A/N: Since the beginning of Year Two, I have been building up towards a massive reveal that has been brewing in the background of this fic. And the moment has finally arrived. Somehow, despite me leaving behind some pretty BIG clues, so far nobody has guessed the full truth. Enjoy the ride!

For the second time that evening, Harry found himself face-down in the grass from the rough long-distance journey. He could still faintly smell sulfur and ash wafting from his clothes, telling him their escape from the Fiendfyre had been quite the close call. He raised his head to see that they had arrived at his intended destination: the gates of Hogwarts, the castle glowing warmly atop the hill before them.

To his left, he heard Neville retching from the unpleasant Apparation beside him, letting him know the boy was still alive. "Alright there, Neville?" Harry asked, groaning as he forced himself to his feet.

"I think so," Neville said shakily. "Why the hell did you come back for me?"

"You offered to die for me back there," Harry shrugged. "Seemed only fair."

Neville studied Harry for a moment, then looked up to the castle. "What do we do now?" he asked.

"We find help," Harry said firmly. He led the way through the gate, which was thankfully unlocked, and headed up the darkened path towards the castle.

Harry had no clue how much time had passed since the Third Task began – likely several hours by now. Far off to his right, Harry could see the entrance to the maze, but the bleachers were long deserted, an uncomfortable silence settling over the grounds. "Where is everybody?" Neville wondered aloud, mirroring Harry's thoughts.

Then, a booming voice echoed across the grass towards them. "Potter? Longbottom?" Hagrid gasped, shuffling through the darkness towards them, lantern in hand. "Blimey, are you two alrigh'?"

"We're fine, Hagrid," Harry lied, knowing time was of the essence. "Where is everyone?"

"Dumbledore 'n yer dad went off lookin' fer you two," Hagrid muttered. "Asked the staff ter take everyone else up to their dorms. What the ruddy hell happened ter you two?"

"Long story," Harry sighed, massaging his temple. His broken arm throbbed painfully and his body still involuntarily twitched every so often from the Cruciatus Curse, but adrenaline and sheer determination urged him onward. "Have you seen anyone acting suspiciously, Hagrid? I think something bad is going to happen in the castle tonight."

"Can't say fer certain," Hagrid said, stroking his beard. "It's been a mighty strange night all 'round, though, truth be told."

"What's wrong, Harry?" asked a frightened Neville. "You don't reckon Voldemort will come after us here?"

"His servant might," Harry muttered, remembering the mysterious 'Reaver' disappearing into the past. "He's after something Voldemort wants. And we're the only ones who know he's here. Come on."

"What's this abou' You-Know-Who, then?" Hagrid asked, but Harry was already off, running towards the castle, a bewildered Neville close behind him.

"Expecto patronum," Harry muttered, summoning his thestral Patronus. "Go to McGonagall. Tell her an impostor is in the castle as we speak. Make sure the students are safe, and Neville and I will meet her in the Headmaster's Office."

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Harry?" Neville asked worriedly as the silvery thestral galloped ahead of them up the hill. "Shouldn't we just find a place to hide or something?"

"You should," Harry corrected. "You're the one in more danger, and no offense, you're not as strong of a fighter."

"No," Neville said with surprising conviction. "I'm not letting you put yourself in danger alone. I'm coming with you."

Harry huffed, annoyed by the boy's obstinance. But he figured it would be smartest to keep Neville close in order to keep an eye on him, and there was logic in the safety of numbers. "Fine," he said. "Stay close to me, then."

They reached the Entrance Hall, which was eerily quiet. Harry poked his head into the Great Hall, only to find it deserted as well. He didn't like this...he wished there was a teacher or staff member patrolling nearby that he could recruit to the cause. But there was no time to waste searching for one. "Come on," Harry muttered, leading Neville down a hallway to the left.

They passed the kitchens, en route to the secret passageway that led up to the third floor not far from the Headmaster's Office. They reached the tapestry concealing the shortcut entrance, but before Harry could move it aside, he heard hushed voices floating down the corridor towards them. Harry shifted in front of Neville and drew his wand as the voices drew closer.

Two figures rounded the corridor and froze at the sight of the two boys. "Blimey, Harry, Neville, where have you been?" Cedric breathed. "Dumbledore sent an entire search party after you two!"

"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded, not lowering his wand.

"Damian was hungry," Cedric shrugged, indicating the younger boy beside him. "I offered to escort him to the kitchens for a snack."

"It's not safe out here," Harry warned. "There's someone dangerous in the castle tonight. Go back to your common room until Sprout says otherwise."

