a bit too confident. He wasn't overly tall, maybe five foot nine, with lots of wavy, blond hair that was neatly parted along the left side. And then there was his smile. More than anything, that was what rubbed others the wrong way about him. It clearly seemed to say: 'I know a lot of things you can't even begin to fathom, but I'll nevertheless stoop to talk to you. I'm that charitable a person.' Unless he was talking to women, of course. 'It's been so long! Have any of these hillbillies recently told you how stunning you look in your uniform?'

Fujiwara blushed. 'Thank you. It's good that you could come. Where are Sterling, Ahuja, and Mao?'

'Forget them! They wanted to rest for a while before our meeting. We should go and find a quiet spot for just the two of us. Catch up and all of that.'

'I don't think that would be very appropriate – sir,' mumbled Fujiwara awkwardly.

Antonius felt it best left unsaid that the others of his squad probably needed a rest from Glücksburg's company.

Glücksburg sighed like a prince, which, annoyingly, reminded Antonius that his Loremaster was a prince. He hated aristocracy. At least he got to boss around one of them – a small victory.

'So this is where he built Nurmengard, eh? Birches, bushes, and boars – I thought the Dark Lord had more flair than that.'

'Did you have a look at the material I sent you?' asked Antonius impatiently.

'Of course, I did! Most exciting thing to happen ever since you dumped me at headquarters.'

'We're talking about the escape of the arguably worst Dark Lord Europe has ever seen,' Antonius reminded him angrily. 'Are you taking this seriously?'

Glücksburg waved a hand. 'So what? I don't get to enjoy it because it's a bit serious this time around? All of this is really quite exciting, isn't it? We'll just have to catch him; you worry too much. You'll get worry lines. More worry lines.'

Antonius knew better than to reply.

Their camp was fairly spartan: enchanted tents, a potions and alchemy laboratory, a small portable library, some basic supplies – all of that was arranged in a semi-circle in the lee of a cliff. He had Fujiwara and Boris ward the place for a few days, but that had been mostly to keep them busy. He doubted many people made the trip. They'd also put the Muggle who had been snooping around out cold. They couldn't afford any blunders.

It wasn't until later that evening that things finally calmed down enough to hold the meeting.

'Right,' said Antonius, standing in front of his squad, 'for our latecomers, I want to make it absolutely clear that this might be our most important work yet. No messy business. No solo actions. No babbling. Everything concerning this case must never be shared outside of this squad.'

Sterling looked at him askance. 'Isn't that a bit excessive, sir? I don't get why we stick to all the secrecy. If this is so serious, shouldn't we call more backup from headquarters?'

Glücksburg gave another lofty sigh. 'It's because we'll have to investigate our superiors, my merry Irish friend. Someone is holding back information. I'd wager the odds are below outrageous that nobody at the ICW noticed Grindelwald escaping. But if we start making waves without proper evidence, we'll be relocated, reassigned, or retired – if we're lucky. Not that I'd care too much, mind you, but being an Auror is quite diverting. I'd have to look for another pastime.'

'Yes, thank you for your insights, Glücksburg,' said Antonius severely. 'As he said, discretion and secrecy are going to be our top priority. We're going to take care of all the investigations and research ourselves – no word to anyone. You lot got all that?'

There was a lot of nodding and mumbling.

'Yes, sir!' said Fujiwara dutifully.

Mao saluted.

'You got it, boss,' said Boris.

'All right. Let's get started. Mao? Ahuja? You had a look at the wards yet?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Sergeant Mao at once. The Chinese was, by far, the oldest of the squad – not that it was possible to tell. As far as Antonius knew, the man sustained himself purely with green tea and rice, but he was as fit as any of them – in a wiry, flexible sort of way. It was valuable to have old officers on the squad; only the smart enlisted men got to grow old. 'At a first glance, it looks like we're dealing with at least seven dozen ward lines, partially overlapping, ranging from mental attacks to some curses I've never seen or even heard of. We think it'll take about three months to divert, disarm, misdirect, or overwrite them – with all of us slaving away at least fourteen hours a day. And even though we can't be sure, it's likely that whoever set up these wards will realise our tempering the instant we start.'

