Chapter 249 Five Years The sun bore down on the top of his head, his wild black

k hair absorbing the heat and causing trickles of sweat to bead up no his forehead. Harry Potter strode down the sidewalk from the Underground station and made his way among the throng of muggles that were busily hewing from near and far towards their various destinations. He fit in with them, wearing beaten jeans and loafers with a muted navy blue golf shirt. He tugged at the strap of his beaten leather satchel and pushed his frameless spectacles up the bridge of his nose. His bright viridian eyes moved from side to side, offering a quick assessment of the passersby, determining whether any were a threat, the product of a lifetime of fear and struggle. Harry took a deep breath and pushed his way through an intersection, mildly admonishing himself for his paranoia. Life had been blessed by the routine, of late and there was no real reason for him to keep looking over his shoulder for some sign of an assassin or enemy in the crowd. He turned the corner onto a street lined with turn of the century Victorian brownstones, each with a small sign out front, denoting some sort of business inside. This part of town was marked by the quaint architecture and by the residents efforts to rekindle a slow economy by revitalizing the area with small business. The muggles had been through a turbulent time of strife and uncertainty, with a world of violence and terror thrust upon them by people bent on destruction and pain. It had gotten to the point where the muggle Prime Minister had gone to Dawlish seeking help. Dawlish had politely, but firmly denied the request. One thing that was sacrosanct among the wizarding world was the separation of the magical world from the muggle world. It had not been an easy decision, given the muggle-born and mixed blooded wizards who still had family in the muggle world. For a time, it seemed that another blood-based schism would rend the wizarding world apart, until the muggles finally got an upper hand on their tormenters, much to the relief of those in the Ministry. Still, rumors persisted that wizards had helped the muggles defeat their enemy. If there was proof, Dawlish and the Ministry would be forced to act, yet none was forthcoming and Harry, with the backing of Hermione, had chosen not to aggressively to pursue the issue. Harry stopped at a familiar landing and looked up wearily at its glass and wood frame door. The facing was of weather beaten stone and its sign, while new, had been treated to match the historical faade of the entrance. Despite having come here every week for the past four years or so, Harry felt the same sensation of nervousness and anxiety hed felt on the first day hed come. As he climbed the risers on the landing and reached for the door, his feet felt heavy, but he overcame the gravity and pulled on the ornate brass handled and walked through the door. He found himself in the familiar receiving area. It looked more like a living room or study, with the walls full of bookcases and books and a small, cherry desk in the center with a mousy, indifferent teenage girl seated behind it. The girl finally looked up from her magazine, as if noticing him for the first time. She smiled through chewing the gum in her mouth and looked down and a large ledger on her desk. Back again, Mr. Potter? The girl checked off a line in the book and then turned and entered some items on a keyboard connected to a small computer on the side of the desk. Im afraid so, Lucy. Am I late? For some reason, Harry felt uncomfortable around the girl. She had a tendency say things that were simply not prudent to say, given where she worked. Not at all, hopefully shes fixing whatever nut is loose in your head. Lucy! A strong, feminine voice echoed from a door behind the desk. A short, slender woman walked out the door and stared daggers at the receptionist. That is entirely inappropriate, and I will not accept any more breaches from you. This is your last warning, or you will find another line of work. I dont care who your mother is.

Lucy looked at the woman and saw serious intent in her eyes. Shed gone too far. Meekly, the girl nodded a quick apology to Harry and then buried her head back in her magazine. The woman waved her hand towards Harry and ushered him into her office. Im sorry about that, Harry. Shes my brothers kid and she really means well, she just doesnt know how to act in a business setting. The woman pointed to a pair of comfortable looking easy chairs arrayed in front of a fireplace. Harry dropped his bag and sat down, gratefully. The woman walked with an easy athletic grace. She went to a nearby sideboard and poured two glasses of lemonade and brought them to where Harry was sitting. She placed the glasses on a small round table between the chairs and took the unoccupied seat. Harry took the lemonade and sipped it, grateful for the relief from the oppressive heat outside. Thats all right, Alicia. I know what its like to have interesting family. Im related to George, after all. They shared an awkward laugh but then Harry immediately regretted his words, considering what George was going through at this time. Alicia Spinnet wasnt a physically imposing woman, but Harry knew looks could be deceiving. Shed been two years ahead of him at Hogwarts and was a chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She was the epitome of the term scrappy, rising from a reserve to starter and playing a key role in several victories. More than that, she was a fighter who displayed coolness under pressure, often called upon by Oliver Wood to take the penalty shots. Shed been one of the original members of Dumbledores Army and had come back to Hogwarts to join in the final battle against the Dark Lord. Unlike many of the Gryffindor Quidditch players, once shed graduated, she did not join one of the many club teams. Instead, she chose to continue her education in the muggle world at the insistence of her muggle father and start a career in that world. Alicia was a psychiatrist. She hadnt wanted to be a healer nor did she want to be a muggle doctor, but she still wanted to heal people. When she was going through medical school, she did an internship with a psychiatrist who showed her what therapy meant to broken minds. She looked around the wizarding world in the aftermath of the tumult and turmoil of the post Voldemort decade and saw a pressing need for healing of the troubled minds of the wizards and witches whod sustained a constant cacophony of crisis and fear. It was an unmet need, but it had been a hard road. Traditionally, wizards had a general fear of muggle medical practices, especially when most ailments and injuries could be healed with the wave of a wand or the downing of some potion. But Alicia knew that trauma of the mind was a difficult thing to heal. Harry Potter, especially, was a classic case of repetitive psychic trauma that had induced a form of post traumatic stress. The unremitting wave of crisis and war and upheaval had taken its toll on him, and she looked at Harry as the poster boy of what ailed the wizarding world in general. Harry looked around the room, unready to look Alicia in the eye. Nervously, he sipped his lemonade. After the incident with the Syndicate, Miles Jackson-Smythe had been unrelenting in his entreaties for Harry to get help. Naturally, Harry had been reluctant, at first denying that anything was wrong with him and then studiously hanging on to the fact that a muggle doctor would simply not believe the world of his problems. Miles had been persistent, and when he showed up at Harrys door with Alicia Spinnets card, Harry was given no choice. Ginny and Ron, backed by Hermione, Lachlan, Williamson and Dudley had all insisted that he go. Theyd noticed his depression and guilt. Hed been losing weight. His skin was pale and his face sunken and dark. No matter what he told himself, his guilt and anxiety was slowly tearing away the fabric of his soul and was doing irreparable harm, or so he thought. So, every Tuesday afternoon, for the past four and half years or so, hed been coming to this small office in the center of London. Hed endured Lucys indifference and sat across from Alicia going through every aspect of his life, breaking it down into components and rebuilding the blocks to turn his experiences into a solid wall of strength that he could build his life on. It hadnt been easy. He had so much to confront, so much to deal with, but Alicia was good at her job. Some sessions, she didnt say a word, but allowed

Harry to work through his pain, to assess the death and destruction hed been a part of and to try to accept that things were sometimes not in his control. Harry leaned back in his chair. This was another thing that had surprised him. Hed thought therapy involved him laying on a couch and discussing his mother. Alicia had laughed when he mentioned it, and assured him that the nature of the sessions was for him to feel comfortable. What it all really boiled down to was for him to have a conversation about what was troubling him and to find ways to deal with it. Once theyd gotten started, there was no turning off the spigots of emotion, and so, like now, the beginning of each session was a protracted struggle for Harry to release his emotions. Alicia knew this and waited for Harry to start, in his own good time. I think we were talking about when Greyback tried to attack Teddy. I guess we should start there. Harry finally broke the silence and looked at Alicia. If you wish. Harry swallowed nervously. The thing is, when I was fighting them, I didnt hesitate, didnt think. I simply took it for granted that they had to be killed. Then, when I went to the Discooperire in Egypt, I jumped in with my sword. I killed then, too. Harry looked down at his hands, as if he could see the blood of the people he killed still there. The thing is, I didnt feel anything. I should have, but I simply acted with no thought of what I was doing, really. The fear was there. Sometimes, at night, I wake up in a cold sweat and I realize that the fear has never gone away, that I still have it. What are you afraid of, Harry? Are you afraid that you wont feel anything if you are forced to take another life? She knew the answer to the question, shed understood one of Harrys essential problems almost from the start of the sessions. The issue was to make sure Harry understood what his underlying problem was. Psychiatry rarely had aha moments, no singular episodes of clarity and poof the patient was cured. It takes a lifetime of experiences to create mental health issues and so the revelations for the patient are slow, but sure. Harry was nearing a very important insight into his own character. Harry chewed on her question, his hands fumbling around in his lap and then it struck him. No, Im not afraid of not feeling anything. Im afraid He hesitated and then looked over at Alicia , his eyes wide with near panic and fear. Im afraid that Ill begin to enjoy it. Im afraid that Ill become Alicia nodded. Youre afraid that youll become like Voldemort, that youll delight in the death and suffering of others. Whats more, because of the nature of the people youve had to confront since Voldemorts defeat, youve felt a tinge of satisfaction when youve been forced to kill them, right? He nodded. Up to now, he couldnt exactly place a finger on what hed felt when hed been forced to kill his enemies. He went through the list of people hed fought in his years as an Auror. At first he thought hed been indifferent and then hed been frightened that hed actually started enjoying the killing. But Alicia had used a word that was even more frightening. Hed been satisfied. That feeling worried him more than the others, because it came with a certain moral certitude that seemingly justified the sensation. He stared at her. Thats it. Ive been satisfied. He shook in his seat. You knew? Alicia smiled. Of course I did, Harry. Think about it. Youre life has been one mission or another. As a child, you accepted the mission to defeat the Dark Lord, not only to avenge your parents, but because youd been preordained to be the Chosen One. When you accept such a task, you cant help but feel a certain bit of satisfaction when the task is complete. However, when you became an adult, every task, every mission was oriented towards accomplishing that same feeling of completion. The deaths became incidental. You dont enjoy the killing, but you do feel something, call it pride or something else, in the

fact that youve accomplished one impossible labor or another. Its programmed into your DNA from when you were a boy. Its compounded by the fact that most of the things you have done have plac ed you in mortal peril, so theres a necessary adrenal response to the feeling as well. Harry looked at her shamefaced. What about the times I genuinely enjoyed things? You know, like the time I almost let the chimera kill Delores Umbridge? Let me fill you in on a very little known trade secret, Harry. Alicia leaned forward and dropped her voice. Harry moved to listen, holding his breath. She looked from side to side and then whispered throatily. Harry Potter is human. She leaned back and laughed. Harry pondered her statement and then flushed. The tension washed away and he settled back in his chair. So, thats it? Im cured? It took four and half years for you to finally tell me all this? Why didnt you just tell me at the start? Yes and no, Harry. Youve had a breakthrough and yes, knowing is half the battle, but its not enough for me to tell you. All of your family and friends; Ginny, Ron and Miles, have all told you this in one form or another, but you had to come to the conclusion yourself, or it means nothing. Are you cured? Youre on your way. She interlocked her fingers in front of her chin. As an Auror, investigating an issue, you have to first identify the problem before you can start on the solution, right? He nodded in agreement. Its the same with the human consciousness. Until you identified the problem, there was no way to go to the remedy. Everything else was just a case of treating the symptoms, not the condition. So whats the remedy, Doc? Harry asked, energy in his voice for the first time. Alicia laughed. Take it easy, Harry. It isnt like capturing a Snitch and youre done. There is a process involved, which will still take time. However, I think its safe to say were in the home stretch. Alicia crossed her legs. I think well leave it there for now. So, how was your week? Harry looked at her for a moment, puzzled at the sudden change of subject. He shrugged his shoulders. Teddy came home. He just finished his fourth year, so hes happy to be home, for more reasons than he can count. Why do you say that? Alicia seemed genuinely interested in the welfare of Harrys godson, a boy whos background had been remarkably similar to Harrys. Well, he and Graciela broke up. Those two were never a good fit, in my opinion, but hes wondering whether she, or her aunt will turn him into a slug. Add in to the equation that Victoire has not been on speaking terms with him, since he took Graciela to the Yule Ball and not her, Id say th at getting home and hiding out is something he was looking forward to. Alicia grinned. Ah, the trials and tribulations of being sixteen. Her face grew serious. Of course, Harry, what you faced when you were sixteen was a drop in the bucket by compa rison, wasnt it? Sure, but I dont know what you mean. Harrys head spun. Alicia placed a reassuring hand on his knee. What I mean, Harry, is that what Teddy is going through is not trivial, in his mind. Just because he doesnt have Voldemort try ing to kill him at every turn, is not a reason to disregard what hes feeling. Im not. Harry responded petulantly.

Im not saying you are, Harry, but you are the only male role model he has. It might be helpful for him if you talked to him and gave him some encouragement. You have a chance to give him something you didnt have. Take it. Itll help him and itll help you. She glanced at the clock. And when you come back, Ill tell you why. In the mean time, just try it. Harry rose when she did and shook her hand. They walked to the door and Lucy turned around at her desk and gave him a wink. Alicia smiled. Lucy, make sure Mr. Potters appointment is in the book. She shook Harrys hand and walked back in her office. Lucy tapped at the keyboard and then looked up and whispered. So, did she tighten whatever screw was loose? Lucy! I heard that! A muffled voice came from behind the closed office door. Lucy winced, but Harry grinned. You know, I think weve at least got it threaded. See you next week. Harry turned and left the office, not really happy, but for the first time, not really sad. He didnt mind the heat of the sun on his face as he turned to go home. Chapter 250 Liabilities In the past decade or so, one of the most recognizable wizards in Britain, aside from Harry Potter, had been George Weasley. A master showman, George led the way in aggressively promoting the business he and his late brother had started, building it from a small mail order storefront to a massive retail entity that arguably was the most prolific enterprise in recent memory. Granted, Malfoy Import and Export and other established firms were still titans in their own right, but George had built a business that had the fastest rise in recent memory. Weasleys Wizard Wheezes had expanded its product offerings beyond simple gag gifts and fireworks to include defense industry, personal protection products and retail distribution of normal consumer products with a magical slant. Behind the mask of buffoonery, George hid an agile mind and a razor sharp intellect. More than that, George was a caring person, who loved his wife, Verity and his ever expanding family, Fred and Roxanne. George was intensely loyal to his friends and family, having brought his school mate, Lee Jordan into the business as well as Harrys cousin, Dudley. Together, theyd brought WWW to great heights, but with all great rises, the risk of a precipitous fall grows more and more. Such was the case with WWW. It had been a simple mistake, really. One that could have befallen anyone, but it happened to WWW at the worst possible time. A shipment of gag protective goggles, designed to make the wearer see double and to become almost blinded had accidentally been sent to the Puddlemere United Quidditch club instead of a shipment of charmed allweather goggles that had been ordered. No one caught the error, and when the Uniteds Seeker pulled the goggles down over her eyes at the start of the British Club Finals, she was bedazzled by confusing visions and blinded to the bludger that struck her, giving her opponent an unimpeded path to the Snitch. The hue and cry was astounding. Overnight, WWW sales dropped almost fifty percent and Georges integrity was called into question. Did he send the goggles on purpose? How much did he wager on the other team to win? Had tried to fix any other matches? Combined with the fact that life was generally peaceful throughout the country, the magnitude of the scandal had catastrophic results on WWW. Georges first reaction was indignation. He was far from a shrinking violet. Unfortunately, his response to reporters questions only served to whet their appetites that something more was amiss. His friends and family stood up for him, but were overwhelmed by the outcry from the public. Wizarding Britain wasnt a litigious society, but relied more on the Darwin principle which was in full effect for WWW. The breaking point was when Georges good friend, Oliver Wood, the captain of the United expressed doubt in Georges integrity in a cover story in the Daily Prophet. The damage was extreme, because Oliver didnt come off as angry or bitter. The blow to George was that Oliver had been disappointed and that immediately closed the book on Geo rges guilt in

the eyes of the general public and the consumer. Weasleys Wizard Wheezes was in desperate straits and George had no idea how to bring it back. Moreover, he had no idea how the error had occurred in the first place. *** The small bell over the door rang plaintively as the door opened. Verity Weasley looked up from the service counter, feeling a small surge of hope. No one had crossed their threshold in over two weeks, the store hadnt seen a paying customer in that time. After the initial fallout, theyd been inundated with irate people coming in to return their purchases and get refunds. The owl order business was a shambles and they hadnt received a new order in over four weeks. Worst of all, the Ministry had just sent word that they were not going to renew orders for defense and protection items, based on a solid majority vote in the Wizengamot. About all they had in revenue came from Gringotts, and that was because Bill Weasley and Seamus Finnigan refused to abandon them. That revenue was keeping them afloat, but only barely. Theyd cut staff and worse things were bound to have to happen in order to pull them from the abyss. She looked out towards the center aisle, hoping against hope the door signified a customer. She tried not to look disappointed as George walked up. Shed seen the toll these events had taken on him and her heart went out to him. His face was gaunt, dark circles around his eyes. His shoulders drooped and she couldnt remember the last time hed smiled or cracked a joke. The sparkle of mischievous humor was gone from his eyes and she told herself that shed give anything to see it back. She put on her warmest smile and watched as he walked up. Hey George, whats up? He looked up at her, as if noticing she was there for the first time. He didnt bother to smile, hed given up his good humor a while back. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders and looked around at the empty store. Not much, just checking in before The pain of the moment was too m uch for him. He decided to change the subject. Any one been in? She couldnt answer and George knew the response anyway. The answer was the same as yesterday and the day before and the day before. People were simply not coming to the store. Within a few more months, WWW would be finished. Theyll come back, George. Theyll finally see the truth. Veritys face grew angry. That blasted Oliver Wood sold out on us. George raised his hands. Dont blame Oliver, Verity. He spoke with the fact s as he had them. The fact is, we screwed up. For the millionth time George wondered how the error had happened. They had pioneered Just In Time inventory management. Isabella Ramirez-Thomas had spent countless hours helping them create a flawless delivery system to handle the overwhelming demand from their customers. There simply was no way that the error could have occurred, and yet it had. George offered a wan smile and leaned across the counter, kissing his wife on the cheek. I shouldnt be long. I might as well get it over with. George turned and left, heading out into Diagon Alley. *** There were fewer people on the street in Hogsmeade than had been on Diagon Alley. Despite that fact, the people who recognized him gave him expressions ranging from disappointment to disgust to outright hostility. George pulled his collar tight over his shoulders and walked with his head down. He stopped at a storefront and walked into the door. When he had been at Hogwarts, this had been Zonkos Joke Sh op,

the inspiration for Fred and Georges nascent business. A while back, in the boom days, George had purchased the boarded up Zonkos, fulfilling a dream that he and his twin had had when they were piecing out the vision for their store. The store was empty, the stock removed from the shelves and the flyers torn from the walls. George decided to leave the candles unlit and took one last walk around the site. His footsteps echoed on the beaten floor, the same place that only months ago had seen a line of students queuing up to get in and buy his wares. Now, there was only emptiness and he sighed heavily from the burden. You all right, George? He turned and found his brother Ron and his friend Harry standing in the open doorway. George nodded slowly. Im fine. I was just taking one last look around. What are you guys doing here? Verity told me you were coming here. We thought wed keep you company. Ron replied quietly. George offered a muted thanks and continued his stroll around the store. You know, buying Zonkos was Freds idea. He always thought that Zonko was out of touch with their customers. Their jokes were dated and their gags were antique. George spoke softly, his gaze in the distance as if he were remembering his and Freds numerous Hogsmeade weekends spent walking the aisles of this small shop. Abruptly, George put his hand on his head, his voice breaking. What the heck happened, Ron? This should not have happened! Ron walked forward and put an arm around his brother, who, like his business had reached his own breaking point. Accidents happen, George, youre not perfect. Ron was trying to soothe his brothers pain, but George snapped upright and pushed his brother away. You dont understand, Ron! The system we had in place would not have allowed that to happen. You worked with me! You know how hard we worked to make sure the right inventory got to right people! Can you imagine what would have happened if a bit of jerry root had gotten into a skiving snack b ox? Ron shuddered as the nearly fatal root normally used as a color additive in fireworks would have gotten mixed into a product marketed to children. Harry watched the exchange closely, but remained quiet, leaving the brothers to their moment. George took a deep breath and then patted Ron on the head. Im sorry, Ron. I didnt mean to snap at you. Its just that I feel like I let everyone down. Verity, Lee, Dudley, you, the kids: Ive let everyone down. Georges head fell. I let Fred down. This was our dream, and I messed it up. Ron nodded. He put his arm around George. Come on, lets get out of here. He led George to the front of the store and out the door. Together, the three of them used boards and nails to close up the storefront. They did it manually, each blow of the hammer like the nail in a coffin. George still held title to the property, but he could not afford to keep an empty store open. The quickly finished their task and then stood back to look at their handiwork. Harry could swear that he saw tears welling up in Georges face. Finally, Ron tugged at Georges sleeve. Come on, George. Lets go home. Mutedly, George let his brother lead him away. Ron paused and looked back at Harry, who was still rooted in plac e. You coming, Harry? Harry turned and looked at his friend and shook his head. No, Ron, Ive got something I have to do. Ron saw an odd expression on Harrys face. It was a look Harry got when he was puzzling through a mystery of one sort or another. Ron nodded and escorted George down the street. Harry stared at the boarded up store, his eyes looking, but not seeing as his mind went through an intricate decision tree of thought. Eventually, Harrys eyes widened ever so slightly, then he turned and walked down the street.

*** She sat in a corner table in a crowded, smoky muggle pub near the entrance to Diagon Alley. She was careful to use a regular fountain pen, but the ink was still magical. The pen felt uncomfortable in her hand as she reviewed the parchment that sat on the table in front of her. Her own penmanship was nearly atrocious and she spent a good deal of time trying to read her own writing. A burly, indifferent barman walked up. You want anythin else, miss? She didnt hear his approach. She jumped from fright, and then a cross look came over her face. Her expression brought out a shoulder shrug from the man and he turned and left her alone. She took a quick look around the room, looking for anyone that would recognize her. The proximity to so many muggles made her want to gag, but she held back and refocused her attention to the sheet in front of her. There was a list of names, some checked and others left alone. She ran the nib of her pen over the list, reading it to herself. Harry Potter, Lee Jordan, Ginny Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Bill Weasley, Hermione Weasley, Ron Weasley, Percy Weasley, George Weasley She stopped at Georges name and a smile of satisfaction came over her face. She crossed out Georges name with a bold swipe of her pen and then placed a check mark beside it. She told them shed make them pay. She was, despite her reputation, a woman of her word. She reached over and pulled the wine glass to her lips, tipping it before realizing it was empty. Where was that bartender, anyway? *** Ron tapped on Harrys office door and waited patiently for his friend to respond. He looked behind him . The Office of Aurors had gone through a significant facelift. The four teams were broken into pod-like areas with cubicle desktops arranged in a big square, giving each team a semi-private area to meet and work. Elizabeth Cavendish had retired, since her husband was the serving Minister of Magic. Also gone was Lachlan McCrory, who had finally retired and was tending bar at his pub, The Targe. In fact, over the past five years, the Aurors had seen a turnover of almost fifty percent. New ones had come while old steadies had left. Sean Manchester led Lachlans old team, and in a surprising move, Mortimer Ga fney was given Cavendishs. Ron looked over where Leonora Sigismund was busy talking to a tall young man with a fresh face and a glowing Aurors shield on his breast. Carter Sigismund was Leonoras son, whod graduated from Hogwarts four years previous and now had just completed his Auror training, with Silas as his mentor. Ron shook his head and then peered back into Harrys office. Harry hadnt seemed to notice his approach. His friend had his head engrossed inside the pages of a large book. Ron stepped in and cleared his throat, to no avail. Ron repeated the gesture, this time louder. Harry looked up and grinned, sheepishly. Are we still on for this weekend? Ron asked, flopping down in the chair opposite Harry. Harry gave Ron a blank look and then shook his head wildly. Oh, right, you and Hermione are bringing the kids over, right?

Ron leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Of course, Harry. What is with you? Did Alicia rattle your cage or something? Only a select few of those close to Harry were remotely aware of his Tuesday visits to Alicia Spinnet. He gave Ron a wary look and then shook his head. No, actually, that went pretty well. Ron scratched his head. So whats bothering you, Harry? Harry sighed. Its George. Something about what he said today has me puzzled. What is it? Rons voice was strained, the memory of Georges pain on his mind. I was thinking about what he said, about not knowing what had happened. Harry mused, his hand resting on the page hed been reading. It was an accident, Harry. George will understand. Ron said with a certain amount of indignation. Harry nodded and tapped his fingers near his mouth and then sat upward. What if it wasnt and accident? Rons jaw fell. What are you saying? George tried to rig the match? Dont be daft, Ron! Harry sighed in exasperation. Ron could be a little dense at times. What Im saying is that if someone wanted to get at George, what would be the best way to do it? Rons face brightened in understanding. You mean someone set him up? Possibly, but what if it isnt just George? Remember Bills little problem at the bank a few months back? Someone thought hed been embezzling funds. If Isabella hadnt found the flaw in the account ledger, Bill would be in Azkaban right now. Harry stood and put his hands behind his back. Ron stared at him for a moment. You mean someone is trying get my family? That would make a lot of sense. Who could it be? Theres any number of people that have gripes. People that my father irritated, Death Eaters, heck, even people weve put away would want a piece of us. Youre right, but theres something about this. Whoever it may be is going after careers, not the people themselves. This is well planned and well timed. Harry watched as Ron absorbed the information. Do you have an idea who it may be? Ron asked. Harry spun the book on his desk around and pointed a finger down at the page. Ron followed Harrys finger and then looked back up. Of course. We should pick her up. On what basis? Harry asked. Because shes a foul git. Were Aurors, arent we? Ron stood tall and thrust his chest out. Harry shook his head. No, no, Ron, we dont have any evidence. We nee d to have something concrete to take her on. Besides, Hermione would never go for it.