"But you're out here," Cedric frowned. "And Ravenclaw Tower's miles from here! What're you on about, Potter?"

"There's no time to explain!" Harry sighed exasperatedly. "We need to go, now. Get Damian back to his dorm."

"I'm not letting two fourth-years wander off alone on a night like tonight," Cedric said firmly. "Not when the entire Auror force is out looking for you. I'm pulling Prefect rank and taking you both back to your common rooms."

Harry massaged his temple in frustration. "We're going to see McGonagall in her office," he eventually said. "You can escort us there instead. Deal?"

Cedric studied Harry for a long moment, clearly conflicted. "Fine," he eventually nodded.

"I'm coming too!" Damian insisted.

"No, you're not!" Cedric and Harry said at the exact same time.

"Fine, then I'll just sneak out again after you leave," Damian said stubbornly, crossing his arms.

We don't have time for this, Harry thought. The impostor already had at least two hours' head start on whatever he was after, and for all they knew he could be nearing his goal at this very moment. "I don't care who comes," he eventually huffed. "But nobody's going off alone tonight. If you're coming, then come. And watch your backs."

Harry slipped behind the tapestry and began climbing up the sloped path to the third floor. Based on the numerous footfalls and sounds of panting behind him, all three of the other boys had followed.

He emerged on the third floor corridor, cautiously peering around the tapestry to ensure they were alone. "Wands out," he whispered, as Neville, Cedric and Damian climbed out behind him. "Cedric, where are all the professors?"

"No idea," Cedric muttered. "Must be with McGonagall, I reckon."

"Let's get there quickly, then," said Harry. He led the way down the hall in the direction of the Headmaster's Office, the other three following in his wake.

What Harry did not expect was for a fifth voice to breach the silence and call out after him: "Harry!" All four turned to see Luna Lovegood hustling down the corridor after them.

"Luna?" said Harry. "What are you doing out of Ravenclaw Tower?" That was in fact a question that could be applied at any point in the past few months: Luna had been reclusive lately, refusing to leave the common room except for meals and classes. She looked pale and sickly as ever, but currently her eyes were fearful and wide, and she walked with an urgency Harry hadn't seen from her before.

"Harry, we have to go see Professor Trelawney," she said in a dire tone.

"Trelawney?" Harry frowned, confused. The Divination professor had been equally reclusive this term, not even coming to the Third Task earlier that evening. "No, Luna, we have to see Professor McGonagall."

"But I think it's really, really important that we go and see Trelawney," Luna insisted.

"Listen, Luna," Harry groaned. "A lot's been happening tonight, alright? We don't have time for this right now. We're going to the Headmaster's Office, and then we can talk about—"

"Harry James Potter!" Luna shouted, stomping her foot in frustration. "You told me to follow my intuition, didn't you? Well, that's what I'm doing! And my intuition says we need to go to Trelawney tonight!"

"Yes Luna, I did say that, but…" Harry began. Then he paused thoughtfully. He'd been attempting to foster Luna's latent Seer abilities all term – who was he to deny her the moment she showed actual signs of premonition? What if her 'intuition' was a legitimate call to action, a sign that they needed to be elsewhere?

Harry had no real plan other than speaking to McGonagall. No leads, no clue where to begin searching for the impostor. This was a real clue, a signal that perhaps they knew where to go after all. And given Luna's agitated state, time was clearly of the essence.

"Expecto patronum," Harry said, summoning his Patronus once more. "Tell McGonagall that I'm taking a group of students to Professor Trelawney's classroom. Send assistance straight away."

"Shouldn't we wait for the professors to come with us, Harry?" Cedric asked nervously as the thestral galloped off to deliver the message.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Luna beat him to it. "There's no time!" she wailed. "We have to go, now!"

"Lead the way, then," Harry said. Luna took off down the corridor, the four boys following close behind.

Harry felt a sense of foreboding as they hurried towards the Divination classroom, unsure of what they might find there. Was there something hidden there that the 'Reaver' sought? Had Voldemort stashed another Horcrux there? Or was Trelawney herself involved in this plot somehow? Something didn't add up, but there was no time to stop and wonder what was going on.

After countless staircases and winding corridors, they arrived at the ladder that led up to the trap door to Trelawney's classroom. Harry knew at once that something was very wrong. The trap door was in splinters, as though someone had blasted it to bits in an effort to break through it. The room was dark and silent above them, as the five students nervously peered up into it.

"I don't like this," Cedric muttered. "Should I climb up and have a look?"

That didn't sound like a wise decision to Harry. But before he could answer, they heard a nearby scream, coming from somewhere down the corridor to their right.