Boris whistled appreciatively. 'Someone made a good job of it.'

'It's a bit more than that,' said Second Lieutenant Ahuja. Despite hailing from a village so small even modern maps wouldn't bother marking it, and despite growing up with twelve siblings in a region Antonius was struggling not to call the bush, Ahuja, despite her young age, was probably the second most educated Auror of his squad, following Glückburg, who'd attended the most prestigious schools of the world – because he thought it would be good fun to see foreign parts and have a laugh. 'Some ward lines are as close as two to four micrometres; that's about two thousand times more precise work than professional Gringotts curse breakers have to master for their A-Rank certificate. I've never seen anything like it. My professor would have a heart attack from excitement. But, frankly, that's not even the most disturbing thing we've found.'

Antonius grimaced. 'And what is?'

'They were all cast by the same hand.'

'How can you tell?' asked Corporal Sterling curiously.

'You start recognising patterns, idioms – penmanship if you will – if you've studied wards for some time. I'm absolutely sure one … entity cast all the wards alone. But that's still not the worst, sir.'

Boris frowned. 'Oh, come on – you're teasing on purpose, Ahuja!'

Ahuja merely shook her head. 'The worst, the most bizarre, the most amazing thing about these wards is that they were all woven, sometimes interwoven. We haven't found a single runestone or anything resembling an anchor. Considering the entire area easily covers a few dozen football pitches, we're speaking one or two books' worth of runes for every single ward that this … thing … wrote from the top of its head. Please keep in mind that we've discovered more than eighty individual wards so far. I'm not exaggerating when I say this ward array would fill a library. In all honesty, I don't think whatever did this can be entirely human.'

'The lass is right,' said Mao darkly. 'This is the devil's work, I tell you. I feel it in me bones.'

They were all silent, only the cawing of a bird dancing playfully in the air above them echoed through the trees.

'Listen,' said Antonius in a low voice. 'I know most of you are fairly young –'

Mao harrumphed loudly.

'– or still feel young despite being a lot older than Dumbledore,' Antonius continued without missing a beat, 'and I know Grindelwald is some person from the books for you, a story villain, just another of history's monstrosities. But I've seen him. I was there when he was standing trial. I saw him fight. As … hard as it might be to understand, to stomach, he's not the same as you or me. You're the best duellist we have, Sterling, and you're doing us all proud, kid, but don't ever – ever! – entertain the notion of fighting Grindelwald on your own or in a fair fight. He's not like us. He's … something different – apart.'

Sterling scowled but didn't reply.

'Is he really so dangerous?' asked Ahuja hesitantly.

'He thinks on a … different scale. He's not mad if that's what you're asking, Lieutenant, but that only makes him more of a threat. He doesn't kill if it isn't necessary. But on the other hand, he doesn't hesitate to slaughter a whole family if he thinks it needs to be done. He has weaknesses, of course. He likes to hear himself talk. Unfortunately, others like to hear him talk, as well, and he's about the most charismatic and persuasive human being to have ever lived, so a fat lot of good that will do us.

'Secondly, and more importantly, he is inquisitive. He is fascinated by knowledge, and he respects people who value it. Problem is, people that fascinate him end up dead. It is for that reason that you, Glücksburg, are probably in more danger than the rest of us. He won't see the rest of you as a threat, but his interest might be worse luck than his ire.'

Glücksburg smirked cockily. 'And what about you, my friend? I don't think he'll forgive you or the rest of the elders for pulling a fast one on him last time.'

'What kind of nonsense are you on about now?' demanded Boris.

Antonius, meanwhile, was cursing the need for the German to be present at all. It was only the first day, and he was already getting a headache. How could he know?! 'That's strictly need to know, Boris. Glücksburg, do us all a favour and shut up for a second.'

'I was only trying to –'

'That was an order, Major!'

Glücksburg sighed, rolling his eyes before he pulled off the most sloppy, lazy, and sarcastic salute Antonius had ever seen. 'Yes, sir.'

'Fujiwara, how are our preparations with the camp progressing?'