Hermione Weasley was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, therefore she was Harrys immediate superior and by definition, Rons as well. Ron rolled his eyes. Come on Harry, Im her husband, shes got to listen to me. Ron said confidently. Harry snorted. Ron, you only say that because shes not around to hear. Thats not true. Ron said indignantly. I say it because shes not in the building. Harry shared a laugh with his friend. Ron looked at him. So really, what do we have to do? This thing has really broken George. Harrys smile faded. I know. We do it right. We do what Aurors do. We collect the evidence and we bring the case, and this time, we bring her down for real. Chapter 251 Obstacles Hermione Jean Granger Weasley sat behind the massive mahogany desk and reclined back in her chair. The environmental wizards had made the view in the large bay window behind her one of a clear summer day and she stared out at the clouds as they drifted by. As the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she ran the single largest agency within the Ministry. In addition to the Aurors and the Hit Squad, she was also responsible for all the other small divisions that dealt with compliance with wizarding law. From the regulation of magical creatures to the Obliviator Squad to muggle relations, Hermione ensured that justice and fairness were meted out by the people under her charge. She was good at it. Back when she ran legislative affairs, shed help craft the laws that brought the massive changes in relations with house elves and goblins but here, she could see them implemented and it gave her a larger sense of accomplishment as theory became reality. That isnt to say there havent been bumps along the way. Institutional thinking and inertia generated by generations of bureaucracy didnt disappear overnight or even in five years. There was backbiting and reluctance alon g the way, but in typical Hermione fashion, she persevered through it all. Most surprising to her, however, was the fact that Harry and the Aurors turned out to be her biggest challenge. It wasnt the case that Harry opposed what she was trying to do, quite the contrary, the Aurors were made up of people who were at the cutting edge of reform. Hermiones problem with the Aurors was in the means of executing their tasks. Harry had always been impulsive. Hed been blessed with a single minded dedication to fulfilling the mission, regardless of the techniques or means to get there. This singular dedication served Harry well in the past, starting from the time hed gone after the Dark Lord and going through the battles and wars that followed. The problem was that Harry and his Aurors tended to ignore process. They saw a foe and they went after him, regardless of the considerations for justice and fair play. In the past five years, that created a sort of tension between Hermione and Harry that for the most part, did not carry over into their friendship, but there were cracks and Hermione knew that could be a problem in the future. Still, she knew in her heart, she was right, and Hermione Weasley was not one to back down when she was right. She heard the sound of someone clearing his throat and turned to see Harry standing in the doorway. She smiled and waved him inside and pointed him to a chair. Harry nodded gratefully and entered her office, a large leather binder tucked underneath his arm. Whats up, Harry? There was a twinkle in Hermiones eye. For almost twenty years, shed been his conscience and hed been her strength. Combined with Ron, the three had formed an unbeatable team that could beat the best the world could throw at them.

Harry smiled and laid the book out on the desk. It was the parole roster from Azkaban. He pointed a finger to a date six months prior. Hermiones eyes read the name and she raised her eyebrows. Rita Skeeter? Harry nodded and then Hermione sat back. Well, it looks like shes paid her debt to society, so whats the issue? Ive been thinking about George and the thing with Bill a few months back. The events have the hallmark of Skeeters work. Id like to look into it. Harry said. Hermione pursed her lips together and rocked slowly in her chair. Do you have any proof, Harry? No, its more like a hunch based on her history. Lets face it, Hermione, she has a lot ill will towards us and she holds a grudge. Harry mused, unsure of Hermiones reaction. I see. Well, whats your plan? How would you proceed? Harry ran his hand through his hair and Hermione smirked at how similar the gesture was to Dawlish when he had Harrys job. It was fortunate that both of them were wizards, or theyd be bald. I thought Id start some surveillance on her, get a record of her movements and try to stop her from acting on any impulses. Maybe shell give us something to use. Hermiones chair stopped moving. Well, Harry, I dont think I can let you do that. Why not? Harrys voice was a bit annoyed. Because you have no proof shes done anything. The law is pretty clear. I know, I wrote it. The Ministry cant start following citizens just because they have a hunch that they MIGHT be involved in something untoward. Were not a police state. Hermiones expression was steady, despite Harrys obvious irritation. Its Skeeter, Hermione. Theres no might be involved about it. Shes up to something. How many more people close to you have to be hurt before you care? As soon as the words came out, Harry regretted them. It was a cheap shot and he knew it, but his sentiments were there. Hermione responded as if shed been slapped in the face. Shed seen the pain George was in and she saw the turmoil Bill had gone through, but here was Harry implying that she didnt care about those events. Thats not fair, Harry. Her voice was low, quiet. If what happened to George and Bill is part of some conspiracy and if Rita Skeeter is behind it, I want to know, but I will not compromise our principles and have us acting like Death Eaters. Too many people sacrificed too much turn us into something hideous. She took a deep breath. You may not take any action against Skeeter unless you have some sort of evidence pointing to her, Im sorry. Is that your final decision? Harry stood erect and refused to look at her. He added after a pause. Maam? Harry, come on He ignored her entreaty and stared straight ahead. She saw his jaw set in place and realized that something very tangible had been broken in their relationship. His silence spoke volumes. Finally, she just nodded her head.

Harry spoke through his teeth. If there is nothing else, Madame Department Head, I will take my leave. There was a rustle of fabric as he whirled around left her office, leaving the room a lot colder than when hed arrived. Hermione stared after him, wondering if shed done the right thing. *** Harry stalked into the Office and made for his door. Before he got there, he looked over to a pod of cubicles. Mortimer, could I see you in my office? Mortimer and Silas were reviewing last nights dark arts reports. Mortimer looked up and nodded. Be right there, boss. Ron saw Harry come in and rose from his desk. He got to Harrys office just as his friend sat down in a huff behind his desk. Whats up, Harry? Harry studied Ron and then shook his head. Nothing. Im giving your team the Somerset assignment. There had been reports of ghosts haunting a new elementary school in Somerset. Typically, this would not involve dark magic. Hauntings in new buildings were usually the result of construction atop old burial grounds or something like that, but the ghosts had named themselves after notorious practitioners of the dark arts and the Ministry felt they should be investigated. I thought Mortimers team had that one. Besides, Im working the Skeeter case. Ron said, surprised at Harrys sudden turn. No, youre not. Harry was still on slow burn and Ron noticed how his friends neck was turning a bright red. But Harry, shes coming after my family! I have to be on this. Why are you taking me off? Ron was stunned and getting a trifle upset. Harry snapped. Because youre married to my boss, who has given me explicit instructions to lay off Skeeter. If you have a problem with my assignments, it is your right to go over my head, but for now, you are off this case, because there is no case, thanks to your wife. Rons face alternated from waxing an ashy white to turning a beet red. He was both shocked at what Harry said, but instantly defensive about Hermione. Thats not fair, Harry. Hermione knows how wicked Skeeter is, she wouldnt tie are hands. Harry put his wrists together, simulating being bound and shook his head. Our hands are tied, Ron. Now, get on the Somerset thing. I expect a report by close of business tomorrow. Ron looked at his friend, partly upset at the turn of events and partly mad for how he talked about Hermione. The tall red head nodded slowly and turned to leave, almost running into Mortimer. The two men exchanged nods and Mortimer entered. You wanted to see me, Harry? Harry sighed heavily and smiled. Come on in, Mort. Im taking your team off the Somerset thing. I have something else I want you to do. Mortimer nodded slowly. I think that Rita Skeeter is behind whats happened to George and Bill. I dont have any proof of it. Thats where you come in. I want you to find me hard evidence. Before Mortimer could speak, Harry held up his hands. You can not do anything to Skeeter. We cant monitor where she is, we cant follow

her, we cant dig through her trash. Youve got to dig into the cases themselves. Harry leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. Find something, Mortimer. Skeeter has some scores to settle, mostly with people that I know and love. Im asking you to do this, because youre objective for one, but also because you have a nose for these things. Skeeter is arrogant and smug. No matter how perfect she tries to be, shes made a mistake somewhere. Find it. You can count on me, Harry. Mortimer responded. Harry smiled. I know I can. *** Ron walked through the threshold of his home and dropped his bag by front door. He sighed heavily, the conversation with Harry weighing him down. As was his wont when he was working through a problem, he became ensconced in a stupor and stared out ahead. He missed the little girl that walked up to where he was and was waiting patiently beside his leg until she reached up and tugged on the leg of his trousers. He looked down and saw the smiling face of Rose, his daughter. She was not a little girl in the strictest sense. Seven going on eight, she had a bright smile and a thoughtful face, combining the logical sensibilities of her mother and the wild impulsivity of her father. She gave him a beatific gaze and then simply wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. For the moment, Ron forgot his problems and hugged his little girl, burying his face in the wild bramble of chestnut hair that fell to her shoulders. How was your day today? Ron asked his brown eyed beauty. She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Better than yours, Daddy. Ron shook his head. He was more inclined to believe that Rose did have the sight, but Hermione, in spite of any proof to the contrary, refused to accept it. Rose started walking down the hall. Mommy is in the kitchen, Ill take Hugo upstairs so you can argue. What makes you think were going to argue? Ron asked after her, but Rose simply smiled and shrugged her shoulders. Ron watched her walk into the next room and then took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen. Hermione was behind the stove, moving a big spoon in circles around a large pot. A book floated in the air above the pot and she was whisking her wand to and fro as knives suspended in the air chopped vegetables furiously and then deposited them inside the pan. She turned briefly and nodded to Ron and then with a flourish, sent chopping board over to the pot which dumped a pound or so of diced meat into the broth. Youre home early. She said, simply. Her meticulous nature made her start tidying up the mess in the kitchen as soon as the lid went down on the pot. Ron grimaced and then took one last deep breath. We need to talk, mione. She knew what it was about. Aside from her, Harry was the one person who told Ron everything. When two of the old trio was fighting, it usually left the third to act as mediator. The fact that Ron and Hermione were married served to complicate matters, although in the final analysis, the three had rarely been in such a situation. She finished cleaning and sat at the table, a piping hot mug of tea in front of her. This is about Rita Skeeter, isnt it? Ron nodded. Come on, Hermione, it makes perfect sense. Who else would be after us? Youve worked at WWW, you know that it was nearly impossible for that shipping error to happen.

Maybe and maybe not, Ron. The point is that we cant go around throwing the law to the wind. It cost us too much to make things right, to ignore things when we want to. Hermione felt the conflict in her own chest, yet her dedication to what was right was paramount. Were talking about my family, Hermione. These are the people that stood by us through thick and thin, through everything. Id do anything to protect them. I wont let another Fred happen. Rons voice was agitated and excited and he paced the room as he spoke. Theyre my family, too, Ron. If there is someone behind all this and even if its Skeeter, we have to do it right. Dont you remember what happened to your father? Hermione referred to where even an induced lapse in judgment had cost Arthur Weasley the Ministry. We cant simply pick up whomever we want without cause. Weve meted out vigilante justice to Skeeter before and look where it got us. Harry took me off the investigation, Hermione. Ron spoke in a low tone, the ang er boiling to the surface. Hermione was honestly surprised at his statement. Why would he do that? Hes your friend. Ron snorted. You want to know why? She nodded, dread coming over her. Harry doesnt trust me. Thats nonsense, Ron. Hes your best mate and hes married to your sister. He trusts you more than anyone, I suspect. Something inside Ron snapped and he walked closer to where she sat, leaning down and putting his face near hers. She could see the pain and the anger in his eyes . He wasnt trying to intimidate her, but she saw he was trying to keep from breaking down. He caught her eyes with his own, the look almost desperate. He doesnt trust me, because he doesnt trust you. When its all said and done, Harry knows Id tak e your side in anything because I love you and youre my wife. But understand this, Harry doesnt trust you anymore, Hermione. That means he doesnt trust me. He stepped back and leaned against the counter, his arms folded. She stared at him in shock. This went deeper than just her adherence to principle and it wasnt just about catching Rita Skeeter. Now her lifelong friendship was at stake. She clutched her fist to her chest. Was being right worth her friendship with Harry? Would Ron think that shed gotten between him and Harry? The questions raced through her head and a thoughtful, logical answer didnt immediately spring to mind. On the stove, the stew shed been preparing began to gurgle and bubble in the silence. Chapter 252 The Rift The silence was ominous. She looked around the room and tilted her head to the side, listening for some sort of sound. She rose from her easy chair and placed the newspaper shed been reading down on the coffee table. She pushed a loose strand of auburn hair from her face and took one last scan around the room. Slowly, she left the room and made her way to the stairs, her footsteps giving off a light echo on the hard wood floors. A look of concern came over Ginny Potters face. Kreacher was normally about this time of day, but hed been unavoidably delayed back at the Hogwarts kitchens. She took a deep breath and started climbing the steps from the foyer. She walked lightly, her athletic form in almost a crouch as she made her way up the stairs. She heard a faint tapping sound and her concentration grew more focused as she finished climbing the last set of risers to the top of the stairs. She stood at the top of the landing and looked down the long hallway to the first set of bedrooms. She

saw a crack of light coming from the door nearest the stairs. It was the babys room! With everything happening with George and now with Hermione and Harry, her nerves were positively frayed. She drew her wand and stepped to look inside the barely opened door to Lilys room. Her daughter was just about to turn five, and Ginny allowed a flurry of worry to cross her chest. She peered inside the door and looked. She felt herself take a deep intake of air and she pushed the door open and pulled her wand out. James Sirius Potter! What do you think youre doing? Ginny stepped inside Lilys room and saw her oldest son standing by a hovering childs broom, a half used roll of duct tape in his hand. Lily was straddling the broom and her waist and hands were taped to the frame. The handle of the broom was pointed towards an open window and a crudely made chute of wood and cardboard was attached to the sill. The hastily constructed ramp was aimed downward towards the lawn and a longer track followed along into the open barn doors, presumably to the large hay pile at the end. James Potter looked both chagrined and annoyed at his mothers discovery and he struggled to find the right words to tell his mother. He swallowed hard and tucked the hand with the roll of duct tape behind his back. Um, Mom, it was all right. Al was going to catch her. He said hopefully, somehow thinking that bringing his younger brother into the conversation with a reasonable detailing of the safety precautions would assuage the temper on his mother. He soon found he was wrong. Are you mental? Are you positively insane? What were you thinking? Your sister could have been seriously hurt. She waved her wand and the tape holding Lily to the broom uncoupled, allowing the girl to fall the foot to the floor. The dainty little girl was giggling the entire time. Its okay, Mommy, Al and James were letting me play! Lily smiled good naturedly to her mother and then stood next to her older brother, who was grateful for the shield. Another voice rang through the air, coming from the barn. Were all set, James. I put the ramp right at the end of the track, so shell catch some air right into the hayloft. Ginny walked to the window and caught a rustle of movement. She extended her arm and sent a spell from her wand, catching the fleeing boy in midstride, and freezing him in place. I know you can hear me, Albus Severus Potter. When I release you, youd better get your hind parts inside this house and up to this room. She waited a long second and then sent the counterspell towards the frozen figure of her second child. She saw him start moving and nod his head, then he made his way to the front door. Satisfied that Albus was not taking any detours, she turned and faced her other two children, her arms folded. Did you give any thought to the fact that you might have seriously injured your sister? I mean, what was going through your head, James? Obviously, to Ginny, that had to be a trick question. James was ten, a full year from being ready to go to Hogwarts himself. She could only imagine the trouble hed get in. Do you have anything to say for yourself? As the question was posed, Albus walked in, his head down and stood next to his brother. James stepped forward, placing his body between his siblings and their irritated mother. It would have worked, Mum, I had everything figured out. You did, did you? What would you have done if Lily slid off your track and ran into the barn wall? His silence told her all that she needed to know. James, among his other traits, never really contemplated failure, which for the most part, was good, but on the other hand, made him oblivious to consequences.

The door opened and Harry walked in, not seeing Ginny standing there. James tried desperately to warn his father, but the words were out of Harrys mouth before James could stop him. I see you got the track built, did you use the peach baskets for supports? The silence that greeted him made Harry stop and look around the room. He saw Ginny standing there and knew he was in trouble. You knew? You helped them with all this? Ginny asked, aghast. Harry cleared his throat. Um, well, I didnt think youd want me to let them use power tools unattended. The kids shared an inward snicker among themselves and Harry put his finger to his lips, trying to get them to not make things worse. Harry, they could have killed Lily. What were you thinking? Harry decided that in for a sickle, in for a galleon. Well, to put it bluntly, we thought either James or Albus would be too heavy. Lily was the perfect weight. The room was silent as Ginny processed what he said. Then, she burst into laughter, breaking the tension. Men! Honestly, youre no different than Ron, sometimes. Ginny saw a black expression go over Harrys face and then he turned and left the room, after telling the boys to dismantle the slide. Ginny knew that Harry was fixated on the rift that had blown up between Harry and Hermione, and poor Ron was caught right in the middle. She nodded to her kids and followed him towards their bedroom door. *** Ty Smith smiled to himself, the weight of the extra galleons jingling merrily in the small leather pouch in his front pocket. Hed just punched his timecard at Weasleys Wizard Wheezes and wondered if the Malfoy Consortium would have a job for him. Three years in the shipping department had made Ty a decent amount of money, but it never hurt to have more. Thats why when hed been approached in a pub by the strange blonde woman, hed been receptive to her offer to switch the shipments shed asked. The woman looked vaguely familiar, but Ty couldnt place her and besides, two hundred galleons were two hundred galleons. He had no real ties to the Weasleys and he was ready for a change of scenery. His cousin worked the docks for Malfoy and probably could get him in there in a couple weeks, but Ty decided to wait until WWW went out of business. That way, hed get the nice severance package that was sure to follow. He whistled a tune to himself and walked down Diagon Alley. *** That him? Mortimer whispered to the large man standing beside him. They looked like a wizard version of Laurel and Hardy. Silas nodded. Youre sure? Mortimer knew his friend w as, but they had to be positive. Mortimer, I checked the records inside and out. That guy is the only one who had the access at the time that was needed that fits the profile. There was a tinge of exasperation in Silas words. Mortimer held up his hands. Okay, okay, I believe you. Ease up. Mortimer watched Ty Smith walk down the alley and nodded. All right, lets go have a chat with Mr. Smith. The two Aurors left the alley theyd been standing in and followed behind Ty Smith at a distance.

*** Harry? Ginny walked into their bedroom and called out quietly to her husband. Harry was standing by a set of bay windows that overlooked the rolling hills of their property. Are you all right? Harry stood for a moment and then turned to face his wife. He smiled, once more taken aback by her beauty. He walked over and kissed her on the lips lightly. Im fine, really Gin. Ginny studied his face and placed her hand on his cheek. Then she turned and sat in a chair placed in a small sitting area off the main room. Rons in a tight spot, I suppose, Hermione too, for that matter. I know, Ginny, I know. Harry wondered where his wife was going. She, more than most, had a profound hatred for Rita Skeeter, but then again, this wasnt about th e former gossip gabber for the Daily Prophet, was it. Still, Ginny continued, I cant imagine why they just dont go after her. Pick her up and get what they need right out of her. That was the Ginny that Harry knew. Hermione is sticking to the letter of the law, Ginny and shes right, for the most part. This brought a look of surprise from Ginny. Oh, I still want to investigate Skeeter. I think shes as guilty as they come, but I understand why Hermione is doing what shes doing. Heck, I can even sympathize with it. Harry plopped down into an identical chair, next to Ginny. Almost cross with him, Ginny frowned at his attitude. If you agree with her, then whats your problem with her? Harry sighed. The problem is, Ginny, that she shut down the entire investigation, completely. What that tells me is that she doesnt trust me to do my job correctly. She shut down any aspect of the case, because she doesnt trust me and my team to do it right. Ginny thought about what hed said. Thats reading a lot into it. Maybe shes just covering the Ministry. Merlin knows that Skeeter is a bad penny. Hermione knows that too. Im sure she does, Ginny. Thats not the point. Shes making Skeeter out to be the victim here, not George or Bill, for that matter. Harry stood and stared back out the window. What are you going to do? Ginny asked. Harry shrugged his shoulders. Im going to do what I always do. Im going to get the job done. Youre going against Hermione? That could be ugly, in the long run. Harry nodded. Im fulfilling my charge, which is to protect this society from dark magic. Rita Skeeter is dark. If shes on some sort of vendetta, then Im going to stop her. Ginny smiled. You look so sexy when youre in mission mode. Can I help? I wouldnt mind taking on Skeeter. Harry chuckled. No, I dont want any more vigilante stuff. If Im going to show Hermione that shes wrong about me and the Aurors, then this cant be some sort of revenge trip.

Arent you already breaking the rules by going around Hermione? Ginny asked, perturbed that Harry wouldnt include her. Not in my view. The problem is that the laws are so new, no one knows how they should be interpreted. Hermiones problem is that she helped write the laws, so she has a position in her mind as to their intent. On the other hand, weve had to implement those laws, so we have a better idea of the pragmatism of their execution. Harry looked at his wife, a look of anxiety on his face. I guess I can see that point, but you know Hermione, shell know what youve been doing. She wont like it. Ginny knew Hermiones temper, so did Harry. Harry nodded. I guess if Im wrong, then youll be seeing a lot more of me. Really? She smiled. Always the silver lining, with you, isnt it. Harry laughed and waved his hand, shutting the door to the hall. Chapter 253 Fallout He felt like someone was watching him, but every time he stopped and turned to look around, there was no one there. Ty Smith wiped the sweat from his brow and turned into the large battered wooden doors that led to his flat. He climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, every so often stopping to listen for footsteps below. He heard nothing, but still had a sensation on the back of his neck, telling him someone was there. His footsteps quickened when he reached his floor and he fumbled with his key, opening the door and slamming it shut behind him. He leaned against the door and breathed out warily and then walked into the living room. The lights were off and he reached out a wall switch and flicked it on. Sit down, Mr. Smith. Ty jumped in his shoes and looked over to the source of the voice. There was a small, thin man seated in his La-Z-Boy recliner flanked by one of the largest, meanest looking men hed ever seen, standing nearby. The small man crossed his legs and put his hands together. Lets not make this too big of an issue, Mr. Smith. We can be out of here in no time, but all you have to do is sit do wn. Mortimers voice was pleasant, almost conversational. He didnt need to put an edge on it, considering the implicit threat that Silas presence had alone. Ty Smith didnt take his eyes off Silas as he slid onto the edge of the frayed and tattered couch. Mortimer remained silent for a minute, allowing Tys anxiety to grow with each passing second. Finally, Mortimer took in a deep breath. You know, Mr. Smith, that was some scam you had going. How much did you make when you switched the Puddlemere United shipment? Ty adjusted the neck of his collar, as it suddenly grew smaller. I didnt do anything. I dont know what youre talking about. Mortimer shook his head sadly. Mr. Smith, lets not play games. You know, of course, that we have a very good working relationship with the Malfoy Consortium, dont you? Tys faced blanched. Are you threatening me? Of course not, Mr. Smith, however I do find it interesting that youve sent an application for employment there. I wonder why. Lets not beat around the bush, we know you switched the shipments and we know you were paid for it, the only question is who paid you.

Ty Smith was a survivor. Hed already shown that for the right price, hed sell out an employer. They were fat cats, after all, so he really didnt have any loyalty for who paid his salary. All he wanted was the money. Now, everything seemed to be falling apart. Lets assume for a moment that youre right. Tys eyes moved from Silas to Mortimer and back to Silas. What would happen to me? Self preservation is a good instinct, Mr. Smith. Mortimer smiled to himself, while maintaining his outward impassivity. The Ministry is dedicated to justice, not revenge. If a solid citizen like yourself had been somehow manipulated to do something wrong, Im sure it would look at any chance at redemption in a positive light. Do you want redemption, Mr. Smith? Ty had no loyalty to the woman whod paid him. It had been a simple cash transaction. She bore the responsibility, didnt she? He sat in silence for a long, quiet minute. Mortimer decided to force his hand. Im sorry you cant come to a decision, Mr. Smith. Mortimer rose from his seat and looked at Silas and sighed. Come on, Silas. Weve got a report to file with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I so hate the paperwork that comes with an arrest. Wait. The word was out of his mouth before Mortimer could start walking for the door. You have something to say, Mr. Smith? Mortimer asked. Yes. Ty lowered his head to his chest. Yes, I do. You see, I was having a pint at some muggle pub when this woman approached me with a business proposition. Woman? What did she look like? Silas spoke for the first time, his voice matching his inti midating presence. Well, she had short blonde hair that came in small tight curls and a notepad with a large fountain pen *** Youre sure about this? Harry took a quick glance down at the report on his desk. Mortimer nodded. As sure as I can be, Harry. The small Auror put his hands behind his back. Harry reread the report and grinned. Where is this Mr. Smith, anyway? Hes in protective custody downstairs, but his statement is pretty clear. Mortimer responded and Harrys grin grew wider. Good. Pick up Rita Skeeter on suspicion of fixing a regulated Magical game. Harry said firmly. Mortimer nodded. Will do, Harry. *** In her younger times, Rita Skeeter had a reputation for being cool and aloof, while she made famous people sweat under her withering glare. Truth was not so much the issue as much as the controversy was. It was entirely accurate that she played fast and loose with the details, but was rewarded for her efforts by a loyal fan base and certain cachet of power that came with popularity. Of course, the fame and notoriety shed gained came with a certain amount of fleeting volatility. After all, her success was

predicated on her ability to lash out at famous people; famous people who had a measure of popularity all their own. Shed met her match when shed taken on Harry Potter. The turnabout had been subtle, first digging at Potter and then taking on his mentor, Albus Dumbledore. It was fair to say that the beginning of her downfall had been around her treatment of both wildly popular figures in fall of the Dark Lord. Shed even helped advance Potters reputation when she decided to publish his version of events. Ratings were ratings, after all, and shed gained a tremendous amount of prestige (and money) when she did that. It had been downhill ever since. The problem was that Skeeters main weapon was inference. She used ambiguous facts to lead her readers to draw conclusions about her targets. With Potter and his friends, the facts were pretty clear, so shed taken to outright fabrication. One thing that even Harry Potter wouldnt admit to was the fact that for amateurs, Potter and his friends knew the public relations game very well. Skeeter snorted at the concept of the truth setting people free or that the facts spoke for themselves. She wasnt that altruistic, but her need to shape events to the storyline had been her downfall. Shed spent all that time in prison contemplating revenge. For the first time in her long career, she would take actions that were more personal than professional. She would take down Harry Potter and all his friends. They would pay for what they did to her. Rita Skeeter was smart and she was shifty, but she was playing in a realm where she relied on emotion rather than good sense to guide her. Despite the victory shed achieved at ruining Georges career, her attempt at getting to Bill Weasley had been a miserable failure. She slammed her hand on her desk. Shed just gotten word that her plan to get at Charlie Weasley h ad failed almost as completely. It seemed so easy. All she had to do was tie Charlie with a notorious career criminal named Billie Tunstall. Unfortunately, Tunstall had been instrumental in helping the Ministry to turn back an attack by dragons almost five years ago and since then, had been famed dragon wrangler in her own right. So much so, that by general acclaim, shed earned a pardon and a vote of thanks from the Wizengamot. That news was emblazoned her copy of the Daily Prophet. She was running out of time and money to effect her plan, so she decided to focus on Harry Potter, himself. She sat back in her chair and studied the reams of parchment shed collected on Potter. His reputation had only grown since hed defeated Voldemort and he was unassailable in the conventional sense. There was no way to diminish him and the thought frustrated her. She was interrupted by a soft knock on her door. Who is it? She called out suspiciously. Delivery, maam. Just leave it at the door, would you? Delivery? Every day, shed get a parcel of more documentation for her to ferret through for dirt. Sorry, maam, but it requires a signature. The muffled voice sounded bored and she cursed the mans muggle nature. One second. She collected the material on her desk into one neat pile. She rose and walked over to the door of her small flat and opened it. When the door opened, there was a small man and two rather imposing men standing outside. All were wearing gray, worsted wool suits and had official expressions on their faces. The smaller of the men nodded. Rita Skeeter? My name is Mortimer Gafney. By order of the Ministry of Magic, you are ordered to held on suspicion of embezzlement, bribery and conspiracy to fix a Magical Contest. Please come with me, maam.

