Hell there, again! Here comes the final part of this arc, at last! Had loads of fun writting it, and I'm quite happy with the final result.

See you!


Chapter 49 - Queen of Hogwarts

The following days were some Ron would never forget.

The uproar caused by the revelation of Lupin's true nature was a huge one within Hogwarts, but also a short one. Fortunately, Christmas holidays were to start the next day, and that saved the Professor a lot of stress. The hallways were empty that day, but echoes of those damned whispers seemed to still run through them; as the cold wind did. No one dared to not make a comment on it; not even the pictures, with their ever constant blabbering.

It was as if they could feel that something was going to change, and not for the better.

Ron, much to his family's dismay, had chosen to stay in the castle for the holidays. His brothers had looked at him as if he had grown a third arm, whereas Ginny had, for a moment, considered his choice; he'd seen it in her eyes. However, Ron was in no mood to go back home with the tail between his legs.

He'd been defeated by Umbridge, true enough, and both Lupin and Hagrid had suffered the consequences. Perhaps even Hogwarts, he reckoned, but even that paled when compared to the larger picture. As of today, the world was in great peril, even if the forces which would soon tear it apart had yet to wake up from their slumber. He could not waste such precious time at home, tangled in the easy and cheerful life of The Burrow.

He needed to train; to become stronger and wiser.

But it was a hard task to accomplish when his mind was out of it. "Stop," Gerd commanded firmly. Her voice lacked any touch of frustration, nor of anger towards him. "Speak your mind, Ronald."

"I just can't stop thinking about Lupin," the redhead sighed as he took a seat on the frosted ground, just beneath the shadow of a tall evergreen tree. "Well, not about him in particular, but about Hogwarts and what awaits in the future. Dumbledore is fucked, truly, and I don't expect him to remain a Headmaster for long."

"A shame," the Essentia replied. "We fought, we lost, now we move on. That's life and its way. Those who cannot take the next step are eaten alive by it. Those who can, they survive. I believe there is far worse trouble to take care of. Besides, if so important is this School to that man, and if that man is so important to this School, then he will see to it. We just cannot allow ourselves to lose our minds because of each and every problem. No, they must fight their battles, too. "

Ron found little flaw in her words, and so he went by them.

Having mastered the basics of the Sense and the Anticipation, now it was time to work on some basic spells, or so Gerd thought. And when using the word basic to describe them, it was under her eyes, not his. Because the spell Ron practised that day, a nasty one by the name Lux Aeterna, was everything but basic.

He achieved nothing in his first hundred tries; just some weak and blazing-hot sparks of a white shade. She'd always casted this spell wandlessly, Gerd explained, but she believed it could be accomplished with a wand. Perhaps to achieve a most perfect version; a far more controlled one, to make up for its lack of power. That, and the fact Ron was not ready to use his body as a conduit in such a mighty spell.

But a weapon was a weapon, and he tried his best to master it.

In the end, after many hours, there was progress. It was so sudden, a product of frustration and lack of faith in himself, that it left Gerd as confused as it left him. It was a weak beam which came from his wand, so bright and hot he'd needed to look away. Still it blasted through the Forest like a hawk about to fish its prey, and it was a trail of destruction which it brought.

There was no fire to extinguish, for the trees it had found on its way had been reduced to ashes. Not many, true enough, for its range wasn't a thing to be proud of yet.

"That was unexpected," Gerdnyaram pointed out, a touch of awe in her voice. "That was very ingenious, Ronald. And it worked."

"Say again?"

"A hundred times you tried to cast this spell with your wand alone, yet with no result. However, there was something different this time, and it was the fact you also used your body as a conduit. You used your left hand, better said. It allowed you to gather enough magic to pull this out, but since it was controlled by your wand, you barely suffered the consequences."

He barely had any time to feel proud of his achievement, for there was a more pressing matter. "I don't think we share the same definition for the word 'barely'. Bloody hell, I feel like shit." The exhaustion hit him out of nowhere, fast and sudden like a bludger; enough to make him take a seat on the frosted ground yet again. "But I feel good, not gonna lie. It was bloody fantastic. All that power, so warm and bright. And to think I caused this… We've really come a long way from our first year."

Gerdnyaram allowed herself a smile, "I remember. In fact, you did ask me about his specific spell, the one I used in my fight against Herpo, and I told you to forget about it, that you were not ready. And here we are now. I'm proud of you, Ronald."

And so his afternoon did end, and he went back to the castle; exhausted yet satisfied. Gerdnyaram walked by his side, their steps almost synchronised, and her little frame that of a young woman dressed in white.

Though his peace came to an end shortly, for he almost bumped into a taller figure when taking a corner. "You alright?" Lupin asked with concern, softly grabbing the boy by his shoulders.

For a moment, Ron stood there without knowing how to react. It shamed him to admit this, but he almost flinched away from the Professor's touch. But then he thought better, and thanked him with a bright smile. "I'm fine, Sir. Very tired, but that's all."

Lupin then returned his smile, and Ron saw a huge relief within his eyes. "Glad to hear that, Ronald. Have a good night."

The wizard took several steps before Ron made a decision. "Wait a moment, Professor!" Surprised, he halted and turned around. "Are you okay? I mean, given how people reacted yesterday… Well, I just wanted to know how you were doing."

It took Lupin a while to gather his words. "As good as I can be, I suppose." He looked about to say something else, but then his face was swarmed by shadows of doubt. "Aren't you… Aren't you afraid of me? As they all are?"

Ron wanted to answer him with no hint of doubt, to tell him that he wasn't afraid. Yet he hesitated. "I'm wary of your kin," the redhead admitted. "I've read and heard far too much about them to not be so, but… I don't know those Werewolves whom I read about, those who sneak into a house at night and tear apart the infants' throats, but I do know you. You care about your students like few Professors here, and there's been plenty of full moons for you to surrender to your instincts. But you did not, one way or another… All I want to say is that I do not fear you. Now, this being said, I can't bring myself to look at you and not to think about your true nature. I don't know if this makes any sense, but, if it does, well, I'm sorry."

Lupin was far quicker to answer, and he did with a bright yet tired smile. "Thank you, Ronald. You are a good lad. I'll be sure to tell Arthur and Molly one day." And he left.

Ron stood like a fool amidst the dark hallway for a few seconds. "He's a good man," Gerdnyaram said, pulling the boy out of his stupor. "But he's terribly hunted by his inner demons, I'm afraid."

"How were his kin treated in the Ancient Times?" Ron asked.