"That sounded like Professor Trelawney," said Neville, wide-eyed. "You don't reckon…?"

Luna had already taken off after the noise, and Harry had to sprint after her to keep up. The wailing and sounds of agony grew louder and louder as they approached, until they found themselves outside the locked door to an empty classroom. Horrible sounds of human suffering emanated from within.

"Harry…?" Cedric said in alarm. But Harry wasted no time. He swiped his wand, blasting the door open and rushing inside. The sight he was greeted with made his stomach squirm.

Professor Trelawney lay flat on her back in the middle of the classroom, immobile but screaming bloody murder. Blood was flowing from her eyes, nose and ears as she stared, wide-eyed and horrified, up at the ceiling. Kneeling over her was the school caretaker, Argus Filch, jamming a wand roughly between her eyes, performing some sort of unseen cruel torture upon her.

"Great Merlin!" Cedric gasped as he entered the classroom beside Harry. Filch's gaze snapped up at them, noticing the intruders. At once he stood, snarling angrily at them. Harry remembered Voldemort's parting words in the graveyard: 'Do not bother maintaining appearances if you are discovered.'

"Cedric, watch out—" Harry said as Filch raised his wand:

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry tackled Cedric to the ground as the room was illuminated in green light. Harry scrambled back to his feet, already terrified by what he would see. Cedric, dead because of him once again? Neville, Damian or Luna, hit by the Curse intended for him? But what he saw instead was equally as tragic.

Professor Trelawney's screams had finally ceased. She lay silently gaping at the ceiling, dead.

Harry stared blankly down at his late professor's form for a moment. Then suddenly there was a blur of movement as something crossed the room very fast. He turned in time to see Damian launch himself at the caretaker, tackling him roughly to the ground.

"You bastard!" Damian growled, grappling with Filch. "You killed her!"

Harry rushed forward to help, but it was quickly apparent that Damian Dursley was in his element. The large boy, young as he was, had easily overpowered the much older man, his Muggle wrestling background giving him the upper hand. Damian wrenched the wand from Filch's grasp and leveled heavy blows against the man's face and torso until he was yelping and groaning in pain.

"Damian, get off him!" Harry ordered. Damian obeyed, and Harry hit Filch with a Stunning Spell, leaving him unconscious on the ground beside his victim.

Cedric groaned and picked himself up off the floor. Neville and Luna entered the room tentatively, eyes wide at the sight. "He killed her," Luna sniffed, slowly approaching Trelawney. "Poor Sybill...she didn't deserve this."

"She's with your mother now, Luna," Harry said softly, placing a hand on the girl's trembling shoulder. He waved his wand and conjured a small blanket, covering the professor's upper half so that her gruesome face was hidden from view. She looked peaceful that way, lying still in death – a fate she had clearly foreseen but did not deserve in the slightest.

Harry and the others turned their attention to Filch. "I don't understand it," Cedric muttered. "I thought Filch was a Squib? How could he use magic?"

"That is not Argus Filch," Harry sighed. "He's somebody else, using Polyjuice Potion."

"But who?" Neville wondered aloud.

"We'll know in a moment," Harry shrugged. Already signs of transformation were appearing on Filch's face, bubbling and contorting themselves into a new form. They watched as the caretaker's visage was replaced with that of a man in his early fifties, with wavy, pepper-gray hair and a matching beard. They all looked down upon the man, confused.

"Who is he?" Cedric asked. "He looks kinda familiar."

"Yeah, I feel like I know him somehow," Neville muttered.

"Doesn't look familiar to me," Damian scoffed.

"Because you never met him, Damian," Harry sighed. "He was before your time at Hogwarts." He had finally realized who the impostor was, and it filled him with an aching sense of dread.

"You know him, Harry?" Cedric asked. "Who is he?"

"You know him too, Ced," said Harry. "Look closer. Imagine him without the beard, and about twenty years younger."

Cedric scrutinized the man closer, frowning. Then, he let out a surprised gasp when he figured it out himself. "Professor Lockhart?" he breathed. "But that's impossible! He's so...old!"

"Could it be his father?" Neville wondered.

"No, it's him alright," Harry muttered bitterly. He knelt down and reached into Gilderoy Lockhart's robes, withdrawing the Time-Turner on its golden chain. "Now we know what this thing has been up to for the past year."

Harry had long theorized how much one could stretch time using the Time-Turner, as he had briefly experimented with during his third year. If once could theoretically repeat the same segment of time over and over, how many times could you repeat the process? Based on Lockhart's advanced age, the answer was apparently many magnitudes more than Harry had fathomed possible.