He held out his arm and the pit in Skeeters stomach worsened. More than being caught, shed been unable to hurt Harry Potter. Shed failed in her one task and now her quest was at an end. *** Hermione? She looked up from her desk and saw Ron standing at her door. His face was drawn and worried and she put her quill down to face him. What is it, Ron? Is something the matter? I thought youd like to know. Mortimer just brought Rita Skeeter in. Shes under arres t, by order of Harry. They were simple facts, bits of information to digest, but Ron knew the implications. Ron knew that his wife had ordered no action to be taken against Skeeter and Harry had still run an investigation. Hermiones eyes blazed with shock and fury and she rose from her desk. Ron held up his hands. Hermione, dont go down there mad. Dont do something rash. She ignored his pleas and shouldered her way past him and out the door. *** The central booking area was sparsely populated. Wizarding Britain had a small population and the level of wrongdoing, while proportional to the general muggle world, was numerically small. Hermione reached the booking area in time to see Rita Skeeter being led down a hall by a member of Dennis Creeveys hit squad. Hermione walked up to the desk where Mortimer was busily writing in the evidence binder and cataloguing his take from Skeeters apartment. Whats the meaning of this, Mortimer? Why have you arrested Rita Skeeter? Hermione said in short, clipped tones. Mortimer studied her curiously and shrugged his shoulders. We obtained evidence that she set George Weasley up, maam. Shes under arrest for trying to fix the British League Quidditch Championships. Hermione inhaled quickly and stood silent for a moment. Then, she remembered why she was angry. Her voice dropped. Who authorized you to investigate Skeeter and to arrest her? I did. Harry was standing behind them, having just entered the room. Harry turned to Mortimer. Finish the booking, Mortimer and tell your team, good job, from me. Hermione wheeled about and stared at Harry. The look of anger and betrayal was plain on her face and Harry felt the guilt associated with letting her down. Hermione fought the instinct to lash out at her friend. Instead, she choked down her anger and spoke in soft, short words. Harry. My office. Now. She marched out of central booking without looking at him. Harry nodded to Mortimer and followed behind his boss. *** Ron was standing in her outer office when they entered. The look on his wifes face was one hed seen maybe once or twice in the twenty or so years hed known her. She was both resolute and furious, a dangerous combination, to be sure, and when Harry followed, Ro ns heart sank when he saw the exact same expression on his best mates face. The absurdity of how alike Hermione and Harry were was not

lost on Ron and he turned to follow them into Hermiones office. As far as Ron knew, he was the only one that could soothe the tempers, that could keep the pair from doing irreparable harm. That was the function of the third person in the trio, to mediate disputes when the other two didnt agree. Before Ron could enter the office, the door swung shut in his face. The last thing Ron saw was the wand in his wifes hand and the barest shake of her head, telling him he wasnt going to be able to help. Ron sighed deeply and began pacing outside the office, wishing for the two people most important in the world to him to be able to come out of this intact. *** What do you think you were doing, Harry? My job, Hermione. Harrys voice was clipped as the passion and frustration of the past few days came to the surface. You work for me, Harry. I gave you explicit instructions to not go after Skeeter. Hermione said. She didnt sit down, too worked up, she paced behind her desk, her hands behind her back. No, you said to leave her alone until I found evidence pointing to her, Hermione. We uncovered her accomplice in Georges shop and used his testimony to bring her in. Harry said definitively. Those are word games, Harry. Why didnt you tell me that you were looking into this further? Harry didnt speak and Hermione felt her face reddening. Ill tell you why. You felt that I was wrong and you were going to damn well do what you wanted to do, regardless of what I said or what the law said. Harry blinked and slammed his hands on her desk. Ive done nothing but support you and the law, Hermione, but you were wrong. You sat down there for years writing changes to the law, never once looking into what they meant or how they would be implemented. My team has to enforce the law and theyve done so, even though our lives have been in danger and that Ive lost people. Thats not fair, Harry. Dont try to put their deaths on me. The laws needed changing to help everyone have better lives. You know that! Hermione could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, and she fought them down. Harry lowered his voice, desperately trying to calm down. Im not saying that Hermione, but out there, Harry pointed out the window. Thats the real world. For my entire life, there have been people who want do harm to everything we hold dear. I will not let them destroy this society. My people have had to change. Hell, Ive had to change, in order to fight the fight. Harrys chest tightened as a flurry of death and destruction, often at his own hands came to him. Youre talking about destroying the very principles of the society youre trying to protect, Harry. You cant keep going out there and trying to save the world in any way you want. There are rules. Harry felt his anger rise again. People like Skeeter or Moriarty or Voldemort didnt play by the rules, Hermione. Youre tying our hands and leaving us weak. Is that what you think, Harry? His silence told her that he thought exactly that. She stood silent and then her voice came out low, almost a whisper. Why didnt you trust me, Harry? Why didnt you come to me about this? Harry sighed and looked at her in the eye. His emerald eyes were sad. Why didnt you trust me, Hermione? Sometimes you have to give to get.

Hermione nodded and then stared back at him. She moved behind her chair and grabbed its sides tightly for support. Be that as it may, Harry, you were wrong. She took a deep breath. You are hereby suspended, indefinitely, pending a review by the Ministrys executive committee. She paused and then stood straight, dropping her hands to her side. Ill need your shield. Harry stared straight ahead, not looking at her. Silently, he pulled his shield from his breast and placed it on her desk. He turned and made for the door. Harry. He stopped, but didnt turn to face her. Im sorry. He continued walking and opened the door, never looking back at her and he didnt respond. *** Ron saw Harry leave Hermiones office. His friends face was pale, drawn. Harry? Harrys raised his hand. Not now, Ron, I dont want to talk about it. But Harry, come on, you want me to come over tonight? Harry shook his head. No, I dont think so. Come on, Harry, we can work this out. Harry turned and looked back briefly at the entry to Hermiones office. No, Ron, I dont think so. The only sound was the echo of Harrys footsteps down the hall. Ron watched him leave and sighed, his shoulders slumping. After all this time, Rita Skeeter had finally managed to accomplish her greatest goal. Shed taken down Harry Potte r. Chapter 254 Dark Alleys Come on, Al! Grandmas baking today! James Sirius Potter cinched up the straps of his backpack and tapped his toe impatiently, waiting for his brother and cousin to catch up to him. Hold on a second, James, Rose had something in her shoe. Albus Severus Potter and Rose Weasley scampered up the sidewalk towards James. They were all identically attired, wearing pleated wool pants and starched white collared shirts with neckties. The Harrington Primary School in Ottery St. Catchpole was unique, in that, it had a tremendous influx of students that seemed to disappear shortly before their eleventh birthday. Typically, it was a standard English elementary school, despite its exclusive nature, but it had been started by a witch some two centuries previous, in response to the influx of wizarding families in the area. The majority of the school population were muggles and the staff spent an inordinate amount of time ensuring that the small outbreaks of nascent magical abilit y displayed by its more gifted students. There were some teachers who were former members of the Obliviator Squad, knowledgeable in the spells that helped the muggle students forget the odd window disappearance or the flight of a pile of textbooks, but the Harrington Schools primary purpose was to help wizarding families prepare their growing children in the basics of reading, writing and arithmetic, in order to prepare them for the overwhelming experience Hogwarts would give them. To be sure, Ron and Ginny were wary of sending their kids off to some strange muggle school, but both Hermione and Harry had attended schooling in the public sector before they left for Hogwarts. Harrys experience, needless to say, had been less than pleasant, but Hermione had reveled in the academic environment and wanted her daughter to have the benefit of the experience. Help came from an

unexpected corner, as Molly Weasley, despite having Arthur home full time, found herself watching over thirteen children from her kids and Dudleys ever burgeoning family. Having the three oldest, Rose, Albus and James, attend school outside the Burrow for a good portion of the day was helpful, to say the least. Rose and Albus caught up, their uniforms tidy and neat, despite a full day. James, on the other hand, looked frumpy, his tie knot loosened, his shirt tails hanging out, which was his normal appearance, even at the beginning of the day. No matter how hard his mother and grandmother worked on him, James simply refused to conform. About the only thing that James was meticulous about was his job to shepherd his brother and cousin back to the Burrow after class. James seemed impatient, but in the back of his mind, he took his responsibility seriously. Despite his diligence, he didnt see the shadowy figure across the street. The figure seemed to hover in the afternoon shadows, never wandering from watching the three children. The shadow watched the kids approach and seemed to grow larger, moving towards them. Then it stopped, abruptly and withdrew quickly back into the shadows. Its taking you three long enough. Harry Potter walked up to the trio and mussed up James hair as he neared. James smiled at his father. Im just waiting for the turtles, here. He jerke d a thumb back at his two smaller cousins. James was old enough to know that something had happened at work for Harry. That was the only explanation for his fathers presence. Do we have to go home now? Grandma is baking cookies, today. Why do you think I came to pick you guys up? Harry smiled and started walking back towards the Burrow. Albus and Rose started after him, but then Rose stopped for a moment and glanced back at the alley across the way. James stopped with her and prodded her on the shoulder. Come on, slow poke, or Al will eat all the cookies. Rose took another quick stare at the alley and shrugged her shoulders and plodded on after the others. The shadow in the alley watched them leave and then turned and left. *** So, what do you want to do? Hermione looked down the length of the conference table and held her hands together over the briefing book. The Auror team leaders sat along either side of the table. Ron and Sean Manchester on her right and Eric Williamson and Mortimer Gafney on her left. The question had been posed to her by Williamson, who was reviewing pending cases and was serving as the acting head of the Office, while Harry was on suspension. How would this be normally, handled? She asked quietly, fully aware of the tension in the room. The fact that these were Harrys people, who were none too pleased with her handling of the affair, was not helping the matter. Williamson sighed. Normally, Harry would, I mean, WE would perform deep background. The idea that any amount of fireroot was on the market is troubling, but seven missing cases could be dangerous. One ounce could burn down a whole city block with fiendfyre. Even if it was an accounting error, thats a lot of misplaced contraband. Wed be turning the whole city upside down to find it. Williamson sat back and crossed his arms. So, why am I here? Why dont you just do what you normally do? There was a trace of irritation in her voice and despite her best efforts, she couldnt hide it.

Manchester grunted. Well, maam, considering you suspended Harry because hed done what we usually done, none of us could afford to cross you. Thats enough, Sean. Williamsons tone had an edge. What, Eric? Should I tap dance around it? Seans voice was sharp, cutting, and it raised the hairs on the back of Rons head. Shes our boss, Sean. Williamson said quietly. Youd do well to remember that. Manchester snorted contemptuously. My boss was Harry Potter, and we did a damn good job w ith him in it. He turned to face Hermione. Or has our ability to speak our free will been regulated out as well? Thats it, Sean. Knock it off now. Williamson stood up and slammed his hands on the table. Seeing that hed gone too far, Manchester looked over at Hermione, over an obviously angry Ron. My apologies, Madame Department Head, I was out of line. Williamson turned to Hermione, noticing that her cheeks were flushed a dark crimson and her eyes were narrowed. My apologies, Hermione, on behalf of the Office of Aurors, please let me know if you wish to place this man on report. What? Hermione blinked, as if coming awake from a bad dream. I said, if you wish to place this man on report for insubordination, I would be more than h appy to take your testimony. Hermione felt her chest squeezing her tight. She didnt look at Ron, but stared straight ahead before turning to Eric. No, that wont be necessary. She locked her eyes on Sean. No, we have not stopped free expression, Sean. She sighed heavily. What happened between Harry and I is not of your concern. The Ministry expects you to do you jobs, but to stay within the constrictions of the law. Were on the same side, here. She was met by muted silence and Williamson cleared his throat. Well get on the fireroot issue right now, maam. We wont sleep until its all accounted for. Did you have anything else for us? She shook her head. No, thank you, Eric. She rose from her seat, finally meeting Rons gaze, then she walked out the door. *** Hermione! Ron ran down the hall, after his wife. He caught up to her as she boarded the lift that would take her to her office. He crawled in before the doors could close. He looked at her and saw her fists clenched and her eyes welling with tears. He placed a soft hand on her shoulders. You all right? They hate me, Ron! Thats not true, mione. Most of them have served with Harry over ten years. Theyre just a little frustrated. No, Ron, they all think Im wrong on this. They all want to do what they want to do. At least Sean has the nerve to speak up. Her voice was broken. No one is on my side.

Im on your side, Hermione. Ron said seriously. She smiled briefly and then a thoughtful look came on her face. Do you think Im right on this, Ron? She asked, innocently enough. Ron swallowed and then held her face in his hands. Im on your side, Hermione. He said softly. I didnt ask that, Ron. I know you support me. I know youre on my s ide. What I asked is if you thought I was right? He remained silent for a long moment, then dropped his hands to his side. What I think is irrelevant, Hermione. Ive known you and Harry for a long time. Weve been though unspeakable things. Youre both my best friends. I love you, with all my heart. I support you in this. But you dont think Im right. She asked. Ron waited. He couldnt lie to her. The door opened and he stepped out at the atrium. No, Hermione, I dont think youre right on this. The doors shut on his words, leaving her alone with her thoughts. *** She means well, Harry. Arthur Weasley said to his son-in-law between bites of piping hot chocolate chip cookies. Harry swallowed down a gulp of milk. She has a funny way to show it. Thats not what I mean, Harry. Hermione is passionate about having the law be absolute. Harry nodded. She is passionate about being right. Thats not fair, Harry. Arthur spoke with a bit of an edge. Everything before Hermio ne began working on the law was up to interpretation, especially when it came to being against non-humans and muggles. She wants clarity in order to ensure we have justice. I dont doubt her intentions. I support her goals, all the way. She was wrong in this case. This wasnt a question of whether we were enforcing the law, this was a question of doing her way, versus the way we had done it, which I recall, was quite successful. Harry said defensively. Give her time, Harry. Events have a way of working themselves out. Dont let a difference of opinion come between a lifelong friendship, Harry. Arthur placed a fatherly hand down on Harrys shoulder. Harry smiled. Hermione and I will be fine, I suspect. It would help if I had my job back. Shell come around, Harry, and do the right thing. She always does. Ron walked in the door and nodded to Harry. What are you doing here? Harry pointed to the plate of cookies. Are you kidding? Ron laughed, but Harry saw the note of sadness in h is friends face. Harry waved towards the outer gate. Im picking up the kids. I figured wed drive home. You want a ride?

Rons face brightened, but Harry held up his hand. No, you cant drive. Rons face drooped and Harry smiled. Ill let you work the top and the radio. Somewhat mollified, Ron took a pair of cookies off the plate. When do we leave? *** The bright green GTO thrummed to life as Harry turned the key in the ignition. The canvas top was folded down and the kids were talking excitedly among themselves while Ron sat forward in the passenger seat, fumbling around with the CD player. Harry flipped the shifter to reverse and pulled out onto the narrow cobblestone street. He turned the wheel and threw the car in first gear, careening down the street. The shadow in the alley was there, coalescing into the figure of a man. His eyes narrowed as he watched the antique muscle car tear away. He was tall, but thin, with an angular face that women might consider handsome. His hair was dark black with flecks of gray, and he wore a pair of worn khaki trousers and a black tee shirt. His eyes were a light gray and they never left the object of his surveillance. He shook his head numbly. Today would have been a good day, if Potter hadnt shown up. Still, he was patient. The girl was the key. What could a couple of boys, her cousins, do to stop him? Tomorrow would work just as well and then, the bramble headed little girl with the gift of the sight would be his. He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked down the street, whistling softly to himself. Chapter 255 The Gift that Should Keep on Giving Wendell Michelson was a troubled man. Most everything about his life was small. He sat at the small kitchenette in his small kitchen located in his small, one bedroom flat. About the only thing that wasnt small about Wendell were his dreams and the ambition that they fed. Wendell was a meticulous man. Arrayed around the walls of the kitchen were dozens of clipped out articles and pictures. There was an overstuffed bookcase along the far wall, filled with get rich quick and self-help books. Wendell had spent years trying different schemes and plans to enable him to short-circuit the process and make himself wealthy. All had failed, but that didnt stop him from drawing conclusions as to why. He rose from his well-worn chair and stood in front of a wall plastered with yellowed clippings from the Daily Prophet. The articles dated from before the downfall of the Dark Lord, detailing how the Potter/Weasley clan had obtained great wealth and power. That was what Wendell wanted for himself. In his own mind, he was no different from a Harry Potter or a George Weasley. In fact, in many ways, he was far superior, or so he thought. After his latest failure, he latched on to a certain portion of one of Rita Skeeters many exposes of Harry Potter. Potters life had been predicted, but not necessarily preordained. In essence, Potter had gotten a clue as to what could happen. He had an insight based on a rather fortunate prophecy that had been made about his destiny. For a man whod spent a lifetime trying to game the system, Wendell thought hed isolated the single factor in Harry Potters success. Potter had inside information . At first, Wendell had sought out Professor Sybil Trelawny, to see if shed had some sort of insight into the things he wanted to take advantage of, but shed been less than receptive, and even more so, incredibly scattered and imprecise. He studied all he could on The Sight, and found it to be less than exact portion of magical theory, openly derided by those in the know, including Hermione Weasley. The best treatises on the topic basically pointed out that The Sight was essentially a gift limite d to a very small portion of the population. It was less a magical ability and more a parallel trait. There had been muggles that were gifted with the sight, like Nostradamus and Jimmy the Greek, but the best practitioners of prophecy and sight were witches. Specifically witches who demonstrate a propensity from early in their lives. That led

Wendell to look at an obscure article recently posted on the edge of the wall. It was what the newspapers called a puff piece. It was an article on the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Hermione Granger Weasley. The story contained the standard elements, where she was from, what she did in her spare time and items about her family. His eyes narrowed to one sentence that was circled in bright red ink. It told of Hermiones daughter Rose, who seemed to be gifted with The Sight, having predicted her fathers and uncles seeming return from the dead. That was the key to everything, thought Wendell. He would be able to determine the future, to get an upper hand in business and politics if he could just get his hands on the little girl. For the past few weeks, armed with the information in the article, hed followed Rose to and from school. Hed almost mustered enough courage yesterday, to pick her up, but Harry Potter himself had shown up. Now, he found himself pacing the confines of his tiny flat. Could he do it? He didnt know. One of Wendells many faults was that he was not a planner, and while the idea of having access to someone truly gifted with the sight appealed to his avarice, he was nagged by the idea that he wasnt thinking everything through. He sighed to himself and sat back down at the table. What he needed was a good nights sleep. Maybe, in the morning, hed have a better feel for what he needed to do. His eyes never strayed from the Weasley family picture, published by the Daily Prophet. In particular, they never left the small girl who was circled in the picture. He was so close, and yet, worlds away. Hed feel better in the morning. *** And I rerouted the plumbing so that we could have a working sink at the bar Harry stood next to the large, oak monstrosity that hed built in the Potter living room. The bar was reminiscent of an old-time western saloon and took up nearly half of the space in the normally tasteful sitting area. It clashed horribly with the muted tones that Ginny had meticulously selected and she stood gaping at her husbands handiwork. Harry held up a hand, a hammer in his grip and smiled. So, what do you think? One of the reasons Harry loved Ginny was her ability to be completely forthright and honest with her opinions. True, there were times when her temper matched the color of her flaming red hair, but that came with the territory. The look on Ginnys face bordered somewhere between shock and bewilderment. Harry could not sit still in his enforced time off. Hed taken to tinkering with every aspect of their home. Hed modified their bedroom, started working on an addition to the ba ck of the house and generally begun redoing the entire home. The problem was that for all his gifts and abilities, Harry approached the projects from the perspective of a man. In their bedroom hed expanded the space to put in an armoire to house a television and sound system, but had reduced Ginnys rather expansive closet by cutting it in half and Harry obviously hadnt gotten the memo that one does not reduce a womans closet size. He learned quickly, having to surrender his own closet in the bedroom and use the one in the downstairs spare room. The addition he was putting on was to house a game room, but again, hed cut corners which eliminated the mudroom and full bathroom that led directly to the pool. There was nothing that irritated Ginny more than her messy and sopping wet kids having no place to deposit their things, instead they tracked mud and water throughout the house to get to a place to clean up. Now, Harry had gone and built his bar, ruining a room that had been Ginnys hideaway. It had been less a living room and more a private study, hidden away by French doors. Shed put soothing colors and two rather large comfortable chairs. Inside, she could shut out the clamor of kids and house and read by the fireplace, lost in her own world. But Harry, in order to fit the bar in, had removed the chairs and the French doors and covered over half the fireplace with a bar refrigerator. Ginnys face went from puzzlement to a slow, steaming anger. Harry felt a pit begin to form in his stomach.

Ginny placed her hands on her hips and tapped on her toe. What do I think? She snapped and then took a deep breath. I think you should do whatever it takes to get your job back, Harry. Tell Hermione she was right, buy her flowers, offer to babysit for eight straight weekends, but get your job back. Harrys face fell. My hearing isnt until next week and itll take some time to adjudicate. Then owl Kingsley and tell him you want to lecture for the next month. Whatever you do, you are N OT allowed to touch a single thing in this house again, am I clear Harry James Potter? Whoa, Harry thought, she is really mad. The only time a reporter used first, middle and last names were when writing obituaries and describing serial killers. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the Headmaster at Hogwarts. Ill contact Kingsley first thing tomorrow. He said, chagrined. Ginny nodded. Good. Now, you have until tomorrow to put my reading room back in order. Thatll take me all night! Harry whined. When will I sleep? Ginny started walking up the stairs. What makes you think you were going to be allowed to sleep in the bedroom tonight, anyway? Now get going! He watched as she climbed the stairs and then shook his head. Even mad, she sure looked good going up stairs. He turned and sighed and began deconstructing his bar. *** So, if you could use a guest lecturer, Ive got some time available. Harry sat in front of Dumbledores old desk, while Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Headmaster, nodded in a bemused fashion. Another dulcet, familiar voice echoed in the room. I dont suppose you considered simply patching things up with your friend, Ms. Granger. Harry rolled his eyes and stared up at his former mentors portrait. You know Hermione, P rofessor, she can be stubborn. Another voice, this one more sneering, snorted. You mean shes an uncompromising know -it-all. Come now, Severus, Ms. Granger is an extraordinary witch and an even better person. Albus Dumbledores pigment encased image chided Snapes portrait. Dumbledore looked back at Harry. Come now, Harry, you two have been friends for far too long for all this nonsense. That may be so, Professor, and Im not saying youre wrong, but Hermione is a stickler for protocol. My hearing is next week and she will do it by the book. Besides, Im right and shes wrong. Theres a surprising attitude, especially in a Potter. Who would have thought that a Potter would think everyone else is wrong while he is right? Im shocked, I tell you, shocked. Snapes dripping sarcasm was hard to ignore. Dumbledore smiled. Severus, are you taking Ms. Grangers side in this? Chagrined, the Snape portrait sat down in the pseudo-throne in his picture and crossed his arms. Dumbledore nodded in triumph and turned his bright eyes on Harry. The only reality in our world, Harry, is who we have in our lives. Hermione is your friend, and you love each other. Youd do well to remember that. I know, Professor, and I do. Im sure well work it out, itll take time.

Dont take too much time, Harry. Regret is a powerful emotion and it can be more destructive than hate. Kingsley Shacklebolt sat forward in his seat. The fact of the matter, Harry, is that Leonora Sigismund is my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and shes already scheduled a series of lectures for Miles. I simply dont have a need for another lecturer. Harrys face fell. Ive got to do something until Hermione and I work this out, Kingsley. Shacklebolt rubbed his bald head then nodded. Well, there is one thing. I could use a good Quidditch tutor. Harrys face immediately brightened. That could work. Ill have Gryffindor winning the House Cup in no time. This time Kingsley shook his head. No, Harry, youd have to be impartial. Youll have to instruct all of the House Teams. Including Slytherin? Especially Slytherin. Theyre having a down year. I want to see all of the teams improve their play. Kingsley watched Harrys expression. Of course, if thats too much to ask, you could always go and hit George up for a job. Harry snapped back to attention. Ill do it. When do I start? This afternoon will be fine. Harry and Kingsley shook hands and Harry began mentally categorizing what hed cover first. *** Wendell slammed the morning edition of the Prophet down on the table. When hed seen the prospect that Weasleys Wizard Wheezes would fail, hed sold the stock short, betting on its imminent demise. The lead story in the Prophet told of how the Aurors had uncovered a plot by some foolish woman to undermine WWW, and with the story out there, the stock had soared to new heights. Wendell had lost a tremendous amount of money. He read the word Aurors and thought Potter. Obviously, Potter had gained some sort of insight into the true nature of the business, probably from Rose Weasley. It never occurred to Wendell that uncovering the conspiracy could be a result of loyalty and good investigatory practices. Potter, like always, had cheated. He rummaged around his apartment and nodded. Whatever else happened, he had to have an advantage. One of the aspects he dreaded about high finance was something called a margin call. Hed bet everything on WWW failing and now, he was in debt to some very shady men and goblins, who took collections seriously. He made his mind up, then and there. He only needed to borrow the little girl for a few days. What harm could come from that? *** Shes not moving, James. Albus stood beside Rose on the street corner. The little girl had her arms crossed in front of her and she refused to walk down the street. James sighed heavily and returned to where his brother and cousin stood. Come on, Rose. Grandma is expecting us. I dont want to go that way, I want to go by the park. Roses voice was adamant, locked into place as she refused to move.