"Not so different from an insect," the Essentia replied. "They came out of nowhere—wizards and witches struck by a new, terrible curse of unknown origin. But most lost their magic with the transformation, and so they represented no threat to us. More so in such terrible times, when the Nightmares rose taller and prouder. We turned our back on them, banishing them from our villages. Even now I do wonder why we did not kill them. Perhaps out of mercy, or maybe because we just could not care less about their fate. Once the War for the Dawn ended and we were left as weak as we had ever been, they returned, and they tried to turn as many into their own kin. But they were hunted by the Hunters of Old. And we forget about them once more."

"Sounds like a tough time to live," Ron pointed out. "Every time you talk about the Ancient Times is to speak about war, violence and blood."

"So it was," Gerd said sourly. "Unfortunately, there's plenty of things you, people of this age, have yet to learn from us. I hope it is not late for you. This shall not become the Last Age."

She became silent then, and Ron didn't press the matter.

He went to bed rather early that night, as there was nothing to do, and woke up as dawn came. His first thought was to make the best of his morning and train early, but a simple streak of wind once he set a foot outside erased that idea from his mind. He'd freeze out there. So he settled for a far more attractive plan, and headed towards the Great Hall to enjoy a nutritive, warm breakfast.

Needless to say, he was the only student there. From what little he knew, no more than ten had decided to spend the holidays in the castle; and none of them were early risers, it seemed. In fact, he stood alone in the Hall, for no Professor was there. Not even Dumbledore.

Still he enjoyed the silence the Hall granted as he listened to one of Gerd's tales. "About Kayle, the woman you met in Scala ad Caelum, I could tell you many things. She was fair and just, but also stern and cold towards those who disappointed her. A Half-Elf she is. Born out of the union of an Elf and a male warrior who won her favour and love."

"I just cannot picture that," Ron mused, then took a bite of his toast. "To me, elves are little, ugly things. Creatures born to obey and to serve. There's no way such a beautiful woman could be one of their offspring."

"To be honest, I do not know how such a change came to happen," Gerd sighed, lost deep in thought. "Surely it came once Herpo ended our civilization. Once the Hunters of Old wiped out what was left of the Alazthi Elite. But in the Ancient Times, Elves were… They were creatures of wonder. Creatures so pure and unique no one could but adore them."

"Tell me more about them, please."

"Elves were wonders born out of the union between Magic and Nature, and through their blood ran blood and sap in equal amount," Gerd told him. "Their appearance was one which could not be described by words we know. Some could be referred to as humanoid creatures, but not most. Those, we called the First Elves. Their magic came from their talent for music, and once we humans first engaged them, once a friendship blossomed between our races, a pact was born anew. We were gifted a bit of their musical talent, the Seven Elemental Runes, and they were gifted with a bit of our humanity, the skill to communicate with both words and emotions."

"For long it was a most prosperous alliance," Gerd went on. "One which allowed them to evolve. Thus their offspring were born—Elves of Second Generation, we called them. These were a most varied kind. Some took the form of those creatures they came to love as one of their own, of us humans; though of far ethereal beauty. Some took after their kindred, yet way more adept at our customs and ways. Those I mentioned first were the ones to cross their lineage with us, thus beings like Kayle were born—a Half-Elf, or Elves of Third Generation, who were said to be the most beautiful beings to ever exist."

Ron was so lost in her tale that he paid no attention to the two students who strode into the Hall. He barely noticed them taking a seat at the Hufflepuff table.

"And what happened once the Ancient Times came to an end is what made them morph into such different creatures?" Ron asked, puzzled and amazed in equal measure. "Do you have any theory on it?"

"Not a single one," Gerd sighed. "Not one which would explain their demise."

"Were these Elves so mighty? Because I've heard you speak of the fall of great races—the Nightmares, the Hunters of Old, and even those proud Alazthi. Yet none of them made you sound so lost."

"I was lucky enough to meet the most ancient of them, a being who was considered a deity by many, the Lady of the Forest," Gerd said, and for a second her eyes shone as bright as a star. "Her presence was enough to grow the mightiest of the plants. Forests crowned by flowers as bright as the sun and trees which seemed to touch the skies. Not even the Nightmares could conquer her territory, for much they tried. And to think she came to meet her end. I just cannot accept it."

There was sheer adoration in her voice, Ron noted, one akin to that his parents once used to speak of Dumbledore. The thought of the Headmaster pulled him out of his stupor. He glanced around the Hall, and found that no Professor had yet appeared. Not even McGonagall, who was known to always arrive early.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Ron mused. There was no one within the Slytherin table, yet he kept his voice low.

Gerd followed his eyes, "What awaits us is the unknown. We will welcome it regardless of its nature, for there is no other way to take it. Be at peace, Ronald. We did all there was within our hands and more."

As the days went by, his worries became a reality.

It was during a stroll around the castle, trying to get rid of that boredom which came along such a cold day, that he felt them. A group of seven they were, and he observed them from afar.

"Conceive your presence, now!" Gerd hissed.

And Ron shut his magical aura down, completely. For a moment he was left a shivering mess, as he felt as naked and unsafe as if alone in the Forest at night. But he pulled through it with ease, as he had done countless times during his training.

"Follow them."

He did that from afar, very cautious despite the measures he had already taken. From time to time one of them turned around, eyes squinted and suspicious of each and every shadow around the hallway. A tall man of dark hair and shaved beard. But for much he tried, Ron was never there.

"Fudge and Umbridge lead the way," the redhead mused as he took cover behind a thick column. "And there's also that blond Auror who came here last year—Sweeney was her name, if I remember correctly."

He paced after them, with the confidence of one who'd done this task countless times before. And such confidence was his mistake, for it wasn't the same to follow a student as to stalk that wary man.

The spell came from his wand when the man had his back turned on him; sparkling red and fast like an arrow. Just then Ron was about to turn a corner into the hallway they walked, and he could only open his eyes in surprise as the spell rocketed towards him.

But he was grabbed from behind, a hand clasped over his mouth and another around his hip. It was a sudden pull, strong and fast, and he was pulled into a warm, soft figure. "Be quiet," a melodic voice mused.

The spell went past them, and it clashed against the wall; a rain of sparks birthed from the impact.

Rushing footsteps were then heard through the hallway, halted by a hateful voice he knew far too well, "May I wonder what's the matter, Jacques?" Umbridge asked.

"Nothing, I guess," a much deeper one answered, though with a touch of doubt despite its firmness. "I've had this feeling that someone was following us since we entered the castle."

"Oh, that would be the many pictures around here, I believe!" the Minister for Magic cut in. "They are curious folks whenever someone comes to visit the castle."

"Perhaps…"

"I've had my aura expanded since we came in here," a new voice added, a sharper one. "No one has followed us. That, or there's a quite skilled wizard who's taken a liking to us. And I highly doubt it, given the list of persons that we were given, about those who stayed here for the holidays."