"The Map!" Damian gasped suddenly, rushing over to a desk shoved up against one wall of the room. Harry's heart skipped a beat as he saw Damian grab the Marauder's Map, active but forgotten as Lockhart had done whatever he had been doing to Trelawney before they arrived.

"Give it here, Damian," Harry said. The boy reluctantly handed Harry the map, who scanned it briefly to ensure there were no more unwelcome surprises lurking in the castle. He spied a large contingent of teachers converging on their location, McGonagall at the lead. No time to waste, then.

Harry pocketed the Map, intent on never parting with it again. He then set the Time-Turner on the ground and smashed it with his heel, sending pulverized glass and enchanted sand spilling across the stone floor.

"What are you doing?" Neville gasped. "Don't you know how powerful that thing is?"

"Sure do," Harry muttered darkly. "And I'm not letting it fall into the hands of Voldemort ever again." He swiped his wand and Vanished the remains of the Time-Turner...penance for his mistake in losing it the previous year. He couldn't take the risk of something happening to the Time-Turner en route back to the Ministry, not now that the Death Eaters were operational again.

All subsequent questions were headed off when Professor McGonagall rounded the corner and entered the classroom, followed by several other teachers. She stared at the scene in shock.

"What in Merlin's name—?" she stammered. "Is that Sybill Trelawney? What is she doing under that sheet?"

"She's dead, Professor," Cedric sighed, pointing at Lockhart. "He killed her."

McGonagall and several other teachers gasped in dismay at this news. "No," McGonagall moaned, nearly losing her footing as several other teachers helped her remain upright. "She was adamant that someone else would die in the castle this year...and it was her all along...Merlin bless her…"

"But who is he?" Professor Sprout demanded, pointing at the impostor. "And how did he enter the castle?"

"That's Gilderoy Lockhart, Professor," Harry responded. "I know it doesn't look like him, but it is. He was impersonating Argus Filch using Polyjuice Potion."

"So he's the one," a voice growled from behind McGonagall; everyone turned to see Professor Snape, glaring balefully at the man. "Someone has been stealing boomslang skin and lacewing flies from my stores all term."

"I— but—" McGonagall stammered, clearly unsure how to react in this situation. She turned to face the five students standing in one corner. "Mr. Diggory, why have you allowed four underage students to wander out of bed at this hour? You should know better!"

"It's my fault, Professor," Harry piped up before Cedric or Luna could say anything. "I forced his hand and brought us all here. I sensed that Professor Trelawney was in danger and came to try and rescue her, but failed."

Professor Flitwick approached Trelawney's still form and knelt beside her, waving his wand over her body. "Dead," he confirmed with a sigh. "Killing Curse."

"A third teacher murdered on school grounds, in as many years?" McGonagall muttered to herself. "Unthinkable, truly unthinkable…"

Harry could tell that McGonagall was too distressed to take charge in this situation, so he did so himself. "Professor Snape," he said firmly. "Do you have any Veritaserum? We will need to question Lockhart before the Ministry arrives."

Snape eyed Harry warily for a moment, as though briefly scandalized to receive orders from a child. But to Harry's surprise, he nodded and swept from the room, headed to his office to retrieve the Truth Potion.

"Professor Flitwick, can you take Luna back to her dorm?" Harry requested. "Professor Sprout can do the same for Cedric and Damian. They don't need to be here for this."

"What about you and Mr. Longbottom?" demanded Professor Sprout. "What business do you have being here?"

"We deserve answers," Harry said flatly. "We both witnessed the resurrection of Lord Voldemort tonight, and I want to know what this son of a bitch has to answer for."

The staff was too stunned by the revelation of Voldemort's return that nobody chastised him for the language (or for giving orders). At once they seemed to spring into action; Professor Flitwick took Luna by the arm and guided her away, as Professor Sprout ushered Cedric and Damian from the room. Professors Sinistra and Vector worked together to levitate Trelawney's body onto a stretcher and cart her away, while McGonagall secured Lockhart more firmly in conjured ropes and propped him upright into a wooden chair.

Then there was another blaze of phoenix fire as Dumbledore appeared in the center of the room. "Albus!" McGonagall stammered at once, wringing her hands nervously. "Sybill has been murdered...and look, it's Gilderoy Lockhart, but now he's—"

"In a moment, Minerva," Dumbledore said patiently, turning at once to the two teen boys. "Harry, your father is on his way. Are you and Neville alright?"

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. "What happened to Voldemort?"

"He fled, along with his closest supporters, once he saw that you two had escaped," Dumbledore responded. "But he is a worry for another day now. Tonight, what's important is that you both survived."