But we always go this way. Its shorter. They were at the top of a hill, the street wound down and curved to the right, and went directly to the Burrow. Why dont you want to go that way? We can go to the park anytime. I didnt say I wanted to go TO the park, I wanted to walk BY the park. The way Rose wanted to go was a more circuitous route and would take at least another fifteen minutes longer. Whats wrong with our regular way? I dont know. It feels bad. I dont want to go that way, Im afraid. Rose said, quietly. James nodded. You dont need to be scared, Rose, Im watching after you. It wont matter. Cant we go the other way, James, please? She stared at him with open, pleading eyes. He hated when she did that. She sealed the deal. If we do, I wont tell Uncle Harry about how you like to borrow your grandfathers wand and go trying hexes at night. Albus looked at his brother, whose face had lost all its color. James cursed his cousins sight. No one knew about his little midnight jaunts. She looked so innocent, but apparently Rose had an edge to her. She smiled innocently up at him and he huffed. Fine, well go your way. He finally relented and stalked down the street to the park. Up ahead, down the path they were supposed to take, Wendell Michelson waited impatiently in a back alley, just around the curve from their intersection. He waited for a good fifteen minutes and then came out into the street, his gray eyes blazing. He looked down towards the Burrow and saw the three children entering the gate. Theyd managed to elude him. He felt a welt of pain in his stomach as he knew he couldnt go ho me, because the margin call had been made and more than likely a goblin named Moose and a wizard named Rocco were waiting for him. Hed have to try another way. One way or another, hed get that girl and then hed make his own fortune. At least, maybe he could save his own neck. He crammed his hands in his pockets and walked off down the street. Chapter 256 Blind Sighted There can be a misconception about those who have The Sight. Rose Weasley knew full well what those limitations were. She experienced things as flashes of intuition, which were very rarely clear and precise, based on who the vision was about and how close Rose was to them. Her age played a factor of course which was a contradictory response. Those gifted were usually most prescient in their prepubescent years, but as they grew older, experience, judgment and bias tended to color the interpretation of the visions based on those factors. It was like being an analyst. Younger visionaries tended to provide raw data without judgment while older ones provided clearer and more defined images that were interpreted based on the persons life experiences. It was very difficult for an adult seer to conjure omens on demand and near impossible for a child to do so. For Rose, her flash of instinct could be random, but very powerful, but she didnt walk around all day having visions and a six year old usually has problems identifying precisely what they were seeing. Children like Rose would then simply classify events as either good or bad. Like the previous day where Rose knew that going down the street was bad, but she didnt know why. Most of the time, she was a normal, six year old girl, a little spoiled, who enjoyed spending time with her family. So, when school let out, she looked forward to walking back to the Burrow with James and Albus.

She skipped down the broad sandstone steps that led from the old brownstone building that housed the school. James was waiting for her near the curb and smiled at her. Whats up, munchkin? Did you have a good day at school? Secretly, she enjoyed James attempts at pet names for her, but outwardly, she stuck her tongue out at him and held her nose in the air. He laughed. Wheres Al? Where do you think? Rose retorted. Albus had become a voracious book worm. Mrs. Timmons, his teacher, had a vast library of books in her classroom and encouraged the students to stay after class so that she may offer suggestions. Albus was up to reading a book a day, so his after school sojourns were frequent, often making Rose and James wait for him. After a few minutes, a beaming Albus came down the steps. Im starting this new series. The books are long, but the author seems kind of cool. He said triumphantly. He held up a thick tome. James snorted. Whos this fantastic author? J. K. Rowling. Albus responded. Whos he? James was less enamored with the reading side of things. Albus laughed. Shes a woman, silly. Anyway, Mrs. Timmons says she writes about magic. I cant wait to dig into it. James smiled coyly and reached into his uniform pocket. Speaking of digging into things, check this out. He pulled several muggle coins from his pocket. Grandpa gave me some money this morning. He said we can get some ice cream. Rose giggled in delight. Like her father, she had a considerable sweet tooth. One of the blind spots of the sight, was that it was invariably tied to emotions. Thats partly why Rose saw things as good or bad. What made it difficult was that when the seer was feeling particularly strong emotions, it tended to offset any sensations that the gift might be emitting. Rose loved ice cream and she was understandably happy, but that meant the small, nagging feeling she was about to experience went undetected. She skipped along behind James and Albus as they made their way to the corner ice cream shoppe. *** Any sign of im? The speaker was a large man, well over six foot five, and overweight. He wore a plain blue tee-shirt with the logo of a moving company on the front. The shirt was a size too small for his girth and was covered in food stains and small tears. He had to crane his neck downward to speak to his diminutive companion. If a muggle had taken a second to peer into the small alcove near the door of the apartment, they would have been astounded to see the gray, gnome-like creature standing beside the large man. The goblin spat onto the yellowed tile of the floor. He was dressed in a sleeveless tee-shirt that hed heard several muggles refer to as a wife-beater. In all his years, hed never actually seen the shirt beat his wife, and Merlin knows, hed left it around their home to see if it would. The goblin grumbled to no one in particular. Whatd you say? The oafish mans voice was deep, simple.

The goblin looked upward, waving his hands. I said, that weve been here all night and theres no sign of him. The large man nodded. Ameche is not going to be happy. He likes people to pay their debts. Of course he does, and he hates it when he has to spend money to collect. Weve been out here for an entire day. The goblin had worked for this particular human, Ameche, for almost twenty years. The old man was set in his ways and didnt like breaks in the normal order of things. So, is this a basic break and warn? The man seemed to defer to the goblins leadership. Actually, Ameche must be getting mellow in his old age. He says to try to make a deal. He says hell barter for better value. We try to make the deal, THEN we break his legs. An inveterate gambler, the goblin quickly calculated the odds of this man Michelson making some sort of deal. The goblin grunted and shook his head. Okay, its a break and warn. Dont overdo it. The last guy we hit was in a coma for a month, we dont get paid when their unconscious. Okay, mother. Ill be nice. Ill only break three bones this time and I promise, no head shots. The man seemed sincere, but the goblin knew his brutish companion was all brawn and no bra ins. He couldnt help himself. Im sure you will. The goblin turned his head towards the door, and then a puzzled look came over his face. He turned and faced the big man. By the way, why does Ameche call us Moose and Rocco, and why does he keep asking us to help the judge find his checkbook? *** Ron took a quick peek inside Hermiones office and seeing her alone, walked in and plopped down in one of her chairs. So, hows your day going? He asked nonchalantly. After the row between Harry an d Hermione, Ron had taken to checking in on his wife during the day. Her face was tense, her brows furrowed, causing crows feet to form around the edges of her eyes. She looked tired and worn, but amazingly beautiful to him. He stared at her, basking in her beauty and reminding himself for the millionth time of how lucky he was to have her. She flushed under his gaze. Stop that Ron, youll give me a complex. Hermione, you are complex, you dont get a complex. He laughed at his own joke and then saw her face was distracted. Whats bothering you? If its this thing with Harry, itll blow over in its own time. She shook her head. No, I mean, I know me and Harry will patch things up, but thats not whats bothering me. Ron sat forward in his chair and his voice came out in a calm, soothing tone. What is it? I dont know, Ron. Something isnt right. I have this feeling that something is wrong with Rose. She looked at her husband. Doesnt that sound silly? Only to you. Ron said. Why dont we go and meet her after school? Thats absurd, Ron. I cant go leaving work because I had some sort of odd feeling. Her eyebrows drew up as Ron burst into laughter. Whats so funny?

You are, Hermione. For as smart as you are, you can be pretty close-minded. He said between bouts of giggles. Hermiones face grew cross. What do you mean? Youre a witch, for Merlins sake. Youve turned yourself into a cat, youve ridden on the back of a blind dragon and youve conjured a small beaded bag to hold enough kit to camp outside for a year, but for some reason, you cant bring yourself to believe in precognition or premonition. You pick some weird places to draw lines on reality. He rose from his seat. I dont know about you, but I suddenly have a desire to go see my baby girl. Want to come? He held out his hand to her and she finally smiled. She rose from her desk and took the proffered hand and together, the walked out of her office. *** They stood outside the ice cream shop, enjoying their treats, watching the afternoon pedestrian traffic walk by. So enthralled with her cone, Rose steadfastly ignored the sensation in the back of her neck. Albus, much like Rose, was an insular person, more involved with his new book than with the comings and goings of the people around him. James, on the other hand, was a people person. He wanted to be an Auror, like his father. He spent his time about observing people and trying to classify their actions. Whether it be the mother walking her kids home, or the delivery man late for a package drop, he was constantly aware of his surroundings. Thats why his eyes stopped on the thin man in a gray shirt who was watching them from across the street. James had noticed him before theyd walked into the shop and then picked him up once they were standing outside. The man wasnt carrying any bundles, nor was he looking into the store fronts along that side of the street. He wasnt hurrying somewhere, in fact, he seemed to be rooted to the sp ot he was standing on. Most of all, he was staring at them and his scrutiny made James uneasy. Come on, you two. We can walk and eat. James herded the younger kids down the street towards home, trying to seem nonchalant, but checking in nearby windows to see if the man stayed where he was. He hadnt. The man started crossing the street as the kids made their way home. James started pick up the pace. Come on, James, whats your hurry? Albus complained. His older brother whispered under his breath. Dont turn around, but I think were being followed. Albus made to stop but took a shove in the shoulder from his brother. Keep moving. Is this some kind of game? Rose asked, clearly unnerved by James brusqueness. No, Rose, it isnt. Our parents are pretty famous. Im sure there are some wackos out there that would love to get at them by using us. They walked briskly, afraid to turn around, yet unsure if James was playing with them. James lost sight of the man and hazarded a quick glance behind. He was gone. James stood for a second. Come on, lets get home. They turned back for home and as they started walking, the man appeared from an alley and stood in front of them, a wand in his hand. He stared at Rose. No one has to get hurt. I just want the girl. His voice was peaked, almost desperate. James walked in front of Rose and Albus with his body. Michelson sneered at him. Dont be a hero, boy, youre not your father. James straightened his shoulders. One day, I will be. James thrust his hand forward, driving his ice cream cone into the mans face. He turned to Rose and Albus. Run!

Albus grabbed Roses hand and tore off down the street. James swung his backpack around and struck the man in the side of the head, the heavy load of books bringing a satisfying grunt as it connected. Michelson saw Rose and Albus take off and started running after them, but James, all ninety pounds of him, grasped onto the mans legs, hands gripping his trouser pockets. There was a tearing sound as the man brought his fist down on the troublesome youth. James slumped to the ground, unconscious and Michelson ran down the street after the fleeing youths. *** Hey mum and dad. Ron and Hermione appeared in the familiar floo at the Weasley family home in the Burrow. Molly Weasley smiled in delight and crushed the couple in her arms, trying to embrace them both at the same time. Gerroff me, mum! Ron pushed out of his mothers bear hug and shook hands with his father. The kids home yet? Arthur shook his head. No, but I dont expect them yet. Your father decided to spoil them. He gave them money for ice cream. Molly said in mock consternation. Oh, like your afternoon baked delights arent spoiling them Mum? Ron teased. Speaking of which In the kitchen, dearie. Molly nodded approvingly. As Ron started for the kitchen, the front door banged open and Albus Potter stood in the doorway. His uniform was soiled and torn and he was out of breath. He had several scratches and bruises on his arms and face and he was holding Roses book bag by its torn strap. Grandpa! James is hurt and a man took Rose! *** Harry reclined back on the handle of his broom watching the fiasco below. Kingsley had underestimated how bad the Slytherin team was. They were physical, for sure, but lacked any sense of style or tactics. Theyd been bandying about for an hour now and no quaffle had scored and no snitch taken. He shook his head. No, no, no, no, everyone to me. He blew a small whistle and the chastened members of the team swerved up to Harry. He looked each in the eye. Lets focus on what youre doing right. Anyone? There was a long silence as they looked at each other, trying to see the positive, but it was not working. Finally, one of the keepers raised his hands. Um, we havent allowed a goal? There was nervous laughter, but one of the chasers snarled. Thats because no one has taken any shots. Harry held up his hands. Look, physical strength isnt enough. You have to be able to work together. Its all connected. Chasers score when the Bludgers clear the path. Keepers defend when the Chasers get the Quaffle. Keepers help Bludgers avoid the other team. You guys arent working together. Their heads lowered and despite his misgivings, Harry felt a tinge of sympathy. Its all right. If I didnt think you had it in you, I wouldnt be here. Were going to try a coordinated goal attack, with Bludgers helping Chasers.

Harry demonstrated the drill and set them in motion. The first attempt was abysmal, so he had them repeat it, over and over. Slowly, they began to improve. Harry shook his head. Now if he could only get the Seeker to pull his head out of his Harry was distracted by a figure walking into the stadium. The bramble of bushy brown hair was easily familiar, even from this distance. He called the captain over and told them to keep up the drills and then turned his Firebolt downward and alit in the stands next to her. He felt a sense of dread. He really didnt want to fight with Hermione anymore, so he approached cautiously, determined not to pick a fight. As walked towards her, he held up his hands. Hermione, Im sorry. I really am. I dont want to fight anymore. He was surprised that she didnt have a response so he looked at her closely. Her eyes were puffy and swollen and a bright shade of red. She looked devastated and at first Harry was sure she and Ron had fought. The closer he looked, the more he thought something dreadful had happened. Her lip was quivering and she was fighting off another round of tears. When he got to her, she threw her arms around his neck and began crying, catching him off guard. What is it? Whats happening? Harry held her out at arms leng th and looked into her eyes. She regained her composure slightly and wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve. I need you, Harry. Someone has taken Rose. James and Albus tried to fight him, but he took my little girl. Alarms went off in Harrys head and his senses went on hyper alert. His viridian eyes locked with hers and she shook her head. James and Albus were a little roughed up, but theyll be okay. Calmness washed over Harry, his voice even and level, the professional in him taking over his boiling emotions. Whatever you need, Hermione, Ill do it. Hermione nodded her thanks and then her eyes became deadly earnest. I want you to find my daughter and bring her home. You do what ever you have to do, Harry. I mean it. You do whatever you have to do and if this person has harmed one hair on her head, make sure he pays. There was no mistaking her tone. Reality had overtaken philosophy. Harry nodded his head soberly. You can count on it. He put his arm around his friends sho ulders and walked her back to the castle. Chapter 257 CSI Ottery St. Catchpole The cloud of soot and ash accompanied by a flare of greenish flame announced Harrys arrival at his inlaws home at the Burrow. The living room was a hive of activity as A urors and Ministry officials mingled with the extended Weasley family, all itching to find out what had happened to Rose. Harry nodded to the familiar faces and then turned to face Dawlish as the Minister of Magic approached. Welcome back, Harry. John pushed his fingers through his salt and pepper hair and waved towards a corner of the room where Ginny sat with a noticeably irritated James and Albus. Harry whispered a muted thanks and hurried over to his family. The cuts and bruises were cleaned up on Albus, although his torn school uniform still hung limply on his body. James was a little more worse for the wear, with a bright white bandage wrapped around his temple and several abrasions on his arms and chin. Harry smiled at Ginny and then crouched down to get at eye level with his kids. Well, it seems like you boys had an adventure. If you have the Potter name, theres no way to steer clear of trouble, even when youre young. The humor was forced as Harry tried to tamp down the fear in his chest. Harm coming to his children was the nightmare he dreaded. James looked sorrowfully at his father.

Im really sorry, Dad. I tried to protect Rose, but he was too big. The remorse in his oldest sons eyes ripped through Harrys chest. How often h ad he blamed himself for events that were well beyond his control? Was this how it was for his friends? Harry placed a hand on James knee. Dont think anything of, James. Im very, very proud of you. You did far more than anyone could expect of you. Harry turned and looked at Albus. How are you holding up, champ? Im a little sore, Dad. I tried to hold on to Rose, but all I could grab was her book bag. He apparated away with her. Like his brother, Albus had a melancholy tone, like hed let everyone down. That is enough, you two. The voice echoed through the room and Harry turned to see Ron walking up to his family. Ive taken guilt like this from your father for far too long, and I will not take it from my nephews. You boys behaved brilliantly. You were more courageous than most men I know. Im proud of you and thankful that you tried as hard as you did. It takes a real man to put his life on the line for his family, and thats what I think of you two. Youre real men, okay? Ron looked at the boys fiercely, not flinching until both nodded their heads. Ron gestured to Harry, who rose and followed his friend outside. Well have to interview them closely, but I dont think theyre ready yet. Harry looked back at the open front door. Ron nodded mutely, but his mind elsewhere. Whats up? They wont let me help in the investigation, Harry. Theyve got Mortimer up at the scene, but Dawlish wont let me go up there. Ron said, a request on his lips. Harry nodded. It makes sense, Ron. Harry held up his hands to quiet his best friends protest. Youre too close. Mortimer is good at this. Let me go up there and take a look around. I promise, Ill keep you involved, but we cant afford to make mistakes. We need to be coolheaded. You know that. Rons face fell and seemed to be on the verge of breaking. Ive got to do something, Harry. This is worse than when we were in the alternate timeline. I just feel so helpless. Harrys voice lowered and he placed a hand on Rons shoulder. I know, Ron. Ill do whatever it takes, you know that. Harry locked eyes with Ron and then took a deep breath. Ill tell you what. Its a madhouse here. Why dont you take Hermione and help Ginny get the boys home. Well have to interview them, but theyre too wound up. Ill go up and see what we have and then well circle back and go from there. Fair enough? Ron was reluctant, but finally nodded his head. Harry smiled and turned and walked out the gate and up the main road. As he left the confines of the Burrow, Harry whispered a quick transfiguration spell, turning his Ministryapproved robes into more muggle-friendly attire. He was now wearing pleated khaki pants and black golf shirt with the words Department 19 on the chest. He reached into his pocket and pulled a transformed, miniature version of his Aurors shield and affixed it to the front of his belt. He walked up the street until he came to a collection of people surrounding the entrance to the alley, just down the way from the ice cream shop. As he approached the cordon, he held up his open billfold to one of the uniformed constables. Department 19. Harry said tersely. The man gave him an apprehensive look and then waved Harry through. Harry nodded and walked up to the alley entrance.

When the Ministry of Magic established a formal communications conduit with the muggle Prime Minister, there had been considerable debate over what should be done in the event a crime happened to a magical person out in the muggle world. Ostensibly, this was the jurisdiction of MI-5, the British Security Service, but Aurors had to be involved as well. At first, the process was complicated since the Aurors and the Ministry didnt officially exist and the presence of strange men and women in large black robes would tend to convey the wrong message. After Hermione had assumed her position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she went to Dawlish with a proposal of how to handle muggle/wizard relations in these types of circumstances. As a muggle, she was well aware of the propensity of the general public to have a healthy fear of secret agencies. Thus, Department 19 was born. As far as muggles were concerned, Department 19 was a secretive branch of MI-5 that was called upon during special circumstances. Even those within the British governments security apparatus knew very little about the group, except that there was no rhyme or reason for why or when they would appear. Department 19 didnt really exist, but it pro vided a cover for the Aurors, allowing them to hide in plain sight while conducting their investigations. Harry walked up to where Mortimer, Silas and Williamson were surveying the scene where the children had been initially attacked. Silas had a bulky, boxy collapsible camera in front of him, taking pictures of the alley and the place where a local constable had found the unconscious James. Mortimer saw Harry approach and met him out of earshot of the local police. Whatve you got? Harry asked, taking in the scene around him. It looks like this is where James fought him off. Mortimer pointed down the street, towards the Burrow. Theres another alley down the way where he caught up with Rose and Albus. Mortimers recitation was calm and professional, knowing how personally involved Harry was with the matter. The slightly built Auror held up a clear plastic bag that contained a scrap of newspaper. In fact, it was a piece of the Daily Prophet. It seems that when James tore the mans pocket, he had a piece of this newspaper in there. Whats on it? Mortimer shrugged. Its part of the financial section. Theres a portion thats circled. It shows WWW stock price as of yesterday and it has the number 15,000 scribbled on it. As Harry took in the information, Mortimer smiled. It looks like Georges company is back up in the world. Harry ignored the remark. So, were sure that it came from the kidnappers pocket? Mortimer nodded and Harrys brow furrowed. Was there any ransom note left? No, not here or down where he took Rose. Mortimer scratched his head. Maybe something will show up by owl post. Harry nodded. Make sure you have the osprey tracker ready. Tracking wizarding mail was difficult because owls were more attuned to their masters and did not possess a homing instinct, per se. The Aurors had specially trained ospreys that followed the owls and extrapolated their destination from their surveillance. Already done, Harry. Mortimer studied his boss face, making sure he was working the problem and not still unsettled by the turn of events. Were almost done here. Well take what we have back to the Ministry, but Harry nodded. You still want to talk to James and Albus, I know. Ive sent them home, but Ill bring them around later. Until then, get everyone we have on what youve found. I want to know who this is, and I want to know yesterday.

Were doing our best, Harry. Mortimer hadnt taken Harrys tone personally, but hoped it would pass soon enough, they needed Harry to be fully engaged. I know, Mortimer, I know. Lets be at it. Harry took one last look around and then walked beyond the cordon and down the street. *** The Office was abuzz with activity when Harry entered, James and Albus in tow. He directed the boys to take a seat near Seans desk and then walked over to the crowded conference room. Inside, he found both Mortimers and Williamsons teams pouring over the evidence that had been collected. Central to the findings were the photographs that had been taken at the scene. Wizard photographs were different from muggle pictures because magical pictures displayed motion, but that wasnt the only difference. Magical creatures and people had auras and the essence of the magical cameras was to capture those auras. In that way, ghosts could pose for pictures with the living. Harry was pretty fond of his portrait with Peeves hed had taken during one of his class reunions. The Aurors magical cameras were even more extraordinary. If used in enough time after an event, it could capture a magical persons aura in a place theyd been. It was more like a left over image that one would have after seeing a bright flash and then closing your eyes. The image would be blurred, but viewable. Harry stared at the image that Silas had captured, which showed a man bringing his fist down on James. Thats him? Harry said pointedly. Mortimer nodded. Harry took a closer look at the picture. The man was tall, but thin. Theres nothing remarkable about him. Anyone recognize him? No, but that doesnt mean anything. The image is black and white and dont know what his hair color is. Harry nodded. Anything else? Mortimer pulled out the scrap of newspaper. Well, weve determined this is a shred from yesterdays Prophet, but as to why WWW is circled, we have no idea. Ive called in some experts from Gringotts to help, and here they are now. Mortimer walked towards the door and held out his hand. Hola, Mortimer. Isabella Ramirez-Thomas walked into the room, looking as fierce and as radiant as Harry could remember. Now a senior controller at Gringotts, Dean Thomas wife smiled, more than comfortable in the wizarding world than a muggle should be. She sat at the table and smiled at Harry. Hola, Harry. Hi, Isabella. Hows Dean? Ay, muy loco, these days. Isabella made a motion of moving her index finger in a circular fashion near her temple. Is he having second thoughts? Harry chuckled. Si, second, third, fourth, fifth thoughts, but he lost fair and square and hes got to honor his bet. Besides, I make it worth his while. She laughed out loud and her mood was infectious. Harry burst into laughter as well. Dean and Isabella had found raising a family d ifficult with both spouses working at Gringotts. They didnt have the extended support structure of a Bill and Fleur, so theyd agreed that whoever got the first major promotion would continue to work while the other stayed home with the kids. Isabella was an

economic wunderkind and had been rapidly promoted. True to his word, Dean left Gringotts and was a stay at home househusband and apparently not enjoying it. Still, a deal was a deal. Isabellas face grew serious. How can I help find Rose? Mortimer placed the bit of newspaper in front of her. We found this at the crime scene. Its more than likely from the kidnapper. We were hoping that you could help us understand if this leads us somewhere. Isabella studied the paper and then opened a large book. Well, this was a good day for George. His stock value shot up more than sixty percent in one day after his name was cleared. Did someone make fifteen thousand galleons on the stock? Mortimer asked. Sure, a lot of people did. It was the largest single day gain for stock for anyone. Thousands of people made money. Dios mio, Harry, you made close to fifty thousand yourself. Harry flushed. Among other things, Isabella took care of his money. Harrys brow tightened. Isabella, did anyone lose money on the stock? What are talking about Harry, how does someone lose money when a stock goes up? Mortimer asked, finally admitting there was something he did not know about. Isabellas eyes widened and she flipped through the pages of her book rapidly. Finally, she stopped and placed her finger on a page. She looked up at Harry. Look at this, someone lost seventy five thousand galleons in one day. What are you talking about? Mortimer asked. Harry sighed. Mortimer, buying stock is making a prediction. You can either predict that the price will go up and you gain value or you predict that it will go down and sell short. Someone predicted that WWW would fail and sold short, to the tune of a lot of money. Who was it, Isabell a? Isabella checked and her normally mocha skin paled. Ay, muy malo. Its Ameche Investments. A collective gasp left the room and Harrys jaw was rigid. Ever since the demise of Moriarty and the fall of Keyser Soze, organized crime had been less organized. Different players were delving into new and original ways to cheat the system. Giovanni Ameche was no ordinary gangster. Hed grown enamored of high finance and manipulated his way into making risky investments and allegedly used his hired muscle to influence the course of events. He would take pooled money from his investors, normally down on their luck lackeys and invest them in the market. The hapless or desperate victims would assume the risk should the investment fail. It was, in essence, a complicated loan sharking scheme, complete with money laundering. If the investment succeeded, Ameches organization took a flat fee of sixty percent of both the return and the principle. Rumor had it that he liked to sweeten his chances at success by attacking the competitors of the stock he promoted or burning down the warehouses of stocks he sold short. Perhaps whoever took Rose was in debt to Ameche. Harry rubbed his chin. Why on earth would Ameche want Rose? Wait, Harry, think about it. Everyone whos read about you, Ron and Hermione has read about your families too. Mortimer pointed out. Yeah, so?

You just said that buying and selling stocks is based on how well you predict what will happen to the stock. Mortimer saw a light of understanding flicker on in Harrys face. Why else would you want a girl whos been known to predict the future? What would Ameche do with a prize like that? Harry nodded. He picked up his bag and waved to Mortimer. Have someone take James and Alb us home. I dont think we need them right now. Isabella looked up at Harry. Where are you going, Harry? Im going to pay Mr. Ameche a visit. I want to see how much hes willing to invest in keeping his own hide intact. Bring Silas and your team, Mortimer. Im going to make him an offer he cant refuse.