No reply came this time, and their footsteps died as they got further and further from Ron. The boy had been holding his breath during the whole exchange, and it was with a sudden push and a rushed breath that he freed himself from the tight embrace.

Wand ready at hand, he turned around, "Who the hell are you?"

In front of him stood a young woman about his height, of petite frame and of raven-black hair which fell over her back as a single, tight braid. The witch was dressed in blue, long skirts and with a white, woollen jersey. And she had the nerve to smile down at him; though amused rather than mockingly. "Hello there," she said chirpily. "That was a close call, don't you think so?"

Ron stood speechless, and so did Gerd by his side.

"Oh, come on, don't look at me like that!" she snorted. "I just saved you big time here! That wizard who just tried to curse you is quite a perspicacious one. Your aura was totally gone, and still he managed to locate you… Oh, by the way, you are rather skilled in the Sense for a boy about your age. See, I just complimented you here. And still you stare at me as if I was a foul sight to behold."

Ron shook his head, as if trying to order his mind. "Again, who the hell are you?"

"You will soon find out!" she smirked, turning around as her skirts flopped behind. "Try not to get caught until then! I won't be there to save you another time." And so she left, accompanied by the sound of her snickering.

Ron could do nothing but to stare at the mysterious woman as she walked away. "That was most unexpected," Gerd said sourly. "She's strange, that one. Not even I could feel her creeping up on us; though my focus was not on her, let it be said. Still I felt nothing, though."

"But she saved me," Ron admitted reluctantly. "That spell was about to hit me. And that man didn't even know I was here! It was a bloody guess of his… His name was Jacques, or so he was called. What on earth is going on today!?"

"We will soon find out," Gerd said with a sigh. "For the better or the worse, we will soon find out…"


Albus awaited his end, as calm as a man could be given his situation, as a mug of tea steamed atop of the large table.

The smell which came from it was a most delightful one; a combination of many herbs which their name he did not know about. A thick book of Transfiguration also laid there, wide open yet long forgotten by his racing mind. Not even magic could avert his mind from the mess he'd gotten himself into, it seemed.

Never ever had he thought this moment would come—much less the way it did, much less by the hands of those who brought it. He had underestimated them, now he knew. Their malice and ambition, to be precise. He had thought of Cornelius as a weak man, ever self-satisfied by the power he already wielded yet also with enough brains, or a lack of courage, to not reach further. He had thought of Dolores as a vile woman who was ready to commit any action in order to gain more power, but not a witch with so much talent and intelligence to destroy so much and so many.

And now it was time to harvest the crop.

They came just before dusk, a group of six. They entered through Godric's Courtyard, where they were welcomed by Dolores, and from there they made their way through the castle, undisturbed by anyone. Such a weird group, he reckoned—their auras so different and unique. Some ruled by fear, others by nervousness, and one by utmost excitement.

And he welcomed them all into his dear office, and Fawkes croaked at them, his plumage a fiery curtain as he opened his wings. "So, my time has finally come, it seems," Albus said with a smile.

"It did, I'm afraid," Jacques Yaxley said with a wide grin. There was no mock in it, just sheer amusement. "What a way to go, Dumbledore! Three years ago, you were the most beloved man in this country, and now… Well, many still love you, for they will always worship the very floor you walk over; ever the spineless bastards. But some have started to look at you with different eyes, and to question the decision the so-called Great Sorcerer has taken… Oh, I'm having so much fun now!"

"I believe that document you carry is my termination, right? I take that Pervanor and Marc were not enough to make the Board change its opinion."

"Pervanor?" Yaxley laughed. "Ha, that geezer sold you out, Dumby. Only Marc Davis opposed the rescission, but his word alone holds no power."

Umbridge cut in with a clear of her throat, "The Wizengamot has also spoken, Albus. They have agreed to name a new Headmaster for Hogwarts. Congratulations are in order, I guess. You managed to unify its Eyes for the first time in many years. It was a unanimous vote. Not even those who once called you a friend had the guts to speak in your favour."

Albus remained silent, a smile still on his face and eyes set on Cornelius. The man withstood his stare, much to his surprise.

"Don't make this harder than it already is, please," the Minister sighed. "I've always thought of you as a friend. Not anymore, that's for sure, but you are still a legend of the Wizarding World. Accept your many mistakes, Albus. Resign from your position and live your life as best as you can. You deserve a rest."

"I will rest one day, I promise you, when Hogwarts doesn't need me anymore. That day is yet to come, I'm afraid." His words caused the reaction he'd expected.

Tremor in Cornelius's eyes; rage in Dolores's face; an ever wider grin in Yaxley's face; and a look of resignation within the four Aurors who accompanied them. Albus then stood up, calmly, as he eyed them all.

"It saddens me," Albus started, "to have reached this point of no return. I will leave the castle, of course, but be warned: Hogwarts will not stand aside as you, people who see the School as a mere way to achieve your ambitions, try to destroy it. I will be gone, but the fight will not. Its students, its Professors, all the people who love Hogwarts… They will protect it, as they've always done. This castle is beyond your understanding. And you will soon understand the meaning of my words."

"Not so fast!" Dolores cut in sharply, taking a step towards him. "I know that you believe yourself to be above Law, but you are not. There's people to whom you owe an explanation—people hurt by your decisions. You need to be held accountable for the first time in your life, Dumbledore. More so now, after you threatened us so blatantly."

I don't make threats, woman. Instead he went for the more diplomatic choice of words. "I did that myself long ago," Albus sighed. This time Cornelius did refuse to meet his eyes, and so, he understood the reason behind the Auror's resignation. "I would advise against that, my dear friends."

Seven wands were then pointed at the Great Sorcerer.

"I'd rather do this the peaceful way, Albus," Gareth Marshall said, his voice firm and cold. "It ain't too late for that."

"But it is, my old friend. But it is…"

It had been ages since he last used Magical Transmutation, but the might of his magical prowess was unleashed upon them as a wave of dread. A simple warning, it was. To not anger him, it said. It was the most peaceful way he found to avoid a fight, but also to teach them a lesson.

Cornelius was the first to drop his wand, which fell to the floor like an autumn leaf. John Dawlish and Jack Williamson were quick to follow him, and they soon found themselves on their knees, their eyes teary and wide-open. Umbridge stood tall and proud, her ambition also a mighty thing, but her hand trembled like that of a sick infant. In the end, only three withstood his assault, though barely—Jacques Yaxley, Gareth Marshall and Jessie Sweeney, that poor girl.

They remained rooted to their spots as Fawkes flew towards him; though Albus was sure that, had he wanted, Gareth could've broken free. The Phoenix perched himself atop Albus's shoulders, and there he opened his wings as wide as his yet short frame allowed him; and tongues of fire danced between them. It gave Albus the appearance of a fallen angel, one made of fire.