"How did you find us in London?" Harry asked.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "Well, we arrived in Little Hangleton to find it deserted, as you can imagine. While contemplating other places you might have been taken, I considered the possibility that Voldemort had discovered that his father's bones were missing. If he intended to use them for his resurrection ritual, he might seek organic material from another direct relative, and there was only one other place I could think of where he could get it."

Once again Harry lamented his decision to interfere. If only he hadn't sabotaged Riddle Sr.'s grave, none of this would have happened. They would have been in Little Hangleton when Dumbledore arrived, and the ritual would have been foiled.

Dumbledore turned his attention to the man bound to the chair in the corner, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. "Oh dear, Gilderoy, what have you done to yourself?" the Headmaster sighed sadly. "Effects of prolonged Time-Turner usage, it would appear. And do we know what has become of the device?"

"I destroyed it, sir," Harry replied.

"A wise decision, I would wager," Dumbledore nodded. "I imagine Saul Croaker will be glad to hear it as well. Perhaps Fudge will finally end the witch-hunt he's been conducting upon the Department of Mysteries for the past year."

"I reckon Fudge will have more things to worry about in the coming weeks," Harry muttered. "Surely he can't sweep Voldemort's return under the rug, can he?"

"Oh, I think not," Dumbledore muttered. "Nearly every Auror in the Ministry witnessed him this evening and will spread the news far and wide. Fudge will have a lot on his plate for the foreseeable future."

Rapid footsteps approached from the distance, and James Potter skidded into view, rushing into the room. "Harry," he exhaled, pulling his son in for a protective hug. "Thank Merlin you're alright. I thought you were done for."

"I was worried about you too," Harry muttered as they broke apart. "Did we lose anybody in the fight?"

"Rufus Scrimgeour is dead," James said morosely. "Tonks' lung was punctured and Moody got half his hand blown off, but they were both in good spirits as they were taken to St. Mungo's."

"And what about the Death Eaters?" Harry asked hopefully.

"We arrested five of them," James nodded. "We couldn't identify any of them yet, but we don't think they were part of the inner circle. None of them bore the Dark Mark."

So Lucius Malfoy slipped away once again, Harry thought bitterly. He would never forget that the man requested to kill Harry personally...Harry would make sure that the reverse would prove true if they ever crossed paths in battle again.

Snape returned to the room, holding a vial of clear liquid. "Headmaster, I have brought Veritaserum," he announced. "Shall we wait for Ministry officials to arrive?"

"No, they will be preoccupied with sorting out the fiasco in London for some time," Dumbledore muttered. "Let us determine the extent of Mr. Lockhart's crimes for ourselves."

Snape and James moved over to the unconscious wizard strapped to the chair. As James held Lockhart at wand-point, Snape tilted the man's head back and placed three drops of Veritaserum on his tongue before retreating.

"Ennervate," James muttered.

Lockhart spluttered and came to, looking about the room wildly. However, the effects of the Truth Potion quickly set in, leaving him glassy-eyed and staring blankly ahead.

"What is your name?" Dumbledore demanded.

"Gilderoy Artemis Lockhart," Lockhart dully recited.

"Are you working on behalf of the dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort?"

"Yes."

"Are you responsible for Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter being entered into the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Yes."

The adults exchanged terse looks, as Harry and Neville did the same.

"How have you gone undetected in the castle for so long?" Dumbledore demanded.

"Originally I was ordered to impersonate the Auror Moody," said Lockhart. "However, I was unable to apprehend him at his home before term began. So I instead traveled to Hogwarts and subdued Argus Filch to assume his identity. I knew from my brief employment at the castle that the caretaker was often overlooked and allowed to roam the castle freely."

"How did you get the names of Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter into the Goblet of Fire?" Dumbledore pressed.

"I received the Goblet of Fire from Saul Croaker while posing as Filch on the day it arrived at Hogwarts," Lockhart explained in a dull voice. "As per my master's orders, I entered Longbottom's name under a separate school and used a Confundus Charm to trick it into believing there were four schools competing."

"But that's impossible," Harry muttered. "Filch was dosed with Veritaserum and Thief's Downfall the following day and professed his innocence. I was there; I saw it."

A devious grin spread across Lockhart's face. "I allowed Filch to return to his duties on Halloween after I finished with the Goblet," he smirked. "I did not spend the entire year at the castle, you see. I was very careful to wipe Filch's memories every time I took his place to do my master's bidding, and replace them with false ones to cover my tracks. Memory Charms always were my specialty...the real Filch never suspected a thing."