'We're finished, sir,' said Fujiwara. 'Everything's set up and ready. Connections to the outside world have been cut entirely, and we can start on the wards as soon as you give the order.'

'Good. How are our supplies, Boris?'

'We've got everything we need and then some, boss. There's enough Pelmeni and Vodka to last the year!'

'You did round up some other grub, didn't you?' asked Antonius with a sense of foreboding.

Boris frowned. 'Yeah, a bit. Fujiwara was going on and on about how she didn't want to live like an unemployed bachelor.'

Thank god …

'You have the rest of the day off to get some rest. It'll be the last time for a while, so make the most of it. I also need a volunteer for a minor task in Britain. The Tonks girl has been found, and I want to know if there's anything to be learned from her.'

One man raised his hand. 'I suppose I could make the trip – stretch my legs.'

'All right, you got it. I'm not gonna lie; this isn't going to be easy. The coming months will be uncomfortable, dull, and dangerous. But Grindelwald is out there. I know it. And we're going to find him no matter what, and this time, we're going to finish the job. We're going to round up the traitors, get support, clean house with all the sympathisers, and finish the Dark Lord for good – in that order. But first, we need to find out what happened here. I trust you six. Yes, Boris, even Glücksburg. But remember – loose lips, ships and so on. Ahuja said we need three months to clear a way to the ruin. We'll start tomorrow evening. I don't know where Grindelwald is or why he hasn't tried anything these past decades, but the reign of the Dark Lord wasn't short enough last time around, and I'll be damned if I let him rise to power again!'

They nodded grimly back at him. But they were tough people, determined, and he had known most of the kids since they'd left school. They wouldn't fail. They couldn't afford to. He only hoped they'd be able to maintain secrecy. This was why he hated working in Europe, confound it all! It would all work out if they just managed security, if they managed to keep the ancient pure-blood clans from interfering. Just that. Just secrecy – and all would be well. He was sure of it.

Memory Lane

Arcturus' face flickered in the fire of the otherwise empty Slytherin common room. 'And you are absolutely sure it was Dolohov, Harry?'

'Yes! I saw his face as clear as day. It's not the sort of face you forget. There were others, but Dolohov was the only one who took off his hood. I remember I was dreaming something unrelated when the scene suddenly shifted. I just wish I'd been fully lucid; I could've identified a few of the others!'

'Indeed …' Arcturus remained silent for a moment. 'Intriguing. I can only presume your Occlumency really is progressing to the point that it's trying to deal with your locked memories. Most impressive, Harry.'

Harry watched impatiently as his grandfather seemed to think over what his recollection meant. He was finding it hard not to dash into Hogsmeade and search for the bastard right then, but common sense demanded he seek advice first. If only his grandfather would hurry it up …

'Am I right in assuming that you wish to take action regarding Dolohov?' asked Arcturus mildly.

'Action?' repeated Harry with a laugh. 'I want the other names! I want a reason! And I want him dead! And it's got to be me who does it.'

'Do you really think this is wise, my son? Dolohov was in prison for quite some time. He might not even remember. And he was more animal than man to begin with. Animals don't always have reasons – they have urges.'

'No,' said Harry vehemently. 'They clearly acted on someone's behalf! Dolohov specifically told another to not harm me. It doesn't make any sense! I want the truth – all of it! And those sick bastards deserve what's coming for them for putting me through all of that!'

Again, Arcturus' eyes searched his. 'Forgive me, but you have yet to … recollect the events that led to your trauma, don't you, Harry?'

Harry nodded grimly. 'But I'll watch – gladly. I'll find out what happened to reduce me to a stuttering wreck for nearly ten years! I'll suffer those memories – I welcome them! I'll bear every tormenting detail, and when it's all cleared up, I'll find those dogs and make them pay! And it starts with Dolohov.'

His grandfather's brow furrowed. Harry knew the man didn't endorse crimes of passion – even revenge against the scum of the world. For Arcturus Black, every action taken required a guaranteed productive result of some form. Pride, on the other hand, was the byproduct of wise decisions; it wasn't an end.

'You seem adamant about this, Harry,' Arcturus said with some resignation.