He took delight in his friend's need to always show off.

"We will meet again, I'm sure of that," the Great Sorcerer said. "And you will do good to remember my words. Hogwarts belongs to the students and its people. To no one else. Not even to me." That said, he Apparated out of the castle, back to his old manor he inherited long ago.

There, the walls were dark and cold, and there was no bright light to warm the place, nor a fancy and loud item, nor a book of colourful cover. It was a place devoid of life; as it had always been since that day in which his sister lost her life. Albus did not like it a bit, but it was his refuge.

Fawkes flew away through the open door, and its bright, lively feathers did wonders to such an unhappy place. Until he disappeared from sight, thus the shadows returned.

"It all went as you predicted, I suppose," a voice came from the darkness as a tall figure stepped out of it. Severus, with those black robes of his, sure had a talent to be one with the shadows.

"It did," Albus sighed as he took a seat on a dusty couch. Many specs of dust were blown away by the said action, and his nose twitched in protest. "This place is in great need of cleaning!" A single look from Severus, sullen and dry like only he could pull out, reminded him not to ramble. "They brought four Aurors to stop me, can you believe it? Yaxley was there, too. He was able to withstand my transmuted aura, but he lacked the will to move a finger."

"I never came to figure out Jacques," Severus said, still sheltered in the shadows. "He's an odd fellow, that crazy bastard. Very different from his brother, Corban—he's always been far easier to read. Back when the Dark Lord was alive, it was the lord who feasted by His side, and it was the younger brother who enjoyed His favour… Anyhow, that's of no importance right now. Tell me, Albus, what comes next?"

"What comes next?" he repeated thoughtfully, tweaking a few white strands from his beard between his fingers. "For me, it is a long and unwanted holiday. And for you, the task to protect Hogwarts and its students."

All Severus did is to raise a brow in response.

"Dolores and Cornelius will destroy themselves sooner than later, that I know," Albus said. "It's the only fate which awaits their kind, those whose hearts are ruled by ambition and nothing else. She will probably be the first to fall. She's far more intelligent, true enough, but that only makes her try to reach further and further. It is just a matter of time. But as we wait for that to happen, we must protect those innocent souls we've left behind. Those whom I failed yet again."

"And what about Jacques? He controls the Board now."

"He, it will be his own allies who will strip him of all power. It's the way they work, I'm afraid. Most likely, it will be Lucius, but if not, it will be someone else. To survive in their society, the Elite, as they refer to it, is a rather sad thing. One cannot trust a soul there, even those who once slept under your roof and ate from your table."

"Our future is a bright one, it seems," Severus added sourly. "And here I was, thinking just the opposite. You are quite the optimistic fool, as per usual. We've been outplayed by a bunch of mindless idiots, in case you've forgotten."

"Certainly," Albus nodded, "and we must learn from this. Life is much more than Tom, a fact I seem to have forgotten."

"Quite ironic are those words," Severus snorted. "You say that, but now that you've been freed from your shackles, you'll be free to hunt Him down. And don't get me wrong. I do think this is what you should do. Then, well, since I am not of trust to hunt down Peter and Ashram, it will be my turn to keep an eye on Umbridge, the new Headmistress."

"Indeed." Nothing else came from Albus. And Severus waited until he realised their conversation had come to an end. Then he took his leave, as silent as the shadows which accompanied him. But Albus stopped the young man as he was about to exit the room. "It was you who told Dolores about Remus's condition." It was not a question, and Severus took notice of it.

"Yes."

"I see. Off you go, then."

And so he did, as Albus observed him from afar; disappointed yet not surprised. He'd spared Severus of yet another speech—better said, he'd spared himself. Because, what was the point? The young man clung to his remorses like an infant to his mother's breast. It was a lost battle for the time being. The time would come one day, Albus knew, and he'd be there to witness it. He just hoped for his young friend to not be put into an early grave by those regrets and remorses he could not leave behind.

He shook those thoughts away with a sigh, and lit the warmth and lamp with a flick of his fingers. Before he could venture into the unknown in search of Tom, Albus needed to take care of his family's ancestral seat and to pay them respect they were due.

He owed them so, at least.


"And you did nothing?" Sirius uttered, amazed.

His words were quick to fill the hall of Grimmauld Place, and Harry could do nothing but stare at the man to whom such a question had been asked. On his behalf, Lupin took a bite from his steak, as calm as a lake on a windless day. His eyes were still surrounded by deep and dark bags, but he looked far healthier than he'd done last week.

Because he was a Werewolf.

Now it all made sense to Harry—from his sudden illness, to his usual period of weakness. However, for much he tried, he just could not bring himself to worry about the man's condition; like everyone did. What was the point? Lupin was a great person, and he'd nothing wrong. Period.

"I did nothing," Lupin said at last, "because there was nothing to do. I take it that you have not read the media in these past months, have you? Well, that was to be expected. Since you missed it, let me explain it rather quickly. In these past months, the Daily Prophet, by Umbridge's command I suppose, has rambled and rambled about how dangerous my kin is, especially to children. Now, I do ignore when she came to know of my condition, and how she did it, too. Even so, such strategy has done wonders to path the way for such a revelation. When the news of my condition was told, my office was raided by a hundred owls, and they all carried letters which asked me to resign and get away from the students as soon as possible. Some were kinder than others, of course, but none showed much patience."

They fell silent after that, and each took action to not feel it so much, as it was a grim one. Lupin devoured his steak, ignoring the many other dishes atop of the large table. Harry, on his behalf, set his eyes on the large Christmas tree at the corner of the hall. It was so beautiful, with its moving lights and shape-shifting ornaments, that it would be an insult to compare it with that of a muggle household.

Now, Sirius did not have patience for one thing nor the other, and took the word for himself, "Still, it pisses me off to see how they've made a villain out of you."

"They did the same with you," Lupin replied in a very straightforward way. "Though for much longer, and with a far more terrible end. I can manage their mistrustful glances and their foul words, Sirius. I'm quite used to them, after all."

He had not named Azkaban, but the mere reference to it was enough to send Sirius into a silent stupor. It was something Harry came to learn long ago—that, and to never utter the name of Peter Pettigew unless it was Sirius the one to speak about it first.

The dinner went on in silence, which was only disturbed by the noise of their forks and knives against the chinaware. Also, from time to time Kreacher did stick his head through the door, and it was a murderous look the one he sent at them three. That elf hated Harry with all his might, but such sentiment was far worse towards Sirius. Although his master, it was sheer hatred that his eyes expressed each time they fell on him. And when Sirius was in a good mood, Kreacher was lucky to escape with a simple shout of warning. And when he was not… Well, it was a ugly thing.