That also explains why Hagrid couldn't remember who tipped him off about the dragons, Harry realized. Lockhart must have wiped the memory of Filch's visit from his mind before leaving. It also explained why Harry had recognized the handwriting on the parchments used to enter him and Neville into the tournament...how many times had he seen Lockhart's looping handwriting on the blackboard in DADA lessons two years prior?

Harry thought back to every time he'd seen the caretaker in the past year. Filch was present at the Yule Ball, where Skeeter was taken...at the Potions Conference, where Slughorn was murdered...at the Third Task, to sabotage the other Champions in the Maze… He had even caught Harry sneaking in past curfew from his Hogsmeade visit, when he'd visited Little Hangleton for the second time and overheard Lockhart in Riddle Manor. And of course, thanks to the Time-Turner, he was able to be in both places at once.

"What about Harry Potter?" Dumbledore pressed. "How did you enter him into the Tournament?"

"A simple Switching Spell," said Lockhart. "When Cedric Diggory entered the Great Hall to submit his name, I swapped his parchment with my own, bearing Potter's name upon it. Diggory did the rest."

"But how would that fool the Goblet?" James frowned. "It still could have chosen another Hogwarts student."

"Yes, it could have," Lockhart shrugged. "Potter was not the Dark Lord's priority...his entrance into the Tournament was simply a bonus."

All eyes turned to Harry, who was gobsmacked by this information. The Goblet chose me of its own accord? he thought, bewildered. Over everyone else at the school? He supposed he ought to feel honored that the Goblet of Fire deemed him worthy, but right now he couldn't muster any emotion but disgust. Besides, it meant that Cedric didn't actually enter his name after all...would the Goblet have chosen him over Harry if given the choice? He supposed they would never know now.

"But why?" asked James, exasperated. "Why do any of this? Why serve the Dark Lord?"

Lockhart's dreamy grin faded and was replaced by a nasty, disdainful look. "The Daily Prophet ruined me," he spat. "I could not find work in the wizarding world after I was fired from Hogwarts. I was a laughingstock. I sought out Peter Pettigrew in Albania when the Prophet reported his presence there. I had heard rumors, during my brief time at Hogwarts, that he was in league with You-Know-Who. Pettigrew introduced me to the Dark Lord, and he offered me a chance to redeem myself – to prove what a powerful wizard I truly was. And the world would see what a mistake they made painting me as the fool."

"That's why you killed Rita Skeeter," Harry piped up in realization. "For revenge."

"That cow deserved it," Lockhart seethed. "I saw her at the Yule Ball, while disguised as Filch, and I wanted her to pay for ruining my life. So I kidnapped her, murdered her and quickly buried her in the Forest before returning to my post."

"But the Dark Lord did not order you to do this?" asked Dumbledore.

"No," Lockhart shook his head. "My master was displeased with my actions and feared it would draw unwanted attention. But it turned out to be a valuable distraction to allow me to pursue my true targets."

"Like Slughorn," Snape surmised.

"The Dark Lord has wanted him dead for many months," said Lockhart. "He saw an opportunity to draw him out of hiding at the Potions Conference thanks to the Mudblood woman's mastery—"

"You dare use that word—?" James growled, but Dumbledore held up his hand for silence.

"Why did Voldemort want Horace Slughorn dead?" the Headmaster asked.

"I do not know," said Lockhart. "He only told me that he needed to be silenced. That he knew things that would be best left unknown to the world in death."

Harry felt the heat of Snape's gaze, scrutinizing him from across the room. He knew the man disagreed with Harry's decision to keep said information out of Dumbledore's hands. But there was no chance Harry was about to divulge what he knew now, not to the man about to be called back into Voldemort's service. So he avoided Snape's eye and said nothing.

"And finally, Sybill Trelawney," Dumbledore sighed tiredly. "Why did she become a target of Voldemort?"

"She had information the Dark Lord sought," Lockhart explained. "It was my job to invade her mind and retrieve it for him, given my expertise with the mind arts. I intended to do so much sooner, but she proved difficult to get to without drawing suspicion, given how reclusive and paranoid she'd become."

"What information were you after?" asked James.

"A prophecy," said Lockhart. "Made to Albus Dumbledore in 1980. I was not told its subject or its significance – I was merely to retrieve its contents and bring it to my Lord."

Harry's head snapped over to Dumbledore, and this time it was the Headmaster who avoided his gaze. "And did you obtain the information you sought?" Dumbledore asked impassively.

"I did not," Lockhart said bitterly. "Trelawney seemed to have zero recollection of this prophecy, or any other she's made throughout her life for that matter. There was a prolonged gap in her memory of the interview with Dumbledore in 1980, and I could not access anything within, no matter how hard I dug."