Chapter 258 Capo Ameche Rose was upset, confused and just a little scared. In time, the fear would take precedence, but for now, she wanted to go home and she was more than a little irritated with the man who apparated her to the dank, rundown room she was in. It reminded her of one time her family had to stay a few days at the Leaky Cauldron as their new house was being built. The room was a box, with rough hewn and cracked wooden paneling on the walls. There was a solid wood door and no windows and a bare light bulb on a wire suspended from the ceiling. Shed poked and prodded at the locked door knob, but could not get it to budge. There was a frail card table and two mismatched chairs on one side of the room and a metal framed twin bed with a thin mattress on the other. On the card table were a variety of coloring books and a sixty-four count box of crayons. She didnt know how long shed been alone in the room, but the rumbling in her stomach told her that it should be near dinner time. There was a rustle at the door as the sound of a key could be heard. The knob turned and the door opened, revealing the strange man who had kidnapped her. He was carefully balancing a tray laden with food and a pitcher of milk and he walked into the room slowly, the door slamming shut behind him. He placed the tray on the flimsy table and offered her a weak, less than reassuring grin. Youre probably hungry. He pointed to the table. Despite her inner reluctance to trust the man, the aroma of the hot meal went right to her stomach. She walked over carefully and began to stuff her mouth. Michelson nodded and took the remaining seat at the table, watching her as she overcame her first bouts of hunger. She stopped to sip on a glass of milk and then stared at him defiantly. I want to go home. She said firmly, the fear in her chest not showing. Of course you do, Rose, and you will, I promise. I just need your help with something first, an d then you can go home. Hed been working up on his story. His reading about the sight had indicated that he had to keep her calm. Rose plucked at a grape and then looked at him evenly. My daddy will find you, Mister. Michelson was already anxious about the consequences. Hed let his emotions take control of the situation and lets face it, he wasnt known for planning ahead. If he had been, he wouldnt be in this predicament. Now, is that what you see, Rose, or is that what you feel? She looked at him curiously. Shed never really been able to tell the difference between the two states. Shed simply assumed what she saw was what she felt. Normally, she didnt really speak of her visions, mostly because her mother was so adamant that they didnt exist, but they did. Still, was she just being

hopeful? Shed played with Hugo, James and Albus enough and had seen her Uncle George, Uncle Dudley and Uncle Lee in action to know that she should keep what she didnt know to herself. Wouldnt you like to know? She stared at him, her eyes afire and Michelson was forced to turn away, unsure himself what the real answer was. Still, he was committed. He couldnt go home. He was sure that Ameche would have the place watched. He needed leverage and time, both commodities that were short supply. He rose from the table. Youll go home long before they need to find you, Rose. All you need to do is what I tell you to do. Well start in the morning. That would give him time to finish gathering what little money he had left. Then, hed go ahead, make a quick profit and pay Ameche off and set himself up good, and then find a small country without an extradition treaty. All of these plans, which seemed to end with the fact that he remained alive, rested on his ability to keep this small six year old girl alive and willing to do what he wanted her to do. He sighed and waved his wand, the door opening. He walked through and allowed the door to shut behind him. In the room, Rose wiped away a wayward tear and then studied the tray in front of her. There was a small butter knife amid the clutter, lost under the cloth napkins and silverware. Slowly, she picked it up and put it in her pocket, her mind beginning to form a plan. *** Diagon Alley, at its core, was a collection of older, multiple story storefronts marked by small side alleys and fire escapes. Its black sheep cousin, Knockturn Alley, was similarly arrayed, although the masonry and brickwork tended towards the darker side of the spectrum. Harry and Mortimer led the six other Aurors down the center of Knockturn Alley. They stopped at a doorway in front of a narrow, six story red brick building. Hanging over the doorway was a battered sign that said Social Club. Mortimer pulled open the creaky screen door and pushed open the ornate door with spots of chipped paint. The interior of the foyer was dark, a single candle burning in a holder on a shelf nearby. Harry glanced to his right and looked inside an open doorway. Inside was a musty bar area with a dozen or so rough looking men and goblins who were staring back at them menacingly. Harry walked into the bar and stopped near a table where a man in a soiled white shirt and faded black pants sat, nursing a dirty glass of beer. Harry nodded. Im looking for Mr. Ameche. The man snorted and held his hand to his ear. Eh? Me no speaky the English. There were muted laughs from around the room. Harry smiled, joining in the laughter and turned slightly to face the exit. With blinding speed, Harry whirled around, sweeping his leg to the mans chair, forcing the man to fall back onto the dirty, grimy floor. Within seconds, Harrys wand was out and resting against the mans double chins. The Aurors swept in the room, wands out and aimed at the crowd. Harry leaned forward and made sure that the man saw his Aurors shield on his lapel. Im sorry, I must have heard you incorrectly. Harry spoke in a pleasant, almost conversational tone, but his emerald eyes burned with serious intent and the man began to sweat profusely. I said the man struggled to speak as the point of Harrys wand pressed on his larynx. I said that Mr. Ameche is upstairs, on the sixth floor. Thats his office. Harry stood for a moment and then eased his wan d off the man. Well, I sure do appreciate the help. Harry nodded to two of the Aurors. Make sure these men enjoy their drinks while we visit with their boss. The two Aurors nodded slightly and stood by the door, arms crossed and wands drawn. There would be no last second notifications of their arrival.

Harry led Mortimer and Silas with the rest of the Aurors up the staircase that led to the next landing and then the next. Soon theyd climbed the six flights and stopped at a rich mahogany door tha t barred them into the stairwell. Harry tapped the door with his wand and it fell forward, as if its hinges had let go and then they walked into a richly appointed reception area, complete with a beautiful and utterly efficient looking secretary. She had pale skin with dark ruby lips. Her hair was up in a bun and she wore the latest Parisian business suit replete with exotic, yet remarkably tasteful jewelry. She seemed more irritated than afraid when they burst through the door. Im sorry, can I help you gentlemen? She spoke with a nasally voice that had traces of a repressed cockney accent that had to have been conditioned out over years of practice. Harry nodded and retrieved a business card from his pocket. My name is Harry Potter from the Of fice of Aurors. Im here to see Mr. Ameche and I dont have an appointment. She took the card and glanced at it, the corners of her mouth turned slightly upward. She shook her head slightly. Im sorry, sir, but Mr. Ameche is in a board meeting right now and can not be disturbed. Harry looked at Mortimer and Silas and then back at the woman. Dont get up, well announce ourselves. Taken by surprise, she watched as Harry led them back to the pair of large double doors behind her desk. Sir, you cant go in there. Mr. Ameche is not to be disturbed. Harry ignored her entreaties and pushed the doors open wide. The room beyond was as wide as the building and long. In the center was a long conference table of rich granite and seated around the table were a half dozen of the vilest creatures Harry had ever set eyes on. There were three men, wearing finely tailored suits that despite their obvious cost, were garish and overdone. Intermixed were two goblins who were unclad, save for crowns of gold inlaid with precious gemstones and a man wearing a three piece Brooks Brothers suit, who had a distinct, inhuman quality about him. At the far end of the table sat an older man in a bright blue track suit with a half dozen gold chains suspended from his neck. He was morbidly obese and Harry could actually hear him laboring to breath. The top of his head was bald with wisps of bright white hair by his ears. He had a white, bushy mustache and black, beady eyes that were wide in astonishment at the intrusion. What is the meaning of this? Who are you people? The old man wheezed in a soft, uneven voice. The Aurors spread evenly around the room, watching the men around the table. Harry sat down in the seat at the opposite end of the table and folded his hands in front of him. Mr. Ameche, I presume? Harry asked pleasantly. Whos asking? The man responded. Im Harry Potter. Ameches eyes widened ever so slightly. It wasnt every day that the Head of the Office Aurors crossed his threshold, especially considering what Ameche did for a living, but Ameche had been a survivor, not one prone to panic. He waited patiently for the Auror to state his business. Harry continued. Mr. Ameche, a couple of days ago, you took profound losses in the ma rket, around a company called Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. You sold short and lost a lot of money. Ameche breathed out slowly and spread his ring encrusted hands outward. That is the nature of investments, Mr. Potter, we risk and we sometimes lose. That is true, Mr. Ameche, but you very rarely lose. Harrys eyes didnt leave Ameches.

My business model minimizes risk, you might say. I know all about your business model, Mr. Ameche. Harry savored the near panic in the mans face. Right now, I could care less about your Ponzi scheme. Im looking for one of your, shall we say, investors, that lost money in that transaction. Come now, Mr. Potter, my clients believe in a bit of discretion as to their identities. While Im more than willing to work with someone of your stature, you understand that I cant simply just give out that information out the sake of my fidelity for the government. A visible expression of relief came over Ameches face. The Aurors werent here for him and he was in his more comfortable realm, that of negotiation. Of course, Mr. Ameche, but this person probably hasnt paid you your commission on the loss. I would hope finding someone who lost fifteen thousand galleons would be important to you. Harry saw an expression of alertness come over Ameches face. He knew who Harry was looking for. Harry pressed on, nodding to Mortimer who passed the pictures of their suspect to Ameche. You see, this man is wanted for kidnapping a little girl. Harry smiled evilly. Id hate to have your firm named as an accessory to that act. Can you imagine the crimp on your business when the Ministry sends auditors down here to gain the information? It would take weeks and I cant see how youd be able to function with all that investigation going on. I could be mistaken, Mr. Potter, but that sounded like a threat. Ameches voice was even, cool. His black eyes stared down the table at Harry. Of course it is, Mr. Ameche. I take kidnapping very seriously and if you do kno w my reputation, you know that Ill do whatever I have to in order to find that girl. Harry sat back and watched the mans mind at work. Ameche glanced down at the photo and then back at Harry. Then, he nodded to the man seated next to him. Fredo, go get the customer file on Wendell Michelson. The man in the Brooks Brothers suit nodded and left the room. Ameche stared out at Harry. The mans name is Wendell Michelson. Hes kind of a loser, actually. He has big dreams but he has horrible timing. Ive sent my assistant to pull his file. His address should be in there. Harry smiled. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Ameche. Its no bother to me. I cant abide by kidnappers. You do seem a bit worked up about this, Mr. Potter. Does this girl mean something to you? Ameche asked innocently. Shes my niece, Mr. Ameche. Awareness lit the old mans eyes and he looked up as Fredo returned and brought a faded manila folder and handed it to Harry. Harry took the folder and rose. Im sorry for the intrusion. Thank you again for your help, Mr. Ameche. Perhaps well meet again? One never knows, Mr. Potter. Ameche watched as Harry and the Aurors walked out of the room. *** I dont like it, Harry. Mortimer said grimly, as they walked down Knockturn Alley. He gave in to easily.

I know, Mortimer, but one thing at a time. First we get Rose back, then we look into the dealings of Mr. Ameche, there. Harry was scanning the file. I have an address for this Michelson person. Owl Williamson to have his team meet us there. Mortimer nodded and moved to comply. He took a brief look up at the building they just left. Somehow, the suspicious feeling he had would not go away. *** Well, that was interesting. Ameche placed his hands down on the table. He looked at Fredo and a man and a goblin seated nearby. It would appear that our Mr. Michelson is holding out on us. He obviously thinks that this girl is valuable. I dont know, Don Ameche, Michelson is, as you said, a loser. Hes probably over his head. Fredo spoke in a silky smooth tone. Thats true, Fredo, but one never knows. Ameche produced a large cigar and made a show of clipping off the end and lighting it. Still, we shouldnt totally dismiss the heights of Mr. Michelsons ambition. Fredo, I want you, Sonny and Michael to dig into this. Find out what makes the girl special. He puffed on his cigar, blowing rings in the shape of dollar signs through the room. We operate on a barter system, gentlemen. If Mr. Michelson has a prize, it may be worth our while to see if hed be willing to negotiate a settlement to his debt. Im sure he cherishes his life more than that of a little girl.

Chapter 259 Depth of Heartache A couple of weeks ago, Hugo had been so excited about finally getting to sleep in a big boy bed. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching her son sleep. Hermione couldnt bring herself to leave, didnt want to take the chance that some catastrophe would befall her youngest child, much like what had happened to her oldest. She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest as Hugo slept the comfortable, reassuring sleep of a four year old boy. Since hed been an infant, hed taken to lying on his back and stretching his arms above his head. He looked peaceful and so she kept a vigil on him, all the while her mind wandered to her missing daughter. Thered been time enough for self-recriminations. Theyd been wildly absurd. Should she have sent Rose to that muggle school? Should she have stayed home and not pursued a career at the Ministry? Should she blame Ron for doing the same? The hollow pit in her chest felt crushing, like a thousand ton weight that was pressing down on her heart. Reluctantly, she rose, leaving the room and her peaceful son. This time, she didnt close the door, leaving it open so that she could see his sleeping figure whenever she looked in. She walked down the corridor, her steps seeming oppressively heavy, not wanting to look in the room, dreading the view inside, the neat and made, but painfully empty bed. The carefully colored and etched drawings Rose had painstakingly made at school of her home, her family and her life. Hermione didnt want to rip open the drawstrings of her heart as she looked in the place where her girl, her sweet baby girl was supposed to be, safe and sound and yet, she was drawn to the room. Hermione wanted to go there, to be reminded of all things Rose, from her pink accented decorations to her tiny stuffed animals neatly arrayed on the top of the bed. Hermione had to go in, no matter how much it hurt. She turned into Roses room and stopped short. She hadnt thought her despair could grow any deeper until she saw the slumped shoulders of the man standing in Roses room, clutching a tiny teddy bear to his chest. Ron didnt see Hermione walk in. Instead, he stood forlornly in his daughters room, staring out

the single window at the half-moon in the sky, wondering if his daughter was seeing the same moon. His face was drawn, saddened, as if all the happiness in the world had left him. Hermione walked to her husband, reaching her arms around his waist and burying her face into the small of h is back. She took comfort from the firmness of his shoulders and chest, the result of years of conditioning and experience. He turned around and embraced her tightly, laying his face into the tangle of chestnut hair that flew about on the top of her head. He took his finger and placed it beneath her chin, raising her eyes to his. Both sets of eyes had seen immeasurable joy and unspeakable horror, but now both were filled with grief, terror and dread. Theyre daughter had been taken and they both felt powerless to understand why such a heinous act had occurred. Ron leaned down and kissed Hermione softly on the lips. I miss her, Hermione. I dont know what to do. Itll be all right, Ron. Harry hasnt let us down before. I know hell get her back. Hermione seemed unsure of her own words, as if the argument shed had with H arry was now playing some sort of role in his ability to get the job done. Stop, Hermione. Ron seemed to read her thoughts. Harry is doing what he can. Merlin knows I want to be involved, but my head isnt working right. I do know one thing, weve been through too much together for Harry to not succeed. He doesnt know how to fail. This time, Rons voice was stronger, more confident. The couple stood together in the darkness of their daughters room. Ron slowly raised his arm and wrapped around his wifes shoulders. He stared out the window and took in the dim light of the moon. He sighed heavily. I hope shes all right. I hope she knows were looking for her. *** The strange man had come and gone, retrieving the tray with the dirty dishes. The moment had made Rose hold her breath, but he did not seem to notice that shed kept the butter knife from the varied array of silverware. Rose had made sure to use every implement and to strew them amid the bowls and plates on the tray. Before hed left, Michelson turned and faced her, balancing the tray precariously on one arm. Ive got to go out. Theres no way for you get out of here. Its getting late. Well start up in the morning. Why dont you get some rest and then Ill ask you the questions I need answered. If you do, youll go home, I promise. With that, he turned, pulled the door shut and Rose heard the tumblers click as the door locked, leaving her alone. Rose had tried to pry open the door, even using the knife. James, being the neer do well that he was, had shown her how to get hinges off a locked door, but Rose could not get the rusted metal pins out of the hinges, and could not reach the topmost hinge if she tried. Shed sat hugging her knees on the end of the rickety bed and must have dozed off, but then started awake. Idly, she began picking away at the wooden planks that made up the walls of her room and noticed, quite surprisingly, that the there was a cut out behind her bed. She rose and pushed the bed away fro the wall and began to wedge the blade of her dull knife between the confluence of the clapboards. Slowly, with great effort, she pried one of the planks off. She saw that behind the slat was the corner of a broken window. Somewhat rejuvenated, she began to work on the other pieces of wood. In the corner of her eye, she could see the first rays of dawn starting to brighten up the sky. She worked fast, knowing that she didnt have much time before the strange man returned.

*** The door of the small apartment disintegrated in a cloud of dust and smoke. Dennis Creevey bolted in first, wearing midnight black fatigues followed by the members of his Hit Squad. They swept the room quickly, checking the corners and the one bedroom off the main living area and then pronounced the apartment empty. Harry and Mortimer followed behind them, the Aurors fanning out amid what had once been Wendell Michelsons apartment. Look at this Harry. Mortimer pointed to the article festooned wall in the small kitche nette. The heavily marked items, with pictures of Rose circled were still on the wall. Harry nodded and looked around. Someones been here. Harry said quietly. What do you mean? You think Michelson was dumb enough to come back? Mortimer asked. No. I mean someones been here looking for him. Harry waved his hand around the room. He pointed out the books in obvious disarray, as if someone had been looking for something. Someone else is looking for Michelson. Ameche? Harry nodded. Thats what I think. The question is, was this before or after our little visit? Silas was walking around the kitchen, opening cupboards. He heard Harry and Mortimer talking and leaned his head out. If it was after, Id begin to wonder whether he was looking for Michelson or someone else. Mortimer snapped his head around. You mean Ameche might want to get Rose for himself? Well, if someone as inept as Michelson can conjure up a plan like this, why wouldnt a man like Ameche see the obvious benefits of someone with Roses talents? Silas asked. The question struck the Aurors like a bolt of lightning. Harry nodded. This is all conjecture, of course, but it would seem that were in a race here. Its a question of who can get to Rose first, us or Ameche. Harry looked around the pathetic apartment and sighed. Okay, Mortimer, I want your team to scour every inch of this place. If we assume that Ameches people were here after we visited him, they couldnt have had much time to find anything, unless it was obvious. I want to know every detail of this Michelsons life. I want to know about his family, his friends, his jobs, everything. Find out about where he spent his summer vacations, who his first girlfriend was, what type of underwear h e wears. Mortimer nodded, waving to the rest of his team to start the process of deconstructing the life of the man known as Wendell Michelson. The small Auror looked at Harry. What are you going to do? Im going to put Seans team on Ameche. Mortimer looked at him curiously. I know, I know, we dont have anything on the man, yet. Im talking deep background on the man. I want to know about his associates, those men and goblins at the table. That Fredo character seemed too cool to me. There was something about him kind of sinister. What about you? Silas asked. Youre not going to do something stupid are you Harry?

Harry chuckled. No, not this time. Ameches been around for a while. He wasnt always into high finance. Im going to check with the oracle and see if hes heard of the man. This brought a small bout of laughter from his two friends. Harry took one last look around and then removed the small photograph of Rose hanging on the wall. It appeared to be a school picture of Rose, cut out of an annual. She was smiling confidently and Harry felt a ball of anxiety in his chest. Harry was Roses godfather and given how close she was to his own children, it literally felt like one of his own kids had been taken. He gripped the picture tightly and the placed it in his breast pocket. Were going to find her, whatever it takes, gentlemen. That is a promise. Harry nodded to them and then walked out the door. *** I dont know Fredo, this sounds pretty dangerous. Its on e thing to collect from losers like Michelson, but were putting ourselves in wand range of the Aurors. The gruff looking man called Sonny by Ameche sat a small table in a pub somewhere in the center of London. The room was dark and smoky and the patrons seemed a bit shady around the edges. Fredo wore a silk shirt and dark pants, looking decidedly out of place in the rundown pub. He sipped on wine from a long stemmed glass and nodded. His voice was light, with a definite aristocratic accent with a hint of brogue from outside the British Isles. His skin was pale, almost translucent and his eyes were a pale, light blue running towards white. He had high, definitive cheekbones and dark black, perfectly coiffed hair. That may be the case, Sonny, but what Don Ameche wants, Don Ameche gets. Make no mistake about it. How soon before we meet Michael? The muggle pub was hardly the place for a scar ridden goblin to make a sudden appearance. Deftly, Fredo pulled a pocket watch from his pocket. It was affixed to a long silver chain. We have another half hour or so, assuming hes on time. Goblins have no sense of punctuality. The edges of Fredos mouth turned upward ever so slightly, as close as hed ever come to showing any emotion. Sonny studied his companion warily. Fredo had been with Ameche for as long as Sonny could remember and yet, there was a tremendous amount that he didnt know about the man. Fredo was tall and well built, yet mysterious in every way. He was always around, as if he never slept. Sonny had never seen Fredo out and about, nor did the man seem to partake in the general reverie of the social club. In the purest of terms, Fredo was an operator and to Sonny, a truly dangerous man. Sonny sipped on his beer and snorted. I dont care how long it takes, if anyone can get what we need, its Michael. Hes got sources all over the place. Sonny watched as the froth dissipated on his glass. Do you think the Don will really want to kidnap a six year old girl? Fredo shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly. It really doesnt matter. If Don Ameche finds her valuable, he will have her. It is our job to get him what he wants. It doesnt bother you? I dont know, it seems kind of amoral. Sonny watched Fredo carefully as th e taller mans pale eyes darkened slightly. Morality is a problem Im not burdened with. His smooth voice grew icy and Fredo stood up. Wait here, I have an errand to run. Leaving his companion, Fredo strolled out the front door of the pub and walked down the street. He glanced up at the night sky and a slight shiver went through his spine. He wasnt a moral man. He was hardly a man at all. The hunger had struck him suddenly and he needed to get it under control right

away. He glanced down a small side street and spotted the jutting legs of a man sleeping over a subway grate. Fredos nose curled in distaste, but the hunger was too overwhelming and it had to be sated for him to complete his task. He looked from side to side and for the moment, saw no one around. He took a deep breath and walked silently towards the sleeping man. *** Sonny couldnt help himself. Fredo had only been gone for a few minutes, but the mystery behind the man was almost impossible to overcome. He tossed some rolled up bills on the table and grabbed his coat. He walked out of the pub, and looked up and down the street. Where had Fredo gotten to? He turned up the collar of his coat and stood by the entrance. The quiet of the night was broken by a piercing scream and then silence. Sonny stood still, the resonance of the scream echoing in his head. He looked back at the pub door and grabbed the handle, walking in. He walked to the bar and ordered a shot of bourbon, his hands shaking. He didnt know what the scream was, but he knew, deep down, that Fredo had something to do with it. The man was dangerous, that was for sure. Sonny tossed back the drink and watched as his jangling hands steadied. He almost leapt from his chair as a hand touched his shoulder. It was Fredo. His face looked lighter, almost flushed, his lips redder. His light eyes were a dark blue and for Fredo, he seemed positively ebullient. It is time. Fredo said, seemingly unaware of the start hed given Sonny. Sonny nodded and paid his ta b. He turned and followed Fredo out the door, as the shaking in his hands returned. Sonny jammed his nervous hands into the pockets of his coat, hoping that his sweating palms did not betray the fear he felt. Fredo was more than a man and he was dangerous and for some reason, Sonny knew that if Fredo knew he was afraid, that very bad things might happen. Perhaps the next scream would be from his own throat. The two men walked side by side into the night to make their rendezvous with Michael.

Chapter 260 Taking Medicine The Targe was filled to near capacity as Harry emerged from the broad, stone faced hearth. He dusted soot off his shoulders and allowed his eyes to grow accustomed to the dim, candlelit light of the ancient pub. Harrys memory wandered back to the first time hed come here. Hed been on his first solo mission as an Auror, well on his way to his final reckoning with Lucious Malfoy. The establishment had changed little since then. The walls were hewn of a thick, adobe-like material and the broad, weather-beaten oak bar stretched from end to end along a wall. Harry allowed himself a chuckle as the ramshackle patrons on his first visit decided to give him a hard time with his questions, at the prompting of the bars former owner, Angus. Automatically, his eyes darted to a familiar round table in the corner of the room. This is where hed first met his friend, Lachlan. The memory filled Harry with humor, remembering the passed out old man, with long, wild white hair who was destined to become one of his mentors. Its a far cry from all those years ago, eh, Harry. Harry turned and stretched his hand to the source of the reedy, high pitched voice with a distinct Highland brogue. Of course, I look a lot better now, than I did then. Lachlan McCrory accepted Harrys hand warmly. Having retired from the Ministry, Lachlan had returned to run The Targe, the pub hed purchased so many years ago. Lachlan was right, he did look a lot better now than he had before. His hair had been cut short and hed long ago shaved the two foot long beard hed sported as an Auror. The change made him look younger, complimented by his sparkling blue eyes and surprisingly smooth skin. He waved Harry to the end of the bar, where the only two empty barstools stood. Harry followed and noticed two small brass plaques on the back of the chairs. Reserved for Aurors only. Harry glanced at the two plaques and then looked over at Lachlan who smiled broadly.

Hey, Ive got to take care of my friends. The two men sat and Lachlan raised his hand, beckoning the stalwart woman behind the bar. Mary, a couple of pints please? Cant you see I have paying customers? You just wait your turn, Lachlan McCrory. Mary said with a smile and then proceeded to pour two mugs of frothy ale from a tap. Lachlan sighed, Ive meant to get rid of her for almost five years, but she keeps coming back. Now Im afraid of the woman. Harry laughed and nodded gratefully as Mary placed the mugs down in front of them. She snorted at Lachlan and then smiled at Harry. You really should get a better class of friends, Harry. This one is no good. Go on about your business, woman. Im not paying you to abuse me. Lachlans words were delivered with no real malice and Mary flipped her hair defiantly and nodded. Then she walked to the opposite end of the bar to greet two more patrons walking in. Lachlan took a quick pull from his ale and then sighed. You really cant find good help nowadays. Harry laughed. You two should just get it over with and get married. Youve been pining for her since before I met you. Perish the thought, old boy. Marry, er, Mary? Why ruin a perfect relationship? Harry couldnt think of a suitable response, so he drank from his mug instead. Lachlan saw the worry lines on Harrys face and his voice grew stern. Whats bothering you Harry? Mind you, I appreciate a visit from an old friend, but I dont think you came to swap stories. Ever perceptive, Lachlan got to the heart of the mat ter. Harry swallowed slowly. Youve heard about Rose? Yes, horrid story. Is that what this is about? What can I do to help? Have you gotten anywhere with it? The professional in Lachlan immediately rose to the surface. Harry nodded gratefully. Were making progress, but there have been some complications. Harry proceeded to fill Lachlan in on events of the previous twelve hours. The older man nodded attentively, but remained quiet, allowing Harry to present the facts. Once Harry finished, Lachlan asked some clarifying questions and then looked patiently at Harry. Harry drained his mug and raised his hands for another. So, what I really need is information. I think its a matter of time before we catch up with Michelson, but this Ameche character has inserted himself into the equation. What do you know about him? Lachlan sat back in his chair and stroked his non-existent beard. For the longest time, Ameche was strictly a small time player. He was a hustler and petty criminal. Hes a wizard, but not a very good one. That all changed during the interregnum. Most people referred to the period of time between the first defeat of the Dark Lord and his subsequent reappearance as the Interregnum. Scholars have debated as to whether t he first Dark Lord war involving Harrys parents and the second war when Harry and his contemporaries fought his resurgence were two distinct events or part of one large epic. The first war ended with the seeming complete defeat of the Dark Lord, but he had not been killed outright, which led to his rebirth fourteen years later. The

compromise had been to consider it one big event with a period of stability in between, hence the interregnum or between reigns. What changed? Harry asked. Lachlan shrugged his shoulders. He got more powerful, made some very shrewd moves. He began working himself into the markets and building an organization. If he was so powerful, why hadnt we heard of him before and why wasnt he mixed up with Moriarty or the Dark Lord? Harry gripped the handle of his mug tightly, more questions than answers swirling in the air. First, I wouldnt necessarily classify Ameche as a dark wizard. He had no love for the Dark Lord, because the Ministry under Voldemort existed as a patronage system, favoring the Death Eaters and their cronies, not the others. As for the Keyser Soze organization, or any others, I dont know why he wasnt involved there. Perhaps his business model was too atypical for criminals to understand or he was too small to be a threat, but too big to eliminate. Lachlan moved his head from side to side. But why the radical change? How did he come up with this? Is he some financial genius? Harry wondered. A petty criminal does not all of the sudden come up with a refined monetary policy to build a pile of wealth overnight. As far as I know, he was a typical criminal. Purely small time, but rumor has it that he hooked in with some good advisors and thats how he came up with this. Lachlan respo nded. What can you tell me about his people? We met some of them. He called three of them Michael, Sonny and Fredo. Ive seen The Godfather, that cant be their real names. Ones a goblin, another is a wizard and the third, Fredo, is a strange looking one. Harry recalled his visit to Ameches office. Lachlan shook his head. I dont know much about them, except for Michael, the goblin. He used to work at Gringotts but was dismissed under a cloud of suspicion. Suspected of what? Harry asked. You know Gringotts, Harry. Gringotts was notorious for its secrecy. When someone was fired from the Wizarding Bank, the management kept a tight lid on information. It was practically unheard of for a goblin to be fired for malfeasance, so that, in and of itself, was a huge thing. Lachlan continued. Sonny is muscle. He joined just before Thicknesse took over as Minister. Fredo? Hes a mystery. No one knows where he came from and no one knows how he came to join Ameche. I will tell you this, hes Ameches right arm. The man is always around. Hes probably the brains of the outfit. Harry nodded and pursed his lips. I think this Ameche character is more dangerous than Michelson. It would serve us better if we found Michelson first. I have a feeling we dont want her to fall into Ameches hands. Id agree. Whats next?