"What comes next?" Sirius asked then, his eyes set on his food; a dish of steamed sea bass and potatoes.

"Well, I do have some savings," Lupin replied. "That will get me going for a few months. Then, I will need to look for a new job. Not here, in England, where the Law is very harsh on my kin, and where my face and name are known by many. Perhaps I will go to the East. It's a much safer place. There, my condition is ignored as long as I can be of use."

"As long as they get you to do dirty and dangerous jobs, you mean," Sirius bit back.

"Been there, done that, my old friend. Besides, I will not be alone. I know people there—people who understand my problems. And Gerard, too. Last I heard of him, he's been quite active in Eastern Europe."

At last did Sirius raise his eyes. "Shit is tough there, Remus. Trust me, you can't imagine how bad it is. I went there with him last year, to Romania, back when he helped me in my search for Peter. One day, he was ordered a job from his superiors, and I tagged along so it could be done faster and better. What I saw that day is something which still haunts my dreams many nights. A creature born from the worst of the nightmares, to kill and to prey upon us. Three seasoned and skilled wizards came to face it, and it tore one apart when we thought of it a dead thing. And we would've gone next, had a witch from the Hunter's Union not meddled in."

Harry tried to make himself as small as he could into his chair; his breaths were so faint that almost no air came into his lungs. It wasn't everyday when the adults talked so openly about their things in front of him.

"Like I said, nothing I've not seen before." And so the conversation ended, for the two adults focused on their food and refused to talk to one another.

On his behalf, Harry followed their example, though he felt sadness for a change. It had been a beautiful dinner, the first time he'd enjoyed Christmas. He'd seen Grimmauld Place alive and full of colour for the first time, as Sirius and he himself had seen to it. Mainly to distract Lupin for the tough days he'd lived, but also because they all deserved it.

Noon came shortly after that, and Remus went to bed first—he excused himself saying that he was very tired and that he needed his rest. And it was probably true, though it did not matter to Sirius.

"He's always been like this, the foolish git," he growled, his dessert long forgotten on the table. "Always blaming himself for things out of his control. No matter how hard James and I tried, he just refused to change. He blames himself for being a Werewolf, and he blames himself for the fact I was jailed for so long. Hpmf, what a good-for-nothing idiot."

"He's been treated like a criminal," Harry pointed out. He'd had his fair amount of fighting and shouting in Hogwarts, in defence of his favourite teacher. It was funny how a simple news had made all those who had loved Lupin through the year change their perception of him. Two-faced bastards, each and every one of them. "A plot thought by Umbridge…"

"Don't get me started on that hag," Sirius shook his head as he stood up. "I'm gonna pour myself a drink, fancy some?" He then realised what he'd just asked, "Not booze, of course. You're still too young for that. Perhaps once you turn fifteen. That's when your father and I started." He halted for a moment, as if remembering better times with a fond smile.

"I'm full," the boy excused himself. "It was all delicious, especially that cake. But now I feel like a balloon about to pop. I'm gonna hit the bed, I think."

Sirius hummed at that, already on his way to the pantry. Harry foresaw a good night for him, but also a tough morning. Well, he was old enough to know best.

Instead he went upstairs, to his bedroom. Halfway through it he stopped at the third level, and walked on his tiptoes to Lupin's room. He found the door closed and locked, and no sound came out of it. Harry really wanted him to stay, to hear more of his tales from youth and even to learn more magic from him. But he doubted so. It wasn't the first argument he'd had with Sirius in his three day stay in Grimmauld Place. And he'd looked more and more tired after each of them.

That night was a sleepless one for him, and not because it eluded him. In fact, it was him who refused to close his eyes. He laid face-up on his bed for some time, eyes set on the thick darkness which filled his room, as he tried to think of a plan to not only stop Umbridge, but also to punish her.

As he found no result he sat up; not as if it made a difference. Finally he stood up and walked towards his closed window, under which a desk or dark wood laid. He opened it, pulling aside the thick curtains which blocked the moonlight from entering his bedroom. There was light again, and his eyes took relief on that. The cold air also took its chance and entered his room. Though it was a very unwanted guest, it served its purpose and woke Harry up.

"How can I stop a woman who's much more powerful than me?" he mused. She'd already destroyed the life of Hagrid and Lupin. And only God knew how many more would come, victims of her thirst for power. "I need to expose her and all she's done, that I know, but how on earth am I supposed to do that?"

To bait her into committing a mistake, perhaps? Ron and Hermione were better at this, and none of them had come up with a plan when Umbridge wasn't so powerful yet.

This was how Harry spent his night. Most of it, at least. For he woke up as the sun sent its rays right into his face. The sky was still greyish, proof of how early it was. He felt as if ran over by a pack of Hippogriffs. His bones ached in protest as he stood up from his chair, a fine trail of spit falling down from the corner of his mouth to the desk below.

Harry made his way down, trying to keep his eyes open with great effort. But from the kitchen came the scent of coffee, and it was enough to wake him up. There he found Lupin, seated by the kitchen island with a steaming mug on his hands. "Morning," he said with a smile. "A bit too early for you, isn't it?"

"Rough night," Harry said dryly. "Couldn't sleep much."

"Fancy a cup of chocolate?" Lupin asked, sort of amused. "I don't take you as someone to enjoy coffee, yet. It will take me no time at all, I promise." Harry nodded, which widened the smile on the man's face. He took a seat right in front of Lupin, with the island between them. "Here you have it."

A large cup of steaming chocolate fell into his hands, and he took a long sip from it as he took notice of the many empty bottles which laid there. "I bet that Sirius found his sleep well tonight," he said. "Ten cans of beer, a bottle of whiskey… He went hard today."

"A habit of his?" Lupin asked.

"Only when he's upset," Harry replied with a shrug. "Used to be far worse, back during his first months after Azkaban. He's gotten way better now. But I guess that…"

"Our argument bothered him?" Lupin finished with a dry smile. "Yes, it does sound like the Sirius I know." They felt silent after that, and each took dutifully the job of finishing their mugs.

"Will you travel to the East, then?" Harry asked at last. "As you said tonight, I mean."

"Most likely. It is a calm place for my kin. Rough, but in a different way. A better one, perhaps, or one that I tolerate best, at least."

"Will you write to me?"

Lupin finally raised his eyes from his mug, "I will. Once a month, if that's alright with you."

"Will you tell me about all you find there? About those creatures Sirius mentioned? About the kind of people who live there and their settlements? About their magic and traditions?"

"About that and way more," Lupin promised. "Perhaps I can take you two there, once things have settled. Or to a far calmer place, now that I think about it. Sirius isn't one to use such words of warning without a reason. Yes, a different place would be better. What about China? There are many wonders there, such as hidden temples in the mountains, built by civilizations long forgotten."