"So why kill her?" James demanded. "Wouldn't Voldemort want to torture her himself to get that information?"

"My orders were to leave no loose ends," Lockhart shrugged. "She had nothing more to offer the Dark Lord."

The casualness with which his former professor spoke about murder was chilling for Harry to hear. This was clearly not the same Gilderoy Lockhart who had boasted about false accomplishments in his youth. This was a hardened killer, forged by prolonged exposure to dark magic and Merlin knows what else.

"I have a question," Snape spoke up. "Why do you appear so much older? What have you been doing for the past year?"

"My Lord was angry with me for failing to subdue Moody," said Lockhart. "He felt that I was not yet skilled enough to carry out the tasks he required of me. He knew I needed years, perhaps decades of experience in a short amount of time. So he gave me the Time-Turner and instructions on how to use it to complete my training."

"But surely you couldn't travel back that far," James muttered, confused. "Time-Turners can only go back a handful of hours at a time before they need to recharge."

"There are ways around that restriction," Harry piped in. And he launched into a brief explanation of his own usage of the Time-Turner in his third year, and his theory that it could be done indefinitely given enough free locations to move between in order to avoid your past and future selves.

"So you could use the Time-Turner to re-live the same stretch of time, over and over?" asked James, clearly trying to wrap his head around the concept himself.

"Yes," Lockhart confirmed. "Sometimes dozens of times in a single day. Moving from room to room, reading every tome my master gave me, practicing new spells, performing blood rituals on myself. The Dark Lord even used it as a punishment at times – after the Skeeter incident, I was forced to endure fifty cycles in a row without sleep."

"Doing so over the course of a year would certainly have a toll on one's physical health," Dumbledore remarked. "You ought to be around thirty years old, but you look over fifty. Why subject yourself to such abuse?"

"Because I will be rewarded beyond my wildest dreams!" Lockhart laughed. "I will be my master's most valued and loyal servant – his right-hand man when he takes control of the country! I will have power, influence, and respect...not to mention a pure-blood bride of my choosing!"

"But you're a half-blood, Gilderoy!" James scoffed, clearly disgusted with what he was hearing. "Your master is clearly manipulating you for his own gain. And if you haven't noticed, you've been caught red-handed – you won't be getting any of these things now."

"You think Azkaban Prison can hold me?" Lockhart cackled. "How naive! My master is more powerful than any can imagine, and as soon as I'm free, I will prove just how dangerous I can be, and how foolish you are to underestimate the Reaver of Memories!"

The adults seemed unmoved by this declaration, but a chill ran down Harry's spine. He knew there was truth in Lockhart's statement: Azkaban was not as secure as the Ministry believed, and if he was still imprisoned there when Voldemort freed his followers the following year, he would indeed become a force to be reckoned with. Yet another item to add to the list of things Harry needed to prevent from happening…

"I think we have heard enough," Dumbledore muttered. "Auror Potter, I hereby remand Mr. Lockhart into your custody. Can you handle him on your own?"

"Certainly," said James. He Stunned Lockhart and levitated the bound man off the ground, chair and all. "I will take him into the DMLE immediately. They'll be rather busy this evening, but I'll make sure they know this is a high-priority suspect."

James gave Harry another loving hug before departing, with the unconscious Lockhart floating along behind him. Dumbledore and Snape turned their attention to the two teens standing before them.

"Headmaster," said Neville nervously. "I still don't understand everything that happened tonight. Something happened when me and Voldemort fought...our wands sort of connected...and I saw my p-parents—"

"A full accounting of the night is clearly in order," said Dumbledore. "Neville, you and I will now return to my office and you can tell me everything that happened. I will answer your questions to the best of my ability."

"What about me?" Harry demanded. "I was there too. I fought Voldemort as well...do I not deserve answers?"

"You will get them, Harry," Dumbledore said placatingly. "But another night. For now, you need to get yourself to the Hospital Wing."

"No, I don't," Harry denied stubbornly. But as he did so, he felt himself swaying on his feet, nearly too weak to stand. His adrenaline was wearing off now, and he felt the effects of the night catching up to him. His head was swimming with exhaustion, his broken arm was throbbing painfully, and still he felt sharp jabs of pain all over from the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

"Severus, will you kindly escort Mr. Potter to the Hospital Wing?" Dumbledore asked.

"I will," Snape nodded.

"After that, I think you know what I must ask of you," Dumbledore said grimly. "I imagine your master will be displeased by your absence tonight...can I count on you to make amends and regain his trust?"