Harry looked around the room. Ill head back to the Ministry and see if Mortimers come up with anything on Michelson. Im having Sean watch Ameche, but perhaps I should have him keep a special eye on this Fredo. That makes sense. Lachlan studied Harrys face, its wan complexion and the many worry lines dotting its perimeter. How are you doing, Harry? Im worried about Rose. This has been trying for all of us. Harry said meekly. Thats not what I was asking about. Lachlan responded quietly. I know. Has Alicia been helping you? What did she think about this dustup between you and Hermione? You heard about that? Harry asked, surprised. Of course I did and youre avoiding the question. Lachlan scolded. The senior Auror had been one of the people driving Harry to see Alicia. No Im not, Lachlan. The thing between me and Hermione is completely separate from what Ive been talking to Alicia about. There was a note of defiance in Harrys tone. Is it? What are you now, Lachlan, a psychiatrist? Harry was more defensive than he intended, but Lachlan seemed to ignore his surliness. No, Im much better, Im a bartender. The twinkle in Lachlans eye forced Harry to chuckle. Harry held up his hands. Okay, I surrender. No, I havent talked to Alicia about Hermione. Ive been avoiding the entire subject because Im just tired of talking about it. Its working itself out. Harry sighed. Lachlan nodded. Are you sure? Harrys head turned sharply towards Lachlan, who held his ground. Hear me out, Harry. Roses abduction is a terrific, horrible tragedy, thats for sure, but just because Hermione is going through this, doesnt mean that the underlying issues you two have are done with. Subconsciously, it could affect your actions, to either side of the pendulum and Rose is too important to let that happen. She needs Harry Potter as he is, not as he changes himself to be, either to suit Hermione or to overcome Hermione. The question is, Harry, is your head into getting this job done the right way? Harry was sure that Lachlan hadnt meant to be so direct, but the older man had. Harrys shoulders slumped down. I think so. I only know one way to get the job done, Lachlan. Thats my way, the direct way. Whether its right or not, I dont know. Lachlan placed his hand on Harrys shoulder. Harry, the right way is the Harry Potter way. Its worked more times than not and Id trust your instincts with my life. Lachlan rose from the stool and smiled. Go on now, and bring little Rose home. If you need, me, Im at your disposal. Oh no you dont, Lachlan McCrory! Marys voice echoed through the room. Youre too old t o be gallivanting around like a school boy. Let Harry do his job and youll not be getting out of mopping the kitchen that easy.

Lachlan sighed and looked at Harry semi-pleadingly. Are you sure you dont need any help? Isnt there some sort of retired Auror recall act? Harry smiled warmly. Sorry, old friend, but the rules are the rules, besides, I think it best that Mary be mad at only one of us. Youre on your own. Harry waved and walked to the floo. *** The last slat fell to the floor and Rose fell back and rested. Her fingers felt numb and achy from the effort. She glanced out the cracked and broken panes of the exposed window and saw the sky. There was a dark mist outside, outlined with shades of pink and orange as the sun worked its way upward from the eastern sky. Spurred on by the prospect that her jailer would soon return, she tested the battered sash of the window and pushed it open about a foot and a half, easily enough room for her to squeeze her tiny body out. She pulled her sweater around her body against the chill of the predawn morning and slid between the sill and sash and left her cell behind. She began running as fast as her legs could carry. She was in a sloping, grassy field and soon she came upon a split rail fence made of pine. She looked back and saw the small cottage where hed kept her. It looked like one of those fanciful log cabins from the American west that shed seen in the movies her Uncle Dudley liked to watch. She turned and climbed through the rails of the fence and again, began running. There was more field beyond the fence, resting on small hills and little dales. She tripped as she tried to cross a small brook and picked herself up. A dark, foreboding line of evergreens loomed ahead. She didnt think, but continued her pace towards the trees. Within moments, she reached the forest and plunged in between the densely packed boughs, letting her legs guide her as she tried to put as much distance between her and her captor. She wasnt afraid; she was free. *** Michelson apparated into the small cottage. The place was called Pine Lodge, located near the shores Loch Kishorn on the west coast of Scotland. The only real happy memory hed retained of his childhood was the summer his parents had brought him here, before they were killed by Death Eaters for trying to bilk them in a property scam. Pine Lodge was nestled on an old croft on the edge of a large forest. The farm had long ago ceased working, and considering it was the onset of winter, the summer vacation spot was isolated and barren, more than suitable for his purposes. He felt the weight of the bag of galleons affixed to his belt. It was the last of his money. He gripped the brown paper sack containing breakfast for the girl and a folded section of the most recent issue of the Daily Prophet and its financial section. There was no doubt, he was desperate. This would be his last chance to hit it big, to set himself up for life. If he had a life, that is. He had to pay off Ameche, before his goons found him. Time was slowly dwindling and he had to move. The place was strangely quiet, which was good. Perhaps the little brat had finally stopped crying, or was still asleep. No matter, he had to get her to talk. He was willing to go the distance on this. He was taking the ultimate gamble, the final risk in this. He drew his wand and waved it at the door lock. He stepped inside, momentarily taken aback by the chill, as if he were standing outside in the wintry air. His heart sank as he saw the pried open planks and the open window. She was gone. He dropped the bag and ran out of the room. He went through the small sitting area and threw open the door. How long had she been gone? Panic set into him and he spun around, trying to c atch a glimpse of her, perhaps shed not run far.

Where would she go? He stared off at the treeline and grimaced. The forest was the one place he hadnt liked when hed been here with his parents. It frightened him. He sighed heavily and began runni ng towards the trees at a rapid pace. He had to find her, no matter what. His life literally depended on it. *** Loch Kishorn was home to three tiny settlements, mostly there to house crofters (farmers) that worked the land nearby and the oil riggers that manned the platforms in the North Sea. Sanachan lies a little inland from the loch, containing a small shop and post office and was where the main road in the region passed through, with small roads leading to the other settlements. Aradarroch lies on the lochside, next to a small shingly beach. The final settlement, Achintraid, lies further down the loch, consisting of a line of white washed cottages and noted for his spectacular views of the Applecross Peninsula. It was in Achintraid where the flash and bang of apparition echoed in the early morning mist. The village was empty, the cottages typically used as summer resorts and had no year-round residents, the caretakers taking to live in the larger settlements near the loch. There was no one to see the three figures standing in the center of the one street in the town. Fredo looked around and then studied the map in his hands. Sonny shivered and looked down at the goblin standing next to him. Are you sure about this? The goblin nodded and spoke, his voice gravelly and coarse. His parents borrowed money to rent a cabin out here, many years ago. The banks records were precise. It is the only such transaction in their account records. Fredo pointed down the road. Its that way. The th ree proceeded down the road as the silence of the winter morning descended upon them. Fredos face was impassive. His mind wandered to the potential prize that lay at the end of the road. There was something about a person who had the gift of the sight. It went beyond what Don Ameche wanted that person for. Fredo smiled inwardly. Rose Weasley may have the answers to the questions hed spent a lifetime of trial and effort to answer. She may be the key to his hunger. He felt eager and almost giddy. There was more to this for Fredo, than simply serving Ameche. Now he had a different goal. He would possess Rose Weasley, no matter what.

Chapter 261 Change of Plans Michelson could feel the toe of his shoe sinking into the moss-ridden forest floor as he scanned about for his quarry. Hed managed to follow her tracks through the dew covered lawn. They ended at the stone escarpment that marked the entry to the forest. He did a quick search of the ground and found no recurring sign of her passage. Either, shed disappeared into thin air, or she was hiding somewhere nearby. He looked around and felt a small shiver pervade his body. The cool morning breeze was bitingly cold, much more so for the girl. She was around this place somewhere, he only need find her. I know youre around here, Rose. Im going to find you. Why dont you come out? You have to be cold out here. He stared around listening to the echo of his voice in the air. *** She was cold, but she refused to say a word in response. Rose gripped the tree limb tightly as Michelson passed beneath her and walked further into the woods. Shed forgotten the number of times James and Albus had shown her how to shinny up a tree bough and now, that effort had helped her climb up into the upper canopy of the woods. She held her breath, lest the cold and her fear give her away. Her arms

ached and her fingers were numb, but she held on tightly and saw Michelsons back disappear deeper in the forest. She sat down on the limb, fearful of his return and wondering what she should do next. *** He really is an idiot, isnt he? Sonny stooped down in the room where Michelson had held Rose and stared out the window shed escaped from. He had her for one night, and she managed to get out. What is she, six? Seven? He really does have rocks in his head. Fredo nodded and then turned as Michael lumbered in. The stoic goblin stared at his companions. There are two sets of tracks outside, leading to the forest. Theyre still warm. Whatever h appened is recent. Goblins could see in some spectrums of infrared. He could tell by the depressions in the grass, how recently the pair had been by. Stay here, in case they come back. Fredo pointed to Sonny. Michael and I will try to track them d own in the woods. Sonny nodded, not wanting to ask the obvious question, but it lingered in the air. What did Fredo want him to do with the little girl? *** Hed gone too far, in more ways than one. Michelson scratched his head and looked around. Hed gone too far into the woods and on second thought, hed gone too far in kidnapping the little girl. There was nothing worth the aggravation he was going through and the trouble she could cause. A small portion of his brain reflected on the vision of a sandy beach on some obscure island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, but it passed. There was nothing that could bring that possibility about, least of all finding Rose. Shed probably die of exposure out here and thered be no place on the planet he could hide. He had to get her back to her parents, alive. At the very least, a stint in Azkaban was nothing compared to being hunted down by Harry Potter. The mans reputation was that he was very bloodthirsty and that he never gave up. Michelson retraced his steps towards where hed entered the forest. Rose! Rose, honey, if you come out, Ill take you home, just come out before you get hurt. His words seemed contrived, even to his own ears. There was no way shed believe him. Heck, he didnt believe him. He had to try, though. One thing about Azkaban, there was no way for Ameche to get him there. His new plan formed in his head, he seemed more confident. Now all he had to do was find that girl. He made his way towards the edge of the treeline, his eyes scanning every nook and cranny of the terrain. He could feel it, she was somewhere around the area. So intent was his search, he never saw the small, gray form come up behind him, nor did he see the flash of light that came from the goblin s lead wand. There was a crack of thunder and a crushing force that impacted on his chest, sending him flying into a nearby tree trunk. Michelson fell to the ground with a thud and the air left his chest as he struggled to stand. Petrificus Totalus! His body froze in place as his eyes looked around. A shadow crept up towards him, until the Fredos serious face came into view, standing over his frozen form. Well, well, well, Wendell, youve caused quite the stir. Do realize the amount of scrutiny youve brought on the Don? If hed been able to move, Michelson would have cringed. Of all of Ameches henchmen to

be caught by, Fredo was the last one he wanted to see. Fredo waved his wand. Where is the girl, Wendell? Michelsons mouth had been freed from its bindings. I didnt mean anything by it, Fredo, honest. I was just trying to get the money back. Id never do anything to irritate Mr. Ameche. I just wanted to Shh, Wendell, theres time enough for that later. Mr. Ameche is very disappointed that your actions have brought the Ministry down on him. Surely, you had to anticipate that eventuality? The expression on Michelonss face told Fredo that his prey had not. Sonny had been right, the man was an idiot. Where is the girl, Wendell? I dont know, Fredo. She got out some time last night. Ive been looking for her, but I cant find her. Fredo stood erect and cocked his ear to the air around him. He turned to the small goblin. Take him back to the cottage, Ill look for the girl. The goblin nodded and levitated Michelsons petrified body into the air and led it out of the woods, towards the house. Fredo glanced around and then smiled. Slowly, he turned his face upward, until he was staring at the cold, frightened figure of a little girl, high up in a nearby tree. What a resourceful little girl you are! Despite the difficulty, Fredo smiled, trying to assure Rose. The bad man has been captured. Why dont you come down so we can take you home? Are you an Auror? Do you work with my Daddy? Rose asked tiredly, but with a small bit of hope. This new man was definitely authoritative, and despite the strangeness of his eyes, didnt seem threatening. Oh, no, Im not an Auror, but your Uncle Harry came to see me yesterday, to find you. Well, it wasnt a lie, was it? Fredo pointed his wand about him and fashioned a small pile of dead logs together. With a whispered command, he ignited the logs into a small campfire. Come on down, now. You must be cold and frightened. Come warm yourself by the fire. Rose stared at the fire, and felt the tingling in her fingers and toes as the cold overtook her. I cant. Im afraid. I dont know how to get down. Fredo nodded his head in understanding. There was a time when he was a little boy when hed gotten stuck in a tree. Would you like me to help you? Rose alternated her gaze between him and the fire. She seemed torn between her discomfort and her fear. Shed already been the victim of a kidnapping, now ther e was a total stranger asking her to trust him. Slowly, the biting cold won and she nodded her head, slightly. Fredo raised his wand and whispered a quick spell. A giant red hand composed entirely of the magical light from his wand stretched out and grasped Rose gently and then slowly lowered her to the ground. She ran to the fire and held out her hands, allowing its warmth to bathe her. Fredo removed his overcoat and slid its bulky wool warmth over her shoulders. She smiled up at him. Will you take me home? She asked. Of course I will. Whats your name? Fredo smiled sweetly, already finding a way to get used to the sensation. My name is Gerald.

Why did that man call you Fredo? Sharp girl, Fredo thought. Hed have to be wary around her. Thats what my friends call me. Can I call you Fredo? Rose asked plaintively. Fredo smiled once more. Only if you are my friend. Rose nodded and rubbed her hands together. My name is Rose. Rose Weasley. I know. Fredo *** Sonny had walked into the small kitchen/living room area of the cottage and spied the brown bags of groceries that Michelson had brought for breakfast. He rummaged through the bags and pulled out a box of doughnuts and a container of milk, an expression of delight on his face. He sat down on the dated, fabric sofa and proceeded to eat, while drinking from the carton. As he ate, he took in his surroundings. The room was old, the walls covered with thin wood paneling and copies of landscapes around the room. There was an old mantle and fireplace above which, a mounted boars head stood gaping at him. Sonny shook his head and chuckled. What an idiot. It was at that precise time that the front door shattered in an explosion of fire and smoke. Harry swept into the room, his wand raised. Sonny dropped his milk carton and fumbled for his wand, stuck deep in his pants. Stupefy! Harry sent a charm that throttled Sonny in the stomach and sent the second hand couch over on its back. Harry gestured to Silas who led several Aurors towards the back hall. Mortimer ran to where the inert form of the man Harry stunned was lying. Harry, look who it is. Harry leaned forward to see the unconscious figure of one of Ameches henchmen. Another voice boomed through the room. She was here, Harry. Silas came out of the back hall. It would appear that she escaped. So she may be out and about? Harry asked. Looks that way. Who has her, Ameche or Michelson? Harry turned and looked at Mortimer who d been surveying the scene. Id say Michelson. Ameches people dont look like theyd been here long. Mortimer was the one whod found the dusty photo album with the bucolic scenes of a family vacation in Michelsons apartment. One of the Aurors near the door shouted. Harry, someones coming. Harry nodded to Mortimer who gave a wave to his team. They fanned out throughout the property, gaining hiding spots. Harry ran to the window and stared out across the meadow. He saw the stooped figure of a goblin, painstakingly leading the inert figure of a man in an obvious body bind curse. The

goblin stopped just outside the fence line and looked around. He made to sniff the air and then gazed at the house suspiciously. Sonny! The goblins grating voice echoed through the compound. Sonny, get out here and help me with this one. I cant get him over the fence. Harry made a split second decision. The goblin would soon know something was amiss. Harry held his hand to his face and placed two fingers in his mouth, blowing out a loud whistle, the signal for the Aurors to move. One of the Aurors leapt from the roof of the cottage and down on a spot next to the goblin. Hold it right there. The man shouted, but the goblin moved quickly for a creature of his age and size. He sent Michelson careening towards the Auror, sending both sprawling into the fence. Michael raised his wand and sent out a curse towards another Auror that narrowly missed. Silas and Mortimer leapt forward and sent a blasting charm that riddled the fence near the goblin with fire and splinters. The goblin seemed to smile and then looked back quickly from whence he came. Then, he sent another blast that shattered the front of the cottage. With a quick turn of his head, the goblin took a deep breath and then apparated away. He was gone. *** Fredo stood from his crouch and stared kindly at Rose. Maybe we should head back to the cottage? The fear in her eyes caused him to raise his hands. It will be all right, we caught him, remember? She nodded. The cottage has a floo we can use to get you home. He said and watched as she processed the information. Finally, Rose stood and adjusted the front of her sweater. They walked side by side, not holding hands, nor talking much which suited Fredo. He felt a surge of anxiety flow through his chest. He knew she could help him with the answer to the riddle, to the curse and the reward of his lifes choices. The hunger would be gone forever, all because this little g irl could see things that he could not. He saw tendrils of smoke coming from the top of the far off cottage, which set his mind ablaze. The girl beside him squealed in delight. Look! Its Uncle Harry! You were right! He followed her arm and saw sev eral figures in black robes running towards them. Sure enough, there was a tall man with wild black hair in the center. It was Harry Potter. Fredo was at a decision point. He could simply hand the girl over, making things much easier on Ameche. The debt he owed the man was serious and eternal, yet here was the one chance he could take to change his world, to forgive that debt, finally. Fredos mind worked in overdrive as he saw the Aurors approach. The girl, Rose, was laughing and waving at them. They were too far away for the sound to carry, but Fredo could see Potter had his wand out and was shouting something in warning. Rose began to run towards her Uncle when she found herself stopped. Fredos hand was on her shoulder, holding her in a grip tighter than hed wanted, yet it conveyed the message. She turned to look up at him and saw sadness and desperation in the mans gray eyes. Let me go! Thats my uncle. She fought the grip on her shoulder, to no avail. Fredo shook his head. Im sorry. His voice was quiet and then he saw the most remarkable thing happen. Rose shook in his grip and then her eyes rolled back in her head, becoming white. She mumbled something hurriedly, in a voice not her own. The words rattled off her tongue and then she slumped in his grasp.

Fredo knew shed had a vision, about him. He scooped her up in his arms and then stared out towards Harry, who by now, was within shouting distance. Stop right there, Fredo! Put her down! Harry shouted desperately. Fredo took one more look at the unconscious girl and then, disappeared from the meadow in a flash of light and thunder. Harry arrived at the spot, too late to stop them. The Aurors had failed. Chapter 262 Geralds Story The tall man apparated in the outside an old motte and bailey castle made of weatherworn stone. The structure stood atop a rounded motte, or artificial hill made from piling earth and peat in several layers and was in excellent condition despite its obvious age and use. He stood in front of a lowered drawbridge that crossed a moat that surrounded the entire property. He took a quick look around, his wistful gaze stopping at a nearby stables and fenced in area where a large, beautiful white charger galloped around its paddock. Fredo looked down at the small girl cradled in his outstretched arms. She was still asleep and he shifted her weight to ease the ache of her unconscious form. His mind whirled from the words that had come from her mouth, only seconds before he made the fateful decision to take her from the waiting embrace of her uncle. He felt a surge of guilt for the trouble he knew was sure to come on his patron, Giovanni Ameche, but it could not be helped. His curse was more important than his oath to Ameche and his ancestors. Time was slowly working against him and he had to take action to halt his downward slide. His guilt was slowly being overtaken by the hunger. The sleeping innocent in his arms was becoming tempting and he had to finish it once and for all. He walked steadfastly through the open portcullis and stepped into the walled keep. His family home was surprisingly well preserved, despite having been originally built in 1181. Hed spent most of his life away from the castle, mostly on the run, but the years hed lived here had been among his favorite. Once inside the keep, he turned and walked through a narrow doorway which led to a set of stairs that ran along the edge of the castle wall and up to the highest tower in the castle. The site was now a tourist attraction and velvet ropes denoted places that were restricted to the rubber necking tourists that visited in ever increasing numbers. His long legs easily loped over the barrier and he continued his climb upward. He came to a landing and he tapped on a loose stone on a wall with the tip of his boot. The wall swung open revealing a plush room, that looked like a reading room or study. There was a wrought iron spiral staircase in the center of the room and he took it up to a landing above. If a muggle had found this sanctuary took the staircase up, they would eventually end up on the top of the bailey tower, but the room that Fredo was in had been hidden by a powerful enchantment, remarkably one that Fredo had managed to conjure when he was still a boy. It had come into good use when he had been on the run during his childhood. The room he was in was comfortably furnished with a plush down bed and was decorated in rich, tasteful colors. He sat the sleeping Rose on the bed and walked to the window. He stared over the majesty of the property. All around, there were sloping hills laden with deep green grass intermixed with heather and shamrocks. The sky was overcast, yet the stark, lush green of the landscape stood out among the gloom. Fredo opened the latch on the window and breathed in the fresh, clean scent of the Irish countryside. He was home, if only for a short time. He looked back at the peaceful face of the small girl. What she had said had rocked his psyche and shaken the foundations of his hope. Hed only wished that she would be able to show him how to avoid the specter of the next gathering, but her words pointed a way to something much more substantial. Shed shown him a way to be rid of his curse all together. All that remained was figuring how to put action to those words. The small trance shed gone into had shaken him and the disembodied words echoed in his mind. The cursed earl of Kilkea is bound to the gathering of every seven years and doomed to that fate lest he face the mystery of the veil. He must traverse the veil so that his soul and the souls of the innocent may be saved.

Gerald Fitzgerald, 11 Earl of Kildare, the Wizard Earl, shook his head in silent contemplation. He knew of only one veil, a whispered secret of the Ministry, locked away deep in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. Yet, if he were to penetrate the veil, he would sever the bonds that held him to this world, the bonds that had tied him to this existence since 1585. *** This time, Harry saw no need for niceties. He strode through the door of the Social Club and pointed a team of Hit Squad members to the small side bar. Hold them here. No one leaves. Harry spoke through grit teeth. He led the rest of his Aurors and Dennis team up the stairs to the sixth floor. With a bold forward kick, he punched through the double doors and walked briskly past the receptionist without a word to her. Sir? Mr. Potter? You cant go in there. Sir? The panicked secretary tried to rise from her desk to interpose herself between Harry and the door to the conference room. Harry waved a hand and a particularly imposing female Auror stepped in front of the hapless gatekeeper with her wand drawn. The woman took the hint and sat back down in her chair. Harry burst through the doors into the conference room. Giovanni Ameche started to rise from his seat at the end of the table, but a quick flick of Harrys wrist sent the corpulent man careening back. There had been the makings of an outburst from Ameche, but the look in Harrys eyes silenced him immediately. Where is she, Ameche? Harrys voice was icy. The Aurors fanned out behind him, taking the other people in the room under guard. Ameche struggled to regain his composure. This is an outrage, Potter. I dont know what youre talking about. There was a crack of thunder as Harry pointed his wand at the center of the large mahogany table. It split in two and fell to the floor. I have one of your people in custody. One of your goblin s is on the run and your henchman, Fredo, disapparated with Rose Weasley as I watched. Im not in the mood for games, Ameche. Where is the girl? A flicker of surprise shot through Ameches eyes, a gesture not lost on Harry. Where is Fredo? I dont know. Where can I find him, Ameche? I dont know. Who is Fredo? Silence drifted through the room. Ameche took a deep breath and then clamped his mouth shut, a sure sign that he did, indeed, know the answer to the question. Harrys eyes narrow ed and then he looked up. Clear the room. The Aurors dragged the other members of Ameches coterie out by the scruffs of their necks. Harry nodded. Mortimer and Sean, you two stay, please. The two Aurors remained as Harry returned his gaze to the sweating crimelord.

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There are two things in this world that I really dont like, Mr. Ameche. Harrys voice was calm and conversational and he offered a smile to the sweating man. I dont like kidnappers and I dont like people that mess with my family. What do you think my response would be to someone who actually had the nerve to do both? Ameches eyes grew wide. Harrys reputation had expanded well beyond the savior to the wizarding world. There was a rumor of a wide trail of bodies of those that had crossed him. Harry stood over Ameche, green eyes blazing. Without hesitating, Harry raised his wand. Legillimens! *** The scene shifted to a gentle vista of an ancient Italian manor house. There was a man that looked remarkably like Ameche standing in the courtyard awaiting the arrival of a horse-drawn coach. Obviously, this had been one of Ameches ancestors, standing re splendent in his Renaissance attire, complete with stockings and over stuffed shirt. The man watched the coach maneuver through the gate. There were four white charges pulling the carriage with fine silver tipped shoes on each hoof. The coach came to a stop and the man opened the door. Out came a frail, teenage boy with frightened gray eyes. It was the younger version of Fredo. A priest in a bright red cassock followed the boy and greeted the man with an embrace. Their lips were moving, as if speaking Italian, but the sounds came out as Ameche understood them, in English. It reminded Harry of one of those old Kung Fu movies Dudley liked to watch that were dubbed. The priest smiled at the man and nodded to the young Fredo. Its all right, Gerald. This is the Duke of Mantua. You will be safe with him. He has an understanding of what you are going through. The boy nodded shyly and held his hand out to the Duke. Its a pleasure to meet you, sir. The Duke laughed heartily and clapped the boy on the back. No need to be so formal and Gerald is such a formal name. From now on, we will call you Frederico. No, on second thought, that is too formal too, lets just call you Fredo. Will that work, Fredo? The boy smiled despite his anxiety and the Dukes laughter bubbled through the air. Come, Padre, lets show young Fredo to his room. *** Harry probed deeper, no closer to an answer than before. Now he was inside the mansion, the boy in Italian dress seated beside a large fire with the Duke. Now, Fredo, there is no need to worry about what has been happening. There will be time enough for you to return to your home in Ireland. After all, you are the Earl of Kildare. Just because you have enemies, doesnt mean that changes who you are. It also doesnt change what you are. What am I, tio? The boy asked plaintively. You are a wizard, like me, my boy. Gone was the Dukes merriment, replaced by an earnestness that caught the boys attention. You are special. That is why your half brother, your predecessor and five of your uncles were executed. That is why you are hunted. The Duke rose and placed his hands behind his back. Your family has been good friends with mine. I will teach you what you need to know to be a good wizard. Fredo smiled. Thank you, tio, Im glad youre my friend.