Harry found himself smiling," I'd love that."

Lupin left that very same mourning, before Sirius could wake up and have another argument. However, it wouldn't be until late afternoon that he would step out of his room. He reeked of booze and sweat. "Where's that idiot?" he asked.

"He left," Harry replied.

He got no answer out of Sirius, save for a bunch of curses whispered so faintly he had trouble to hear. Harry spent the rest of the day in solitude, reading a book of Quidditch tactics written by one of the best coaches the game had ever seen. And that night he did sleep, and his dreams were some of him atop of a broom, ploughing through the skies snitch at hand.

But when he woke up, happy and rested for once, his bubble popped as Hedwig stormed into his room, carrying a copy of the Daily Prophet in her sharp talons. It fell over the desk, and the face of a man he greatly admired was there to stare back at him.

Albus Dumbledore, fugitive and searched—the tale of a man who has eluded justice one last time.

He couldn't help himself but to laugh hysterically. His loud guffaws startled Hedwig, who tilted her little head, a bit scared of his reaction. There it died their last hope. Now they were truly alone in their fight.


It was not the first time Ron spent his holidays in Hogwarts, but still it disappointed him a lot. There was not a single soul in the castle—if he was lucky enough, he'd cross paths with another person twice each day, students and Professor included in that list. But again, wasn't this the reason why he'd stayed here?

It certainly allowed him to train and wander as much as he desired. Though there were many days, like today, in which the storms and the icy wind did not allow him to venture outside. But still he practised inside, not bothered the slightest by the cloud of steam which came out of his mouth each time he took a breath. It seemed that whoever saw to warm the castle was on holiday, too.

"He's leaping down next, I'm sure," Ron mused as he observed a ginger cat from afar. He'd been stalking it for almost an hour; this one and others he found while at it. Golden silhouettes came from the feline; the Futures he considered. There weren't many just then, and so his guess became a reality once the boy whistled to scare him. "Jackpot."

"Five in a row," Gerd pointed out.

"I don't know what's harder, if to predict the actions of a person, or an animal's."

"A human's mind is far more complex, and he might consider a wider range of options to each obstacle, but it is far easier for you to understand them; more relatable. Now, an animal is far simpler, mostly ruled by primal instinct, but it can also be quite deceiving, for there's plenty of unexpected turns. I myself had a lot of trouble reading the Future of those beasts I came to face."

Ron nodded as he adjusted his coat over the green and silver jumper he wore, recently sewn by his mother as a Christmas gift; a family's tradition. "Well, so far, so good. What now?"

"Let's move onto the Sense, then. Wander around for a bit, and see if you can find any task of interest."

And so he did.

Ron paced through the silent hallways. He halted plenty of times, and put his all into the task he'd been given. Elves were strange creatures even to the Sense—they felt alive, their aura not weaker than that of a regular wizard, yet with something which made them rather missable unless not felt carefully. Then came some pictures, which their auras were so faint he had to stand no further than an inch to feel them. Cats, owls and insects could not be felt, of course, though a doubt arose just then: what about those special breeds, such as a Kneazel?

His wandering took him to the Headmaster's office, and there he was witness to a most pleasant sight.

Umbridge stood in front of the stone gargoyles which protected the entrance to Dumbledore's office. There was a storming look in her face; lips thinned in a white line, eyes narrowed and red-faced. And her arms moved in a frenzy as she cursed, "Let me in, I said! I'm the new Headmistress! Appointed by the Wizengamot and all its Eyes, and with the Board's full support! Dumbledore has left you for good! Open the door, damn it!"

Her shouts were answered with a cold silence, and the gargoyles did not even blink at her. Ron smiled from afar, where he'd taken cover behind the statue of some old witch. "Sometimes life is a very sweet thing."

She even came to draw out her wand, though only to walk away as proudly as she could. And the gargoyles seemed to stare at the witch as she retreated.

Wide grin still on his face, Ron made his way toward the gargoyles. He'd been here quite a few times, but it was now when he realised how well-made they were. Their features, carved into the dark-grey stone, were a scary sight. "For that, you have my gratitude." A faint bow accompanied his words. "Keep her out for as long as you can, please."

Obviously, he got no answer from them. But not that he minded. Alive or dead, whatever or whoever made a clown of Umbridge was a dear friend to him.

After that, to say the rest of his day was a boring one would be a very lovely way to describe it. Though there was a specific highlight, for the better or the worse. When he strode into the Great Hall, ready for the Christmast feast, the boy found that all the House tables had been moved aside, against the walls. Instead a long one had been set right in the middle, and nine chairs stood around it.

McGonagall sat at the head of the table, a stern look on her face. To her sides were Flitwick and Sprout; a tad happier, though their every chirpy character looked far too forced. Then came five students—the two from Hufflepuff he'd seen at breakfast yesterday, a nervous-looking lad from Gryffindor and a sullen-faced girl from Slytherin.

Ron halted for an instant as he was about to take a seat. He knew both the Gryffindor and the Slytherin. Not by name, but by face. The poor boy who'd been punched by Flint, and the girl who was recruited into the Party last sunday. What's done, done is. There's no time to lament about the past. And so he took a seat with a smile on his face.

"Well, I believe we're full!" Flitwick giggled. It was, again, a rather forced action. "The feast may begin!"

Not many words were shared that afternoon, though Ron tried his best to lighten the mood in between bites, "So, what do you think of Hogwarts so far?" he asked the first-year Gryffindor. The boy failed to gulp down the piece of steak he was chewing, and so he choked. "Here, here!" Ron smiled amused, offering him a cup of water.

"Thanks," the raven-haired boy sighed. "Sorry I overreacted. I wasn't expecting your question."

"And well?"

"It's incredible." A faint smile appeared on his face, though his eyes remained wary of Ron. And he could not blame the poor lad—he had used him in a very foul way. If only he knew who was the bastard he was talking to… "And when I saw the castle, its bright lights amidst the downcasted night, I couldn't believe my eyes! Magic is the most wonderful thing to ever exist. Though it's very complex. I've had trouble with loads of spells. And Sophie says they are the most basic among them all…"

"So, a muggle-born?" The boy turned silent out of the blue, just as his eyes fell down. "I'm not a bloody bigot, boy," Ron sighed. "Don't let the green and silver I wear fool you. I'm a Weasley—can't you see the freckles and the red-hair? We don't care about those things. Just imagine me as a taller and way more handsome version of Fred and George Weasley. Oh, and I promise I won't prank you. That ain't my field, I'm afraid."

Still he said no word. "What's your name?" Ron asked him. "I'm growing tired of calling you 'boy'. In case you haven't noticed, there aren't many people to chat with here. I'm not even trying that sulking girl—she might be pretty, but I'd drop dead the moment she looks at me with those eyes."