Snape paled considerably; clearly returning to Voldemort's service was the last thing he wanted to do. But he nodded stiffly, before beckoning for Harry to follow him from the room.

Neither Snape nor Harry spoke as they traversed the corridors towards the Hospital Wing. That was just fine with Harry – he didn't want to rehash the night's events any longer. He felt a dull sense of defeat, knowing that he had failed once again. Voldemort had returned to full strength despite his best efforts, and his support base appeared to be even stronger than before. His and Neville's survival felt like hollow victories – a temporary reprieve from years of pain and suffering to come for countless others.

Snape escorted Harry to the door of the Hospital Wing, pausing before he departed. "What happens now, Potter?" he hissed. "What is to be done?"

Harry looked up at the man. For the first time he could recall, he saw raw fear etched across Snape's face. He was so afraid to return to Voldemort's side that he was seeking reassurance from the teen – an oddly heartbreaking sight.

"I don't know," Harry sighed despondently. "He will want the prophecy next, I expect, from the Department of Mysteries. Hopefully he will be preoccupied with that before waging a proper war."

Snape's black eyes studied Harry's face for a moment longer, before he nodded and swept down the corridor. For the first time in his life, Harry wished him well. The man had protected his secrets thus far and clearly had reason to watch out for him – it was only right to repay the favor.

Harry entered the Hospital Wing, which was peacefully quiet at this late hour of the night. Two of the beds were currently occupied, by fellow Champions Krum and Fleur, both fast asleep but looking relatively unharmed. Thank Merlin for small victories, I suppose, Harry thought to himself.

There was a shuffling sound from the back of the room, and Dahlia emerged from the storage room, still wearing her white trainee robes. Her eyes went wide when she saw her brother stumble in. "Harry!" she gasped, standing quickly and rushing over to examine him. "Are you alright?"

"I will be," Harry mumbled. "Just need some sleep, I think."

"Come here," Dahlia said, gently taking him by the hand and guiding him to an empty bed. Harry sank into the pillow, head feeling heavy, ready for the nightmarish day to be over.

Dahlia began to wave her wand over her brother, muttering incantations under her breath. Runes began to appear over him in midair, and she froze at whatever they told her. "You've been put under the Cruciatus Curse?" she gasped, her green eyes snapping to his, seeking confirmation.

"Yes," Harry nodded, too detached from reality to even care about that horrifying fact. "For at least a minute or so; I can't really remember."

Dahlia, still shaking slightly, continued to wave her wand over him. "Your arm's broken," she remarked, pausing at his left side.

"Bone-Breaker Curse, courtesy of Lord Voldemort himself," Harry quipped humorlessly. He could not bring himself to meet his sister's eye this time, knowing that if he saw her reaction, it would make it feel real again. He didn't want to engage with what had happened right now. The fugue state he was currently in was a blissful escape.

Dahlia stood and disappeared from his bedside for a moment, swiftly returning with an armful of vials. "Open," she instructed. Harry dutifully parted his lips and allowed her to tip three potions into his mouth. They burned as they went down his throat, but it didn't bother him – he was no longer in his conscious body. He yearned to not feel, to be far away from this room, this reality.

"Now, try to get some sleep," said Dahlia, sitting in a chair to his right. "You'll feel better in the morning."

"Thanks, sis," Harry slurred. Sleep sounded good right about now. Nothing bad could happen to him while he slept...he couldn't possibly screw his life up any further in the far-away realm of dreams and nothingness.

It took Harry a moment to notice a slight pressure in his right hand. He forced his eyes to stay open a moment longer to glance down at it. Dahlia was clutching his hand in hers, a silent, comforting embrace. They met eyes, and he saw the fear in her expression. But she gave him a reassuring nod, a resolute set in her jaw. You're not alone, she seemed to be saying with the simple gesture. I'm with you. I'll take care of you.

And Harry broke. He was overcome with silent, heaving sobs as the gravity of the night's events came crashing down upon him. Dahlia did not let go of his hand, did not mock him for his display of raw emotion. She just sat there with him, giving him silent strength and reassurance as the potions took effect and his sobs gradually receded, guiding him into peaceful sleep.

A/N: Surprise! The first major 'butterfly effect' change to the timeline that I've kept hidden in the background for the last few school years. I've been planning to introduce Evil Lockhart into my story ever since the Rita Skeeter blackmail subplot began, and rest assured this will not be the last we see of the 'Reaver'!

As a side note, now you all know why I had to do away with Mrs. Norris in Year Three, as she would've given away the Filch disguise immediately...RIP to a feline legend.