*** The bandits accosted the carriage on the open road. A short younger man in his late teens ran from the main compartment, the thieves on horseback close behind. One of the men knocked him down to the ground and dismounted. He raised his rapier to in the air, only to be struck by a blinding flash of light. Fredo rode up on one of the Dukes white chargers, his wand in his hand as he sent another curse that threw the second rider flying. Come on, Rosario! There may be more waiting. Fredo extended his arm to the teen and pulled him atop the horse behind him. Sure enough, another five men in black were riding over the hill after them. Fredo urged his horse onto the old Roman road, its silver tipped shoes striking sparks on the cobblestone path. Despite the burden of two riders, the stallion took on the urgency of the moment and outpaced their pursuers, riding on to safety. *** The teen sat at a large oak table in the manors kitchens. The Duke fretted over his bumps and bruises. He turned to the nearby Fredo. You have saved my only sons life, Fredo. Thank you for that. You have used your skills to preserve my family name. I cant thank you enough. My family will forever be in debt to yours. Anything you want, anything at all, what I have is yours. For a split second, Fredo hesitated. The Duke had taken him in, sheltered him from his enemies and taught him magic. They were even, werent they, yet a life debt that transcended life itself had been forged. Carlo Ameche, the Duke of Mantua, was committing his family to that debt and more. F redos th mind raced. His entire family had been erased by prejudice and hate. He was the 11 Earl of Kildare, th would there be a 12 ? Fredo took a deep breath. I want to live forever, tio. I want to protect the lands of the Fitzgeralds. I want to see my familys enemies wither into oblivion and I want to see Castle Kilkea stand for eternity. Can you teach me that magic? Shock came over the Dukes face. What you ask requires terrible, terrible magic, Fredo. Please, ask me anything else but this. Fredos face was resolute and the Duke looked over at the ashen face of his son, whod come so close to death. The Duke nodded finally. There are many ways to extend your life, Fredo. There is the Philosphers Stone which is very difficult to make and Horcruxes which I will never teach you about, no matter what the debt, but your request is very specific. Answer me this, is your desire for revenge or to preserve your home and your family? The Duke studied Fredos face. The young man was serious and committed to his family. I want to protect the legacy of the Fitzgeralds, tio. Fredo finally said. Then there is a way to bind your fate to that of the land. It is not easy, nor will it be pleasant. I beg of you, Fredo, reconsider your decision. Once you go down this path, the goodness in you will rot away. You will not be the man you want to be. You will be something else entirely. The Duke had grasped Fredos sleeve, panic in the old mans eyes. I know what I must do, tio. I dont care what the consequences are. Help me protect Castle Kilkea. The Dukes shoulders sank as the old man admitted defeat. Fredo had just committed his core self to a horrid task, all for sake of saving his family legacy in Ireland.

*** The final scene was an older Duke, lying on his death bed, his son, Rosario, much older, seated beside him. Fredo was no where to be seen. Rosario, you must promise me one thing. You must bind the family to the service of Fredo. You must only serve him and him alone. We are bound to him, whatever he wishes us to do. Rosario nodded, confused. I dont understand, father. Fredo has been a good man. He is a mighty warrior and alchemist. He has fought with the Knights of Rhodes and had his lands returned to him by King Edward. He is married and is well known. Why do you say this like we have been cursed? He is cursed, by my hand, Rosario. We are bound to him until that curse is lifted. Then the curse dies with him, father, so does our bond. With great effort, the Duke shook his head. No, he cannot die. That is his curse, and ours. Until it is lifted, the name of Ameche will have its fate tied to Fredos. I have prayed for his soul, but it is too late. He has become the demon we all feared and it is all because of me. Many innocents will suffer, but we must serve and we will. Can you do that, Rosario? Yes, father. Good boy. Then, the Duke of Mantua died. *** Harry released the grip of his spell. He saw the guilt and fear in Ameches eyes as the man realized that Harry now knew why Fredo had been so important to the old don. Harry turned to Mortimer. Take him away. Lock him up somewhere secure. Weve got to go. I know where Fredo is. Harry turned and started making for the door. Harry? Sean looked at his leader and saw the grimness on Harrys face. What is it? Where are we going? Harry paused and looked one last time at the stricken face on Ameche. With a shake of his head, Harry turned to Sean. Were going to Ireland and weve got to go now. I only hope Harry couldnt finish the statement. What? Sean was alarmed by Harrys demeanor. I only hope he hasnt killed Rose yet. Harry turned and ran from the room. Chapter 263 Caught Between Worlds Gerald Fitzgerald had gone by the name Fredo for so long that he sometimes forgot who he was, but when he wandered Castle Kilkea, the memories flooded back. He hadnt grown up here, not much, th anyway. He was the half-brother of the 10 Earl of Kildare when the Kings Executioners had come for his extended family. Always the bookworm and scholar, Gerald had been away at boarding school when his uncles and his brothers had been spirited away and summarily beheaded, leaving Gerald, if not by decree,

but by blood, the 11 Earl. The world as it was taught Gerald a painful lesson at a very young age. The castle had been his familys legacy and ostensibly, the source of magic for the generations that had been so gifted. The swirl of life on the run hardened young Gerald as h e sought to escape his familys fate. Hed been protected, true, but the mantle of responsibility of preserving the line had weighed heavily on him. That was why he swore at such a young age to take the steps that led him to being here, at this particular time and place. He couldnt have known about the woman who would become his wife or about the son, Henry, she would bear him. In his darkest hours, he had taken a drastic course of action and now, over the centuries, he was paying for it. Gerald had become a shade, not really a ghost and not really alive. He was corporeal enough. He could taste and touch and feel, but he wasnt alive. In reality, what hed become was very much like the Horcruxes hed read about in the vast magical section of the Vat ican library, but first, he had to skirt the edge of deaths embrace. So, hed lived a full life, fighting for honor, raising a family, pursuing his study of alchemy, but the price of his earlier decision came due. On his deathbed, his body gave up its mortal coil and he was laid to rest in the family crypt on a rainy, Sunday afternoon. That night, Charon, deaths toll collector, appeared in the crypt. He passed his scythe over his body, transforming it back to the figure of a hale man and reinserting his soul back into its earthly vessel. Gerald took a deep breath and rose, astounded at his condition. He turned and faced the bald, older man. Charon nodded, his eyes sad and his expression sorrowful. You have chosen the way of the shade, Gerald Fitzgerald. You are bound to your oath. For a moment, Geralds eyes wandered to the castle in the distance, but the thin boatman of the River Styx shook his head. Your bargain was to ensure that your lands remained with your line. You may not interact with your family, as they preserve the line. So, why am I here? If my line is preserved, I dont need to exist like this. Send me on, Im ready. Gerald said profoundly. That is not your bargain, you must pay your debt. You will feel compelled by th e hunger to repay your debt. You must collect souls of the living, one per week, in order to satisfy your debt. Every seven years, bring those collected souls here, to me. Again, the old man seemed almost reluctant to play the middleman. And if I refuse? Charon didnt say a word. Instead, he waved his scythe over Gerald. Instantly, he felt his extremities on fire, burning without charring and the pain washed through his body. The torment was unbearable and he screamed, but no sound came forth. As soon as it appeared, the pain went away. That will be your fate, for all eternity. Your oath is inviolable. It is the price of your bargain. But I was young when I made that oath. I didnt know things would turn out this way. His voice came out as a whine and Charon smiled, sympathetically. We sometimes pay for our youthful impetuosity. It was as if the toll man was pointing to himself. Charon turned to leave and then stopped at the entrance to the crypt. Do not worry, it will get easie r, over time. The old man hadnt been entirely right, but the notion of living forever made time a very different thing. The first century, or so, had been difficult. The specter of watching his wife die and his son live and die brought a pain that rivaled the furnace. He tried to succor his debt by preying on the souls of the wicked,

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but soon found that they drew a heftier price. The souls he absorbed left a piece of themselves with him. If they were amoral, he would spend a time as an amoral creature. Every seven years, he would ride a white charger with silver tipped shoes to this family crypt. Ghost stories abounded about his return as the Wizard Earl, but he was neither a ghost, nor an Earl. He was a shade, the living incarnation of regret and guilt, doomed to feed on souls for all time. That was, until he met Rose Weasley. Her prophecy had made him feel hope. What was it about the veil that could help him? As a man, hed amassed a considerable magical library, including items of the darkest magic. Despite the volume of material, there was rather very little about the veil itself and most of that was pure speculation. In some ways, it was very much like the thestrals, in that, it was tied to death itself. Maybe, it would allow him to be released from his bond? His gaze turned to Rose, whose eyes were still tightly closed. She d been encased in a cocoon of amber that ran from her ankles to her neck. Hed placed her in a state of suspended animation. He was a dark creature, but not a monster, after all. The hunger was driving him to distraction. All he need do was to tap into the soul of a vibrant young child, like Rose and hed be set, at least for a week. He shook himself out of his stupor and tossed open the window. Maybe he could find someone to feed on before morning. *** They came in with the dawn, over the whitecaps of the Irish Sea. Draco Malfoy had loaned them passage across on the Aurora, one of his new cutters, now captained by Muireall Innes. Harry led the way, his head leaning over the gnarled wooden handle of his broom as Seans team followed closely behind. The cold salt spray cascaded into their faces as they hugged close to the water top. Ahead, the small harbor and mist shrouded castle loomed in the early morning light. Harry waved to the Aurors as they made their manic approach. They cut across the face of a high bluff and then swooped upward, over the castle walls and landed in the well kept keep. Quickly, they stowed their brooms and Harry pointed to four doors. Spread out, two by two. Signal if you make contact, do not try to take this man by yourselves. Three pairs of Aurors made for the doors assigned to them while Harry and Sean took the door leading to the highest tower. Its a museum in here. Sean grumbled and Harry nodded in agreement. All around were display cases and velvet ropes. The castle was a show piece. Harry pointed to a flight of stairs marked off by one of the ropes. Lets try up there. With Sean covering his back, Harry cautiously wound his way up the stairs, his wand drawn, anxiously checking every corner and niche they found. They reached the top and found themselves facing a solid brick wall. Harry started probing the bricks and seams for the trigger that would open the false wall. Theres got to be a catch around here somewhere. Harry said. Sean stared at his boss for a moment and then unceremoniously tugged Harry back by the sleeve of his robe. Sean extended his wand and pointed it at the wall. Redacto! The wall disintegrated into thousands of pieces, revealing the hidden sanctuary inside. Sean shrugged his shoulders. I think I found a way in. Harry chuckled and stepped inside the opulently appointed room. They rapidly checked it for any sign of Rose and then Harry nodded to the iron staircase in the center of the room. Up there.

They took each step slowly, wands drawn, looking for any sign of Rose or of Fredo. They reached the door at the top of the tower and found themselves on the roof. This isnt right. Theres got to be another room, something we missed. Harry said. Harry and Sean made their way down the steps. Half way to the floor below, Sean stopped and studied a seam in the railing carefully. Theres a notch here. It looks like it was separated or something. Harry nodded and pulled Sean back towards the top of the stairs. Revelo! The spell was designed to display a hidden room. Sure enough, the stairs separated and the ceiling moved upward, revealing another, smaller hidden room. Harry gasped as he saw the tuft of brambly brown hair of the girl lying on the bed. He ran to her. Rose? Rose! Harry, is she Sean muttered. Harry laid his hand under her nose. No. Harry sighed with relief. Shes still breathing. Then Harry took in the translucent shell covering her body. What is that? Sean asked. Harry shrugged his shoulders and then stood beside the bed, aiming his wand at the hardened mass that encased her body. Finite. Nothing happened the mass didnt dissipate. Harry looked at Sean. Sean looked at the globular shell. Maybe we can cut it or blast it off? Harry shrugged and pointed his wand at the shell. He murmured and his wand broke into a finger of flame and energy with a familiar snap/hiss. Perhaps the American magic would cut through. A voice interrupted his thoughts. I wouldnt do that, if I were you. Harry whipped around and saw Gerald standing outside the large double window. Not unless you intend to kill her. What have you done to her? Get that thing off of her. Harry held his wand steady, pointing at Gerald. The amazing thing was that the man was standing outside the window, but there was no balcony to be seen. He was floating in the air outside the castle wall. As if taking a leisurely stroll, Gerald walked into the room and settled his feet to the floor. Shes safe, for now, but every minute we talk, that casing constricts, squeezing the life from her body. Ive put her asleep, so she wont suffer, but let me be very clear, she will die unless you do exactly what I say. His voice was tense, and cold. Let her go, now. Harry responded. I know what you are. You do? Please, enlighten me, Mr. Potter. Gerald seemed bemused, but impatient. Youre the Earl of Kildare. I read Ameches memories. Gerald shook his head and smiled. You know who I am, but you dont know what I am. Poor Ameche, Im sure his ancestor, the Duke, probably imbedded those memories so that they could passed on generation to generation. The Ameches have proven quite useful through the years. He became almost wistful and then he pointed his gaze back at Harry. Ameche had nothing to do with this. He had no idea

what I was doing. So I gathered. Geralds shoulders sagged in relief, but Harry hadnt finished. Thats why were only charging him with attempted kidnapping. Geralds face grew dark and for a brief instant, his hand hovered over his wand, but he stopped. I think youre missing the big picture here, Mr. Potter, or do you wish for Ms. Weasley to die? Harry snapped back to reality. What do you want? Thats easy enough. I want safe passage to the Ministry of Magic. Gerald said, nonchalantly. Why do you want to go there? Sean asked. I suppose I can tell you. I want to go to the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries. I want to go through the veil. Its the only way to secure my freedom and hers. He pointed at Rose, who groaned soundlessly as her prison squeezed her torso. Make up your mind, Mr. Potter, its a very simple request. Harry stared back at the still form of Rose and then back at Gerald. Let her go and Ill take you, you have my word. That means precisely nothing to me, Mr. Potter. I may have born at night, but not last night. You will take me to the veil, or she dies. Whats it going to be? Harry sheathed his wand and turned to Sean who nodded. All right, Gerald. Well take you there, but you had better be as good as your word, or there will no place on this world or any other where you can hide from me. Considering your history, Mr. Potter, I believe you. We can use the floo downstairs. He waved his hand towards the landing. I see youve made me a permanent doorway. Harry reached down and grasped Rose in his arms, toting her down the stairs. As he passed Gerald, the shade smiled once more. By the way, Mr. Potter, I intend to go through the veil. Believe me, its whats best for all of us, but Im not sure if I can perform the counter charm from the other side. Harry stopped and stared at him. Are you breaking your deal? Im breaking a deal, but not this one. No, Im not breaking our deal. What did you mean then? Harry asked. Gerald sighed. It means that I will tell someone the counter charm once I am through the veil. How do you propose to do that? Harry asked warily, but somehow aware of what the answer was. Youll have to go through the veil with me, of course. Gerald started down the stairs, heading for the room with the floo. Chapter 264 Faith Shed come to work, but her mind was clearly not in it. Hermione Weasley stared idly at the sheaf of parchment containing a report on some mundane aspect of the law that sat on her desk. Her mind

continued to wander to thoughts of Rose and where her missing daughter might be. Shed been in the Ministry when first Michelson and then Ameche were toted into the holding area and had watched Williamson and Mortimer conduct their interrogations. Michelson had been an idiot, that was for sure, grasping on to the possibility that some sort of get rich quick scheme could be had by exploiting her daughter. Ameche was entirely different. Shes read the report about his familial affiliation with this Gerald character. The implications were much more foreboding. Ever the scholar and intellectual, Hermione had plunged into her library to research the path that the teen Gerald had chosen. Shade magic was among the darkest of the dark, more insidious in some ways than Horcruxes. With Horcruxes, the wielder, like the Dark Lord, imparted some part of his own being into an object at the cost of the life of an innocent. With shades, the essence of the VICTIM was collected by the shade and used to sustain the existence of the wielder. On a broad, objective level, she could understand some of the reasons that Gerald chose that path, but deep down, the shock and the revulsion she felt at his decision cut to the core of her own morality. Hermione leaned back in her chair and chewed absently on the end of her pencil. By design, she was a rational, logical witch. That was the hallmark of her success and, paradoxically, her greatest weakness. It had been her strict adherence to The Book that had been the seed of her disagreement with Harry. She smiled, despite her grief, because Ron would often comment on the incongruity of her skepticism, given the fact that she was a fine practitioner of the magical arts, hardly a person given to incredulity. That had all changed in an instant, when Rose had been taken. Passion and emotion fed her psyche by highlighting the omnipresent need to recover Rose, no matter what the cost. In some ways, she finally understood what made Harry tick. Shed had clues, of course. Back when they were students and were going through their battle with the Dark Lord, Hermione had thought that she had a clear understanding of why Harry was the way he was. At first, shed thought hed been reacting solely on instinct, reacting to the environment of anxiety and terror that being the object of hate of one of historys darkest mages. As theyd gone on the offensive, actively resisting Voldemort, Harry had been so one dimensional, so focused on the task that hed discarded everything he cared about to fulfill that goal, including Ginny, including his own life. At the time and even recently, Hermione had been convinced that Harry had done so solely out of desperation, but reflecting back, that had not been the case. Harry was impulsive and he did rely on his instincts, but desperation hadnt been what drove him. After the events of the past couple of days, she finally was able to pinpoint the reason. Harry acted out of love. It was simple as that. Hed been saved from the Dark Lords first attempt at murdering him by his mothers love. He fought to preserve the love for his parents and their sacrifice. He offered up his life at the end out love for his friends and Dumbledore. Harry had not lost that capacity to do whatever it took to preserve those he loved. Now, Hermione, seeing what had happened to Rose, understood the depth of the love that it took to be totally committed to defeating an enemy. She sat up straight in her chair. She loved Rose and Hugo and Ron so much that she would do anything to protect them. There simply was no rational argument, no rules to follow except that. This flash of understanding surprised her. She made a mental note to discuss this with Harry, when this was all over. Her thoughts were interrupted when Ron ran into her office. You need to come with me, now! He was terse, but there was a hint of panic in his eyes. Is it Rose? Has Harry found her? She asked pleadingly. Ron nodded his head. Yes, but He almost broke down, but his inner discipline held him to gether. But theres a problem. His tone and his urgency made her leap from her desk and run out the door behind him.

*** When Hermione exited the lift to the Atrium, a large crowd of functionaries and Aurors surrounded an area near the reception desk. John Dawlish stood at the periphery of the crowd and Hermione ran up to join him. She looked over and saw the man theyd identified as Gerald Fitzgerald standing with Harry, while Sean Manchester stood with the amber-encased Rose in his arms. Hermione bulled her way through the cordon of Hit Team members and ran to her daughters side. Rose! She looked up frantically at Harry. She saw the grim determination in his eyes masking a bit of fear and reserve. Harry! Whats going on? Whats wrong with her? Shes alive, Hermione. Everything is going to be fine. We just have one final detail to attend to. Harry said cautiously. Gerald took in the tableau. Her mother is here, Potter, were wasting time. Apparently time is something you dont have to worry about. Harry snapped back, but nodded to Sean while the Hit Team cleared a path to a set of stairs near the side. Hermione left Roses side and grabbed Harrys arm. What is going on, Harry? They walked together towards the stairs. Apparently his study of alchemy has allowed him to transmute the air molecules around her body into an amber cocoon. Hes constricting it slowly, unless we do what he wants. What is it that he wants? Hermione asked. He wants to go through the veil. Hermione stopped short. Shed never believed in the veil. Thered been great arguments as to its true nature. When theyd fought the battle in the Department of Mysteries, Harry and Luna had heard voices on the other side of the rough hewn stone arch, while Ron had been afraid of the veil, but Hermione had seen, nor heard anything. It wasnt that she didnt believe in an afterlife, it was simply a case that she didnt believe that the veil was some sort of portal to that plane of existence. Consequently, all shed ever seen was the stone. She hadnt even seen the tattered black drapes that had been described to her. Still, if Gerald wanted to go through the veil, why didnt he simply release her daughter and have at it. There was something missing. What arent you telling me, Harry? Harry smiled, as he continued walking. It never ceased to amaze him how perceptive and sharp a mind Hermione had. Hed stopped, long ago, trying to provide her incomplete information. The thing is, he wont tell us the counter charm unless someone goes through with him. Harry said and then started down the stairs. Hermione felt a jab of fear rattle through her body. You? He wants you to go through the veil? She ran to keep up with him. You cant do that, Harry. Everything Ive read about the veil is that its a one way trip. Theres no return. He nodded and walked into the level that contained the Department of Mysteries. They continued on and entered the Death Chamber. The room was vastly large, like an old-style muggle planetarium with darkened, cool stone walls and a rounded dome-like roof. The arch stood in the middle of the room, perched atop a series of tiered rock terraces. Harry felt his pulse quicken as he studied the arch. He saw clearly, the shredded fabric of the veil. At first, it hung limply, but then the bottom hem started rustling,

like a window had been opened on the other side. Harry heard a murmur of voices in his head that emanated from the veil. Gerald climbed the risers and stood one section down, beneath the veil, where he stood and stared. The room began to fill with onlookers and Sean gently placed Rose down on the floor, beneath where Harry and Gerald stood. Hermione ran and stood with them, her face on Harrys. Stop this Harry! She stood in front of Gerald. You got what you wanted, let Rose go. You have my word, no one will stop you. Gerald looked at her with a sorrowful expression. The bits of humanity that remained inside him acknowledged her pleas, but he shook his head nonetheless. There was a buzz of activity behind them and a voice that Harry would recognize, even in the afterlife, shouted up to him. Harry! Ginny ran up towards him, followed closely by Ron. Albus, James, Lily and Hugo were there as well, in the care of Arthur and Molly. What are you doing? His voice sounded stronger than he felt. He wont let Rose go unless I follow him into the veil. Ginnys throat contracted in horror. But, you cant. Youll die. There it wa s, the heart of the matter. Harry nodded and grabbed Ginnys hand. If I dont, then Rose will die. Just like Harry, Ginny thought, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to save his family. Wait a minute, mate! This isnt your task. If anyone is going to die for Rose, its me. Ron walked forward and poked his finger in Geralds chest. You want someone to go in there with you, take me. Leave Harry out of this. Gerald barely moved. He looked at Ron, and shook his head. It wont work. Nei ther you, nor your wife truly believe in the veil. Only Potter understands. Rons voice choked, becoming almost pleading. I believe. I can see the shroud. I can go with you. Take me, not Harry. Ron. Harrys voice was quiet, almost weak. It has to be me. Ginny cried out. Why, Harry? Why you? Harrys eyes locked with Gerald and then roamed up to the arch. Its not a question of belief, but of faith. I have faith that the veil is a portal to the afterlife. I KNOW that Ill see my pare nts and Sirius and everyone else weve lost when I go to the other side. Harry waved to Hermione and Ron. Its not an intellectual certainty and simply believing for the sake of believing is not enough. I hear the voices. I have faith, so it has to be me. Gerald turned and nodded to Harry. Mr. Potter is correct. Even now, he is the only other person in this room who sees and hears what I do. He turned his gaze on Ron and Hermione, who were holding each other tightly. I will release your daughter, as soon as Mr. Potter walk through the veil. He turned and walked up to the level of the arch and stood just outside its feathery touch. Harry turned and pulled Ginny to him. I love you, Ginny. I always have. My life was made whole by being wit h you. Were an eternal circle. We WILL be together again.

Ginny couldnt speak. The corners of her eyes watered and she reached up and kissed him fully. They held each other tightly and then separated. Harry looked over at his children and smiled. James stood still, his jaw set tightly while Albus and Lily openly wept. Harry turned and joined Gerald on the dais. So, how does this work? Harry asked flippantly. Gerald actually chuckled. Well walk through together. Harry nodded and held h is breath. They hesitated and then started for the arch. Harry reached out and touched the shroud covering the opening and a sudden flare of bright white light exploded through his vision. He reeled back and then refocused. He was no longer in the Death Chamber. He was somewhere else. He was in a room. Gerald stood next to him, perplexed. Finally, he murmured. Where are we? Harry looked around. The room looked very familiar. He recognized its contours and especially the family tree tapestry on the wall. They were at 12 Grimmauld Place, only the way it was over a dozen years ago and then again it wasnt. The walls were bright and white and the faces and names on the tapestry that had been burned off were whole. Harrys mind immediately raced back to his experience with Dumbledores specter and the ephemeral Kings Cross Station. Its my mothers place, but I donated it to the Order as their headquarters. Harry whipped his head around. Standing in the doorway, leaning up against the jamb was a very healthy and smiling Sirius Black. He smiled at Harry with the same mischievous smirk that Harry remembered. Sirius eyed his godson, ignoring the obviously perplexed and confused Gerald Fitzgerald. Instead, a ready gleam of amusement and humor came over Sirius face. Harry, my boy, youre going to have to learn to look before you leap. Harry overcame his shock. What do you mean? Sirius face became somber. You seem to have a nasty habit of going places you ought not go. Still, it is good to see you. Sirius strode up and put his arm around Harry. Now, tell me, what the blazes are you doing here? Its a long story. Harry murmured. Believe me, Harry, we have nothing but time. Sirius eyes grew sad. In fact, if were not careful, well have eternity. Chapter 265 Standing on the Precipice Sirius never seemed to lose his devil-may-care smirk throughout Harrys retelling of how hed arrived there. Gerald paced about the room in obvious anxiety, but seemed unable or unwilling to leave the long lost godfather and godson. So, I woke up and here I am. Harry finally concluded. I dont know where here is, precisely, Sirius. Am I dead? Sirius eyebrows arched in contemplation, That, Harry my boy, is an immensely prof ound metaphysical question. Perhaps we can answer it this way. Did you actually step through the arch? Harry shrugged his shoulders. I intended to, but I dont actually remember stepping through it.