It took him a few seconds, but he finally spoke, "Brandon. That's my name, I mean. Though my friends call me Bran. And my mother, too."

"That's much better, Brandon. Nice to meet you! Now, why don't you tell me about those spells you've had trouble with? I'm not one to gloat about his brains, but my grades are quite good. You might be talking to a generational genius!"

And the Gryffindor rambled about them, and Ron listened as he ate in silence. Deep inside, he knew the only reason why he was doing this was to make up for the mess he caused last week. Part of him found this action a very disgusting one, for it was not done for the boy's sake, but for Ron himself. But a larger one thought of it as a good way to expiate his remorse.

He chose that larger part.

Next, the days went by in the blink of an eye. Although nothing happened, he always returned to his dormitory late into the night. His days became a monotonous routine—to wake up, to eat, to train and to sleep. Though one day, the first Wednesday of the year, he was reminded of something he'd long forgotten.

"You need to write a letter," Gerd said as they paced through the edge of the Black Lake, now a frozen and limpid surface, "to that pureblood heir you met at Hogsmeade. The one whose father runs a duelling academy, the so-called Nurgon. You told him so."

That day the snow fell in a dense veil, as it had done for the past days. His feet sunk into the white carpet the ground was, the rough wool which lined the inside of his old boots all protection he needed. Well, that and the many layers of clothing he wore; enough to lose count of them. Still there was no rushed wind that day, nor a furious storm.

"Oh, I completely forgot about it."

"You did. And it wasn't the only thing you forgot. You were supposed to consult with your parents, too."

"Well, yes, but that was before I decided to stay here for the holidays. Before it all went to bloody hell." That day, in which he'd visited Hogsmeade for the first time, felt as distant as a forgotten memory. Funny enough, it hadn't been more than a month since then. "And now I have no time for such a thing. I'll do what I think best. And that is to accept their proposal, and then I will endure my mother's scolding."

"Are you sure?"

"Not really," Ron said with a shrug. "But I cannot miss out on such an excellent chance to become a better wizard." For a moment Ron let the words hang in the air, then he laughed aloud.

"What's the matter?" Gerd asked with a frown.

"Oh, I'm so stupid," Ron snickered, the same way a child did it when a prank went unnoticed by his parents. "As I said those words about becoming a better wizard, for a fickle instant all I could think was that I could become better than my brothers, finally. Not that it would grant me a better chance against those evil bastards we'll fight one day. A foolish thing I've believed to be long forgotten. But it seems not. Well, I can't help myself, I guess."

"We are but a jumble of emotions, experiences and deeds," the Essentia said thoughtfully. "Some are fairer and juster, others darker and of fouler nature. And they all are necessary to shape us, for there is not such a thing as pure light or darkness. Just specs of grey, of many different shades. You have a good heart, Ronald—one of the best I have ever met. Do not chastise yourself so much for such a silly thought. You are a boy of almost fourteen years of age, after all. There is a far too heavy burden on your shoulders already."

"Perhaps," the boy accepted, "but it is what it is." Ron halted as he stepped into the clearing, which now lacked many of the trees it once had. His thoughtless wandering had led him to the Forbidden Forest, it seemed.

Soon, it would be time to find another location to train. "I gave up the idea of becoming a hero long ago; don't you remember?" the redhead mused. "All I care about is to save my loved ones. That's all which matters to me. A foolish ambition I once had, and one which Tom once used against me, will not stop me."

That day became a much rougher one than he'd first thought it would. To his request, Gerd's training was far more demanding, but also of far more profit. The Lux Aeterna spell became a much more familiar one, and he was introduced to others; very useful though of far simpler nature.

And so went the rest of the holidays for Ron. So jailed in his own world that he did not realise the second term had just started.


The torches lit ablaze to welcome them once more. There was a loud cacophony of voices all around them, as if nothing had changed at all during the holidays. But many things had changed, indeed.

Hermione tossed her bag onto her bed with a faint sigh, her wooden vault already set in its place. Behind came Lavender and Parvati, who chatted about their lively and exciting holidays. She set aside the curtains of her window, and light was quick to pour into the dark room. It smelled of cinnamon and vanilla.

When she stormed out of the room the two of them had yet to finish their gossip, now sitting on Lavender's bed.

The common room had not changed the slightest, at least. There was so much noise and colour everywhere she looked. And warmth, too. So much that she finally untightened the scarf around her neck. Even among all the students there it only took her a few seconds to locate Neville, who was sitting at the far end of the room, near a large, oval window.

"Where is Harry?" Hermione asked once she was close enough to not shout. "Still in his room?"

"He's already left," Neville sighed. "The twins came to our room searching for him. Said they wanted to show him something. I didn't like it one bit."

"And why didn't you follow them?"

"Because you needed to know."

It made sense, she reckoned. "Well, let's go in his search. I would like to find him before lunch."

Yet, no matter how many hallways they paced through, how many staircases they took, no trace of Harry was found. Nor of the twins; and they were a far easier target, as a trail of chaos was always a feature of theirs. I hope those two idiots don't get Harry into any mess. God knows he doesn't need any more of those.

Soon enough they got tangled into the sea of students who made their way toward the Great Hall; the welcoming feast was about to begin. There, Hermione paid attention to their conversations, and found that many felt rather unease about Umbridge as a Headmistress. But not as many as she'd hoped for.

When they made it to the Gryffindor table, Harry and the twins were already there; though their seats were quite far from one another.

"What did they want?" Hermione asked as she sat by the boy's side.

"I will tell you later," Harry said with a smirk. And two pairs of questioning eyes replied to him. "It's a gift of theirs, okay? A very useful one. It will help us to fight Umbridge away, or so I hope." The Hall fell silent then, and Harry's eyes went straight to the entrance, "And speaking of the devil…"

Umbridge paced through the Hall and took delight in all the eyes which fell upon her. She did not care about the nature of the said glances, just the attention they granted her; and the smile she wore was proof enough. She was dressed in pink today, the very same robes she'd worn the first day of the year.

And she took a seat on Dumbledore's chair. Then, the Hall's doors were shut tightly.

"Hello, my dear children," she greeted, voice amplified yet as acute as always, "I welcome you all back to Hogwarts. As a Headmistress, this time." She paused for a moment, as if relishing those words. "The first term was long and tough, undoubtedly, but I bring change to this one. For starters, I will fulfil one of the many promises I swore last year—that of renewing the School's faculty." She then clapped, and the Hall's doors opened once more.

Two persons strode into the Hall, a witch and a wizard.

The woman was a short one, of petite frame and night-black hair, which fell loose all over her back. She was dressed in long, bright-red skirts and with a black, woollen jersey. Her eyes went from one table to another, kind and bright.