Once more, Harry jerkily nodded. 'I am.'

'I see this is affecting you deeply, my son. But listen to me: time is wasting. The world is holding its breath, and there are things I have yet to tell you. This year – with all its turmoil, with Sirius' disappearance, with Dolohov, Pettigrew, and all the rest you've told me about – this may well be the last calm year we have for some time. The Lethifolds were nothing compared to what is to come. A distasteful diversion at best. I've tried to slow things down, but there are factors beyond my control. Peace is fleeting, and already someone has come knocking on the gates of turmoil.'

Lord Black sighed, closing his eyes, apparently coming to a decision. 'But maybe this is something you need to do. I sometimes forget how young you are, Harry. Ten years doesn't seem all that much to me, but it's the majority of your life – your cognisant life especially. Very well. I will not stand in your way. Whoever you will eventually discover, they are yours to deal with. I hope you appreciate this; it's a luxury I have rarely favoured those belonging to our family with.'

Harry bowed, his heart racing with triumph. 'Thank you.'

'I'll have a family member stand guard at Hogsmeade. Dolohov is armed and as dangerous as wild beasts get; he's sure to follow the lure of Hogwarts' students. I expect you to take care of yourself and our own. The sanctity of our family will be your paramount concern, do we understand another, Harry?'

'Yes, Grandfather.' Harry hesitated, grimacing. But he really ought to tell Lord Black. 'On that note, I, er, I have some bad news. Tracey … found out about Daphne's curse scar. She wasn't … thrilled.'

'Regrettable but hardly surprising. We had to make the effort, naturally, but it's all the same in the end. I'll have a word with Amaryllis. Her daughter may be a touch … idealistic, but she won't pose a problem.'

'She punched me,' said Harry, who felt that those kinds of things certainly posed problems.

'Did she now?' asked Arcturus with the ghost of a smirk. 'I dare say she will treasure the memory even more once you claim your seat as head of the family. But in all seriousness, Harry, this is something you need to deal with yourself. But if you would look at the bright side, she wouldn't have suffered to strike you if you hadn't hurt her first. We shall speak later, my son. Keep working on your Occlumency. I have a visitor waiting. For now, I must bid you goodnight.'

The Floo flickered and died, leaving Harry to ponder his Grandfather's enigmatic words even as he cancelled his privacy charms.

Memory Lane

'And the prodigal son returns to the fold. Welcome! I trust the journey hasn't been too exhausting?'

'Not at all. It was quite enjoyable, all in all. But I'd like to dispense with pleasantries; the colonel isn't a fool, and my absence will be noted should we dally. I'd rather not have that happen.'

'Agreed,' said Arcturus Black. 'So tell me – has your superior decided to follow the breadcrumbs we laid out for him here in Britain or is he intent on prying open an empty cage?'

The visitor smirked, relaxing in his chair, graciously accepting a glass of wine from a bowing elf. 'We're all set to waste a cold winter in the hinterlands. He's unrelenting, it has to be said. I can see why they called him the Sleuth. But, if you would indulge me, this is what I wasn't able to work out: Why did you put his nose on it? I thought the Blacks had an … understanding with the Dark Lord?'

Arcturus waved a dismissive hand. 'An understanding … yes, you might call it thus. But was it our choice? Was there an alternative to pick? Not for me. For my father – yes. But for me? Nevertheless, I watched, I listened, I bided my time, I learned. The Dark Lord is not to be trusted. It is the curse of the powerful to see the world as their plaything, to see possibilities where others see rules. It would be foolish of me to openly break faith … but I see no reason not to lend assistance to our famous Auror now and then. The Blacks aren't, after all, officially allied with either party. Though I'd hoped to contain Grindelwald while his underbelly is exposed, I'd much rather see the ICW victorious if I had to pick a side.

'We all might have our different ideas on how to steer the ship, certainly, but it's in nobody's interest to see the vessel sunk. Grindelwald is the storm raging on the open sea. I am concerned with stability. What flag flies in the wind or even the ship's course is of no great interest to me – my primary ambition is keeping it afloat.'

The visitor inclined his head. 'Well said.'