Now, the man was a tall and burly one, of sharp face with a shaved beard and a thick, black moustache. He wore full black, a shade his short hair shared. And his eyes could tell a story with a simple glance—he hated them all.

"Walden Macnair," Neville mused, gulping down a knot. "He's a maniac. A former Death Eater who swore to be under the Imperius when his Lord was gone. He's been working for the Ministry since then, as an executioner of dangerous creatures."

"And the other one?" Harry cut in.

"No idea."

They halted right in front of Umbridge, who smiled at them. "To be in charge of Magical Creatures, Walden Macnair. He's an excellent wizard, very experienced in the field. There's no one in this country who knows more about beasts and the many dangers they pose to our society. And about the best way to get rid of them, of course."

She turned to the woman, "Now, coming all the way from Australia, and to be in charge of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Faith Gourcuff. She might be young, but her resume is not that of a witch of her age. Graduated from Beauxbatons with full honours; a brief yet successful stint in the Nighteyes Corps, the most elite unit of the Australian Aurors; multiple studies about the wildlife in the Swedish steppe, one of the most dangerous places of the world… Because that and way more, I have decided to appoint her as a Professor here. As it was about time for Hogwarts to have the best professionals for each subject. As it is only meant to be."

The said witch gave the students a curt nod, a sharp smile on her face. On the contrary, Macnair showed no emotion whatsoever. Many words were uttered in whispers then, from each and every table. And Gryffindor was no exception.

"Macnair? He's a crazy bastard! Honestly, the audacity of this woman to bring such a man here! My uncle will hear of this!" Cormac McLaggen said.

"She looks a bit weird, doesn't she?" Katie Bell said, to which her friends nodded in response.

"I hope they don't give us much trouble," Fred Weasley said.

"Yes, otherwise, they might be in for a nasty surprise," George added. "Let's call it a welcoming party…"

They all fell silent as the food was set on the table; and hunger was a far mightier thing, it seemed. But not for Hermione, nor for her friends. "We need to talk about what happened this holiday," she urged. "Not us alone, but also with Tracey and Ronald. It's about time we stop being a bunch of fools and drop this nonsense about waging war on our own."

Fortunately, the two of them nodded with no hint of hesitation.

And so, later on, a group of five found themselves in the Seventh Courtyard as the sun made its way down. A curtain of fire could be seen from afar; a breathtaking spectacle, no doubt, but one which lacked importance as of that moment.

"With Dumbledore gone, I fear there is not much we can do," Tracey sighed. "I just feel unsafe without him, you know what I mean?"

"So, are we gonna surrender so easily?" Harry cut in sharply. "Talk about yourself, then. I will not rest until Umbridge is gone and forgotten from each and every hall of this castle."

Neville beat Tracey to the word, "Peace, you two! The situation is difficult, yes, but we've dealt with worse. Come on, we can't just accept this and go on with our lives! Hagrid and Lupin deserve way better."

"No one said anything about giving up," Hermione said then, trying to cool the room down. She paced around the marble bench, just as her mind paced through every possible solution to the problem. "We need to think about it! And come up with a plan. That's it."

"Oh, really?" Harry snorted. "As if we hadn't tried that already."

"Don't you go full irony on me, Harry!" Hermione hissed back. "I'm trying just as hard as you do!"

"What do you think, Ron?" Tracey's question made the two Gryffindors stop their quarrel, and their eyes fell over the silent redhead.

Ron stood against a column, eyes set on the dusk and peaceful as the windless day. "To be honest, I see no chance of victory as of today," he admitted. "However, this does not mean that I will stand aside as that hag does as she pleases. I've tried my best, and I failed. Harry tried his best, and he failed. You all tried your best, and you all failed. Perhaps it's about time we join forces, as we did last year and the one before it. Now, don't ask me about hows or whens, because I have no damn clue yet."

Harry then took a seat, trying to calm himself down; though his features remained dour. "The new Professors," he said instead. "Do you reckon they will give us trouble?"

"From what little I've heard of Macnair, he's gonna give us plenty of trouble," Ron replied. "Now, about that Faith Gourcuff… I sincerely have my doubts. I wanna wait and observe her. See what's her stance in this mess."

Time; such a valuable yet scarce resource.

Many things could happen as they waited. More friends could be hurt; more Professors sacked, thus new chances for Umbridge to gather more allies; the more her grades could be affected… And then she thought about Harry—about his detentions with Umbridge and the punishments he'd received.

Her eyes fell upon his gloved hand, and the words came out of her mouth by themselves, "Has she contacted you yet? For the detentions, I mean…"

"No," Harry said coldly. Within his eyes there was a clear warning. To not talk about this. It took her a great deal of effort, but so she did. His pain, his right to share it.

Ron observed this brief exchange with a keen interest, and so she felt obliged to change the topic. "Didn't the twins give something to you, Harry? Something you wanted to show us?"

Harry pulled a folded piece of yellowish paper from his robes. And it became a large piece once it was stretched out atop of the marble bench. They all were quick to gather around him, and their eyes fell upon the parchment.

"A map," Tracey mused. "A map of the seventh floor…"

Harry touched the map with the tip of his wand. It changed, now showing them the dungeons. "A map of Hogwarts," he smirked. "And watch this." He pointed at a bunch of figures which were about to reach the common room. To their astonishment, names were given to them.

"Draco Malfoy," Neville read aloud, "Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini… What on earth is this map."

"The Marauder's Map," Harry said, folding it once more. "A wonder created by a bunch of geniuses—Padfoot, Wormtail, Prongs and Moony. I don't know who they are, but blessed be them! Anyhow, it was left forgotten in Filch's office, as if it was a simple piece of parchment. Fred and George found it in their first year, as they served detention. Said they've studied it long enough to know it all by memory, and that it would help me in the fight against Umbridge. They really want to take her down, too."

"Does it show everyone?" Ron asked thoughtfully.

"Everyone," Harry nodded. "Students, Professors, ghosts… No one is safe from this Map."

"And it shows every hallway? Even the hidden ones and those which are known by few people?"

"Every single one. I've checked it, trust me. I will use the Map to keep an eye on the new Professors. Among other things, of course."

"That's a gem," Tracey whispered, still in awe. "But, will it be enough to tilt the board into our favour?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugged as he stood up, "but I will use it to its fullest. We will use it, better said." He then turned to Ron, "So, back at it again, mate?"

"Back at it again, it seems," the redhead replied with a faint smile. "Not a bloody year of peace. But it is what it is, and the only way to go is forward. That hag's time is running out, whether she knows it or not. One way or another, we will bring her to justice."

And the five of them nodded to those words. Some showed way more certainty in them, and others yet in doubt. But still they stood together.