Sirius turned his gaze to Gerald, the question repeated silently. Gerald looked perplexed and finally he hunched his shoulders. I dont know, either. Sirius clapped his hands together. There, you see, we have a mystery to contemplate. Theres only one way to really get to the heart of things. Im famished, anyone want something to eat? The surprised look on Harrys face made Sirius chuckle. Alive or dead, we still get hungry. Come on, then. They walked down the long passageway that led to the kitchen. Gone was the nefarious portrait of his mother, and Sirius didnt deign to offer an explanation. Instead, he called out as he swung the kitchen door open. Nymphadora, we have dinner guests. Stop calling me Nymphadora, Sirius. The familiar voice struck Harry. Tonks was working behind the stove, while Remus sat at the table, chopping vegetables for a salad. Tonks smiled at Harry, positively beaming, with a certain hint of sadness behind the eyes. Wotcher, Harry. Sirius held up a hand. Now, Tonks, we dont know if Harrys dead ye t, so no need for maudlin misgivings. Thats a good thing, Sirius, still, this is a puzzle, isnt it? Lupin smiled over at Harry. Dont worry, Harry, we arent omniscient, but we are connected. I know everything that you told Sirius. This is all pleasant, but how do I get back? Ive got to save Rose. Harry grumbled and then stared over at Gerald. What is the counter charm, anyway? Gerald fidgeted uncomfortably and Remus, surprisingly, laughed out loud. Youre asking the wrong question, Harry. What you should have asked him was how did he expect you get back, once he gave you the counter charm? Gerald froze at the question and Remus nodded enthusiastically. Im willing to bet that the charm he struck little Rose with disappeared when he did. So, why did you need to bring Harry with you? The tall Earl of Kildare unconsciously adjusted the collar of his tunic. Well, I needed one more soul to feed the hunger. Sirius flashed a momentary streak of anger. So why not bring them the m ost eventful soul you could find, eh? Now Sirius, theres time enough for this later. Lets eat. Remus stood and began laying out dishes. Besides, the others are on their way. He added, cryptically. *** Ron! Hermiones voice echoed in the Death Chamber and Ron turned quickly from the scene at the center of the room. His wife was crouched over their daughter and Ron ran to them as fast as his long legs could carry him. He knelt down, despite the sinking feeling that he would find a lifeless figure, but to his astonishment, the amber cocoon was gone and he was looking into the lovely brown eyes of his daughter, Rose. Hermione stretched her arms out and gathered Rose to her, lifting her daughter from the stone floor. Are you all right, honey? Rose smiled and returned the embrace. Im fine, Mommy. Whats happened? Is the bad man gone?

Hermione looked back at Ron who stood, looking visibly relieved. Ron walked back towards the center of the room. Gerald and Harrys bodies were lying just outside the arch, but the thin, whispery tendrils of the veil were wrapped tightly around their legs and bodies, like funeral shrouds. Ron reached a hand out towards Harrys, thinking to pull his friend back from the abyss. Just before his hand reached Harrys palm, a shot of black lightning issued from the top of the arch, knocking Ron backwards. Sean Manchester helped Ron up. Are you okay? Ron nodded and stood up. He looked over at Harry. Weve got to let this play out, I guess. Ron wa lked back to his family, never taking his eyes off Harry. *** Harry! There you are. Harry couldnt speak as his mother smothered him in an embrace hed waited a lifetime to feel. It was different than before, when hed seen their ethereal images dur ing the Battle of Hogwarts. He could feel the warmth of her body as her rich auburn tresses cascaded around him. Good Heavens, Lily, let the boy breath. His fathers voice echoed in a mixture of pride and merriment and Harry could feel the tears welling his eyes. Lily stepped back and James came forward and wrapped his arm around his wife. Lily slapped James playfully on the chest. Hes hardly a boy now, James. Harry studied his fathers face and smiled. Harry was now older than James was wh en Voldemort had killed him. Harrys father was forever locked at the age of death. Still, Harry couldnt shake the depth of warmth he felt from being with them. His gaze turned to a very confused Gerald. This is all very strange. Harry said. Are we dead? Why isnt any of Geralds family here? Remus nodded thoughtfully. Well, we could all be figments of your imagination. Maybe were all in your mind? Harry shook his head vociferously. Wheres Dumbledore? What do you mean, dear? Lily asked. Ive been in a limbo where it was part of my head. Dumbledore was there. Where is he? Harry asked, an edge to his voice. Sirius nodded gravely. We knew Albus had been killed, and by whom and why. Poor, dear Severus. Lily exclaimed. We were wrong on that one, thats for sure. James remarked remorsefully. He turned out to be the best of us all. Remus spoke up. But thats the point, weve seen neither Severus or Dumbledore since weve been here. Remus looked directly at Harry. And you know why, Harry.

Harry thought and then understanding dawned on him. The portraits, Remus smiled enthusiastically. They both have portraits at Hogwarts. They must exist in their own version of this place INSIDE their portraits. Very good, darling, you are an extraordinary wizard. Lily beamed in delight, but Harry was more pensive. Then this cant be happening in my mind. Ive got to be here, but still, I feel Disconnected? Sirius asked. Harry nodded his head. I feel like Im here and somewhere else. Is that what you all feel? No, Harry. We are here altogether, both body and soul. Harry nodded. Maybe he hadnt crossed the veil, just yet. Sirius held his nose high. Mmmmm, that smells wonderful, Nymphadora. I say its time to eat, then, well see if we cant figure out Harrys dilemma. Sirius turned just in time to receive a bowl full of whipped cream in the face. Dont call me Nymphadora! *** The meal was a rambunctious affair, with the three of the original four Marauders falling into their familiar pattern of hijinks that Harry had only read about. They took turns swapping stories and enjoying the general revelry, everyone in a high mood. Lilys eyes never left her son and she plied him with questions about Ginny and James and Albus and her namesake. His mother glowed with happiness but Harry could see the traces of sadness, of wanting to be a part of that world. Im glad Molly is there, I know shes giving them the love they need from a grandmother. Lily finally declared. Sirius was finishing up a story about their fifth year and Harrys ears perked up. Wormtail was so afraid of the water, youd have thought the Great Squid had landed on his bed. The three friends shared a chuckle, but Harry noticed the edge when Peter Pettigrews name was mentioned. I know this doesnt mean much, but Wormtail saved my life, in the end. Harry said mutedly. Sirius eyes flashed in anger while Remus simply nodded, but the most surprising response came his father. Peter was weak, he always was. He latched onto us because he had no other place to go. James seemed bitter, but sad. I thought we could trust him. Saving you was the least he could do. I have no doubt that he took our wands, left us defenseless. He owed you a life, Harry. He doesnt deserve to be here. The mood was definitely more sober and finally Remus stood. Well, I think its high time we try to find Harry some answers. Lets go. Where are we going, Remus? Harry asked. Harry, for the most part, everything in this world is familiar, driven by what we found to be most pleasant while we,er, lived, but there is a central consciousness, an elemental force that pulls us all together. Were going to the source. Remus led Harry and Gerald towards the front door. Sometimes, all you need to do to get answers, is to change your perspective.

Remus pulled open the door and Harry followed him out and found himself standing on the landing dock he remembered from the first day of his arrival at Hogwarts. The castle stood off in the distance across the Great Lake. Harry looked behind him and the door to Grimmauld Place was gone. They were all standing, looking at the school. This is the central binding force? Gerald asked. It was for all of us. It was the beginning of our lives together, the center of our universe. Remus said and pointed out towards the castle. A massive shaft of light encased the entire length of Gryffindor Tower. Im sure if you were alone, Mr. Fitzgerald, youre perspective would be different, but for all of us, the world began when we arrived at Hogwarts. How do we get across the Lake? Harry wondered aloud. Sirius laughed. By boat, silly. He pointed out to the center of the lake. A large , wooden boat was approaching, looking nothing like the little ones that had transported him on his first day. The boats prow touched gently on the shore and a large ramp fell from the front of the boat. A hooded figure stood at the top of the ramp and walked down easily to the shore. The man pulled the hood down, revealing a familiar figure to Harry. Gerald was the first to speak. Charon! Deaths toll man smiled and nodded and then flashed a scowl at Gerald. You should not be here, Earl Fitzgerald. You seek to cheat your price? Gerald seemed panicked. No, I mean yes, I mean, the girl, the seer, she told me my destiny was through the veil. Charon seemed perplexed. This is very unusual, but these are answers far beyond my pay grade. You have to take them to the Source. Sirius spoke out. This has to be sorted out. If Harry doesnt belong here, then he has to go back. This other one, I dont care what happens to him. Charon eyed Gerald and Harry closely and then gestured to the wai ting boat. I will take you across, but they cannot come. He pointed to Harrys waiting family. Harry nodded and walked to the group. He hugged Remus and Tonks, telling them that Teddy had turned out to be a fine young man. Tonks had tears in her eyes. Then he turned to Sirius. Ill miss you, Sirius. The older man smiled. Harry, if youve learned anything, youve learned that death isnt the end. Well be together soon enough. Harry approached his parents. Lily had already started the heavy flow of tears. James spoke while she put herself back together. Im proud of you Harry. We never meant to have you bear your burden alone, but were glad you were able to come through it. I was never alone, Dad. James nodded and hugged his son. Lily reached out and pulled Harry tightly to her chest, stroking the back of his neck with her hand. She drew back and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a warm spot.

Take care of our family, Harry. I love you very much and I know youre doing a fine job as a dad. Harry nodded. I know you love me, Mom, Ive always known. Thats why Im still here. Harry hugged his mother once more and then turned with a wave. He proceeded up the ramp and joined Gerald in the middle of the boat. The ramp creaked upward and closed while Charon manned the tiller. What happens now? Harry asked, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. The bald boatman shrugged his shoulders. I dont know. Youre standing on the edge of oblivion, Mr. Potter. Youre either dead or not, but weve never had a case like this. Its up to others to decide whether you live or die. Im just the messenger. Harry nodded and faced forward, hoping upon hope that the message was one he wanted to get. Chapter 266 Eye of the Beholder The boat made a soft landing on the shore of the great lawn in front of Hogwarts castle. The ancient ramp creaked downward and Harry and Gerald proceeded downward, following close behind Charon. The old boatman stopped abruptly and wheeled about to face them. I must seek advice as to how to proceed. Stay here, and do not enter the castle. He said bluntly. Gerald seemed exasperated and he tossed up his hands. None of this is familiar to me. This is his reality, not mine. He tilted his head towards Harry. What am I to do? Charons eyes grew cross. You brought him here, under duress, if I recall. If you have not seen what you thought you might see, that is your problem, not mine, nor his. You lie in the bed you made, my lord. Somewhat chagrined, Gerald felt a sense of loss. Hed been a witness to Harrys experiences, but had yet to hear or see anything relevant to him. He watched Charon turn and leave, and then enter the massive gates of the castle. Then he looked over at Harry, who was staring off in the distance. What now? Gerald asked calmly. Hagrids house isnt here. I wonder if thats because he isnt dead? Harry hadnt seemed to notice the exchange between Gerald and Charon. Instead, he was staring over at the Quidditich Stadium in the distance. The stands seemed full and a match was taking place. He could just make out the whirring figures on brooms. Harry smiled. I guess we can take in a match. Without waiting for Gerald, he started walking down the path towards the stadium. Gerald had no difficulty keeping up with Harry. The two men avoided talking to each other as Harry quickened the pace. The roars of the crowd grew louder and finally became deafening as Harry gained the main entrance. He proceeded up the sloped floor onto the first tier of seats. Before he headed up the queue, he stopped in his tracks, fixated on the players above. The teams wore a myriad of uniforms, some from the house teams of Hogwarts, and some from the various clubs from around the world and reflected various points in time. They moved at impossible speeds and with wild abandon. Harry felt his chest tighten as he began to recognize individuals. One in particular stood out. He was wielding a large, silver bludger while directing his team towards the opposite goal. The man was tall, with a bright, scarlet shock of hair and a winsome, winning grin on his face as he smacked the bludger towards the one of the opposing teams chasers. Of course, Harry thought, he had to be here and he had to be doing something like this.

A small, exuberant voice broke his reverie, and hit him like a bucket of ice cold water in the face. Between seeing what he was seeing above the pitch, and now hearing the voice, his senses were overloading. What else explained what he was seeing? After all, the man up in the clouds was Fred is doing remarkably well, isnt he, Harry? Colin Creevey looked the same as he remembered, with his loose fitting uniform and second-hand camera strapped around his neck. The grinning boy brought the camera up to his face and snapped a shot of Fred Weasley urging his side on. Its good to see you, Colin. Harrys voice was hoarse, as if he were trying to choke back a well of emotion. Colins eyes twinkled in merriment. Isnt this grand? If this isnt heaven, I dont know what is. Harry took in the spectacle. There was a gentle, pressing breeze that snapped the banners and flags out on their poles. The crisp play above and the enthusiasm of the crowd made Harry nod his head and smile. He put his hands on his hips and agreed. This is heaven, if Ive ever seen it. What is all this? Harry asked. Well, the stadium wasnt here when we got here, after, well, you know. Harry did know, the deaths at the Battle of Hogwarts remained firmly implanted in his mind. Sometimes, in the darkest hours of night, when his mental barriers were lowered, he would dream of them, and wrestle with the eternal guilt he felt. Many of those faces were here, happy and cheering. Colin continued. So, Fred decided that the afterlife needed some spicing up. He didnt think that gags would be appreciated, especially considering that most of us could figure out what he was doing. There are some advantages to being dead, you know. Colin giggled with no sign of regret or recrimination. Fred figured the next best thing would be to hold a Quidditch match. He went about building this pitch, just like it was at school. A Quidditch match? Harry asked. Well, not one match, but a place to hold them every day and run them perpetually. I told him he was being silly, after all, what eternal soul would want to waste their forever watching Quidditch? You know what he said? Colin winked conspiratorially. Harry shook his head. What did he say? If you build it, they will come. He was right. He built it and now they come, from all over. It seems that Quidditch is an older game than we thought. People from all times are here, either to watch or to play. The just appear right out of the Forbidden Forest and go at it. Fred is the coordinator. He picks sides, he lays out the rules and sometimes, he plays. Just like now. The glanced up in time to see Fred smack the bludger. The heavy ball careened through the sky and struck the Seeker from the other side. The Seeker had been even with Freds Seeker, going after the Snitch. The opening allowed Freds Seeker to grasp the Snitch, the match was over, much to the delight of the crowd. Fred soared to the middle of the pitch and accepted the congratulations of his team. The crowd clapped furiously, and the roar rippled through the air. Fred drew his wand and held it to his throat. The next match will begin after the sides are chosen. Remember, this is a Weasleys Wizard Wheezes production. Make sure you stop by the gift shop! Fred smiled and shook some more hands.

Colin shook his head. I dont know why he keeps saying that. We dont have money here, but he insists on treating it like a business. Hes keeping the memory of his brother alive. Weasleys Wheezes was their connection. Harry shook his head. Even in death, the twins were so much alike. George had grown and built WWW in the real world as a testament to Freds memory and Fred had done the same in the afterlife. Fred smiled and swooped down to where they stood. Harry! Here for a visit, are you? George dismounted from his broom and braced Harry in a ferocious bear hug. I dont know, Fred. This might turn into a permanent vacation. Harry said seriously. Oh come on, youre Harry Potter! You stare death in the face and laugh at it. Now suit up, and we can start the match. I dont know Fred, I mean, are you sure? Fred laughed out loud. Dead or alive, Harry, nothing perks u p the mood like a good round of Quidditch. I mean, what did we live our lives for anyway, if we cant have a little fun? Fred turned to Colin who held a set of leathers on a hanger out to Harry. Now get your duds on, were playing 1567 Chudley Cannons, you know, the ones that were actually kind of good. Harry stared at the uniform. They were his from his days as Gryffindors captain. He shrugged his shoulders and took the uniform from Colin. Why not? *** The match was as well played as any Harry had ever seen or participated in. The Cannons were swarming and efficient and the battle seesawed back and forth, providing an invigorating stimulus to the crowd. In the end, Harry had just managed to secure the Snitch by flying under and through the grandstands. The crowds loud demonstration of their appreciation of his efforts washed over him. Now he sat in a small building that had been erected just outside the pitch. The building was a pub, another one of the improvements Fred had added to the venue. He sat around a table with Gerald, Fred and Colin and reflected on the strangeness of the moment. I have to say, this isnt what I expected. Fred snorted. Well the angels and harps start their concert on cloud nine later this evening. You wont see St. Peter, though, he lost to me at poker and hes ducking out on the wager, the sot. Harry laughed and then his face grew serious. Come on Fred, what is this Source? Is it God? I honestly dont know, Harry. I dont know if this is hea ven or purgatory or even the main hold of some vast cosmic alien space ship. There is something, a will, a force, God? We feel it, we sometimes hear it, but we just dont know. I do know that none of the dead baddies are here. Theres no Bellatrix Lest range or even a Voldemort. So maybe this is heaven and they are in hell. Who knows? Harrys brain tried to put the pieces together. Fred took a long pull on his drink. Tell me about George. This time it was Harrys turn to laugh. Arent you guys all-seeing, all-knowing?

Listen Potter, Im not about to put on some frilly white robe and sit on Georges shoulder for a hundred years playing guardian angel. My skin is too pale to wear white. Fred chortled and called for a refill. Colin spoke up. It doesnt work that way, Harry. There is a distinct barrier between this world and the living world. We get updates when people come through, but we have no connection back there. Harry nodded and started regaling them about events since their, well, deaths. Harry let it all out, thankful for the chance to really get into what he was feeling. All the pain, all the triumphs and all the deaths came out, much like his extended sessions with Alicia. When he was done, he sat silently as Fred and Colin looked at each other in numbed silence. I dont believe it. Fred said soberly, his eyes looking downward. I just cant believe it. Harry nodded in agreement. It hasnt been all bad, Fred, but there have been times. What? Fred looked up at Harry. Oh, not that, Harry, I was just thinking that I cant believe George married Verity. I was sure hed go for Angelica. Colin snickered. You went for Angelica, maybe he thought it would be too weird. Weird? Fred smiled over Colin. At least MY brother didnt marry Cho Chang. Hey, you think I like the fact that my brother is a MAH -SEEVE man machine while Im still a skin and bones teenager? Colin and Fred burst into another round of laughter, while Harry sat in stunned silence. Fred noticed Harrys expression. What is it, Harry? Oh, I forgot, you and Cho had a thing once. Harry shook his head. Thats not it. Im just, well, surprised. Didnt you hear me? Ive done a lot of bad things. Ive gotten a lot of people killed. I got you two killed. Fred looked at Harry and locked eyes. For a moment, the irreverent Fred was gone and a fire of serious intent appeared. Fred placed his mug down and pointed to Harry. You cant be that daft, can you Harry? It looks like it. Colin chimed in. Harry looked bewildered. What do you mean? Fred held up a hand and began rattling points off on his fingers. First, we chose to be there, each and every one of us. Do not presume that you can take away our free will. Youre Harry Potter, not some omnipotent entity. We wanted to be there. Second, YOU didnt kill me, Augustus Rookwood did and he paid the price, so knock that off. Lastly, let me ask you this, did I have an expression on my face? The question shocked Harry. What do you mean? I mean, what did I look like when I died? Fred leaned across the table when he repeated the question. You were smiling. Harry said sheepishly. I was smiling. Do you know WHY I was smiling? Fred asked, smiling to mirror the expr ession Harry remembered from his dead body.

I figured that was just you, how you always were. Harry said, weakly. Fred nodded. Partly, but the main reason was because at the precise time I was killed, Id never been more happy in my entire life. Dont you remember, Harry? We were free, fighting the good fight, all of us, together. You, me, George, Ron, Ginny: we were all there, doing something remarkable. We were a bunch of KIDS fighting the most powerful dark wizard ever and holding him off. Id never felt more alive until then, well, right up to the point I died. Fred couldnt help himself, he started laughing all over. After the laughter died down, Fred looked at Harry once again. Im sure youve been told this over and over again. I know my family, they cant stop talking once they know they are right. The deaths at Hogwarts and after are not about you, Harry. They are part of the chain of life we live. Either you are too morbid to get that or too arrogant. Either way, you are wrong. Stop wallowing in self-pity and stop blaming yourself for how other peoples choices turned out. Most of all, stop ruining my mood, youre being a buzz kill. Harry laughed this time. I guess youre right. Of course Im right. I was the smart twin, remember? Fred laughed once more and clapped Harry on the back. So, tell me about Ron. Dont you want me to tell you about Ginny? Harry asked. After all, I married her. Harry, my boy, youre a good friend and youre like a brother to me, but I dont care if youre here for a moment or for an eternity, I never want to hear about how you snogged with my kid sister, ever. Fred said and Harry smiled. Okay, lets talk about Ron. Youll never believe what happened on his first day of Auror training *** Time really had no meaning there. They talked and talked, going over every event in the intervening dozen years that had been missed. Gradually, Harry felt the weight of guilt hed been carrying starting to lift. If he ever got back, Alicia would definitely have enough material to write a book. But like all good things, even in the afterlife, this too came to an end. The door of the pub whisked open and Charon stood there, his bony hands gripping a staff. He looked about the room and settled his eyes on Harry and Gerald. He walked over and nodded to Colin and Fred. Fred smiled and waved at the old man. You on for tomorrow night? Charon nodded. I dont know why I let you talk me into these things. Were going to play Texas H old em this time, though. Im pretty sure you cheat at draw. Moi? Fred said innocently. Charon actually laughed. Then, he turned and stared down Harry and Gerald. Its time for you to see the Source. The universe hates a mess, and you two are d efinitely out of the ordinary. Charon turned and started for the door, Gerald right behind him. Harry rose and hugged Colin and then hugged Fred. There were no tears, just happiness. Fred rubbed the back of Harrys head, rustling his hair.

Remember what I told you, Harry. Dont live your life in regret, theres no time for that. When you come back, whenever that is, you know you have a Seekers spot. For now, look forward and if you can, make sure George is still using Ron as a test subject. Fred laughed and hugged Harry once more. I will. Harry waved and walked out the front door where Charon and Gerald were waiting. Together, they started up the path towards the school and the bright beam of white light that bathed Gryffindors Tower. Charon pointed to the light. That is where well find the Source. Will we get answers? Harry asked. Charon shrugged his shoulders. Well get a resolution to the problem. Whether that means you get answers, is usually not the same thing. Behind them, the crowd whipped up into a frenzy as the next match began. Chapter 267 The Heart of it All Harry remained silent as they proceeded to the front gates of the massive castle. He and Gerald walked side by side, trailing the old boatman at a slight distance. The difference in this Hogwarts and the one he remembered in the real world was that the walls were smooth and bright, there was a definite sheen to their texture and a brightness all around, even in the corners. The place was familiar, yet distinctly different. Harry toiled in his mind about the obvious differences. First, there were no students. The halls were empty and clean. He half expected to see Minerva McGonagall to be standing at the top of the landing, her arms crossed and disapproving of what he was wearing or doing. But the stern but kindly matron was not there. The top of the landing was empty, save for the warmth of the light cascading down. They made their way to the central atrium and Harry noticed that the Ra venclaws floating staircases were still moving to and fro. Without stopping, Charon led them up the different tiers and landings until he reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. The canvas was blank, another detail of where he was that incongruous to the living world. Harry caught some movement out of the corner of his eyes and he smiled. Looking up, he cupped his hands in front of his mouth. Peeves! Peeves! Sure enough, one of Hogwarts resident ghosts was floating around the top of the staircase. Harrys entreaties didnt seem to have an effect. It looked like Peeves couldnt hear him. Whats wrong with him? Why cant he see me? Harry asked. If he could communicate with Peeves, he could let someone know what was going on. Hes a ghost. Charon shrugged, as if that were explanation enough. I dont understand. Charon sighed. Ghosts are trapped in the living world because of something they did when they were alive. They are supposed to be here, so what you see is the result. He can only see and hear in the living world, but you see the after image here. Charon squinted. Although, I cant determine what hes doing. Peeves was hovering over the portrait hole, holding his hands out like he was carrying something. Harry snickered.

Hes waiting to dump a bucket of water on someone exiting the portrait hole. Harry explained. Why would he do something inane like that? Gerald asked stiffly. Now it was Harrys turn to shrug. Because hes Peeves. Charon cleared his throat. Come on, lets not keep them waiting. He opened the portrait hole and proceeded inside. Harry felt a tinge of nostalgia here. For some reason, all he could think of were the stolen moments with Ginny in this place. They reached the end of the tunnel and opened the portal. There was a blinding light as they walked through. Instead of standing in the familiar confines of the Gryffindor Common Room, they were in an open meadow, beside the Great Lake. They were standing where the common room should be, if the castle had been built. The sky was a bright blue and the wind rustled through the leaves of the forest. Ahead of them was a rectangular table with a solid beam of pure white light coming from the ground directly behind it and stretching up into the sky. At the table were four vaguely familiar figures, two men and two women. The largest of the men rose and smiled. He sported a fiery red mane of long, curly hair and a matching beard that extended down to the middle of his chest. His eyes were a crisp shade of viridian, much like Harrys and he smiled warmly. Godric Gryffindor? Harry spat out the words, as the surprise overtook him. It certainly looked like the hero from yore and his companions at the table matched the descriptions of the founders of Hogwarts. The other man was thin, with a bald head and monkey-like face. He had arched eyebrows and dark black eyes. That could only be Salazar Slytherin. Next to Slytherin was a portly woman with short, curly brown hair and a pleasant smile. She was beaming at Harry and he knew that was Helga Hufflepuff. That meant that the strikingly beautiful woman with alabaster skin and long, straight ebony hair was Rowena Ravenclaw. Harry shook his head. He was standing with the original founders of Hogwarts, the namesakes of the schools four houses. Gryffindor radiated confidence as he walked around the table and held his hand out. Right the first time, Harry my boy. His large hand engulfed Harrys in a vise -like grip. Welcome, Harry, welcome. Harry stole a glance around and shared a puzzled expression with Gerald. Then he was struck by something else. Charon was nowhere to be seen. Dont worry about Charon. He comes and goes as needed. Gryffindors voice was friendly, eve n though it came out in a low, throaty rumble. Sit down, lets have a drink. He ushered them to the table and Harry noticed that there were two seats on the side facing the founders that had not been there before. I dont understand. We were supposed to meet this Source and we get you. Are you God? Harry looked directly at Gryffindor. To his surprise, Slytherin burst into a bout of uncontrolled laughter that echoed in the meadow. Hufflepuff put her hand over her mouth, but her eyes betrayed her obvious merriment. Even the normally stoic Rowena Ravenclaw produced an upward curl on the edge of her mouth and her eyes twinkled. I told you, Godric! You have a god complex! Slytherin looked over at Helga. I mean he walks around like he thinks hes God. The traces of a rebuke came over Gryffindors face, but he couldnt maintain it and the giant man began to chortle to himself.

Be nice, Salazar. Gryffindor turned and faced Harry. No, I, nor any of my adolescent friends, are God. We are residents, like you. Harry plopped down in the proffered chair. So who or what is the Source? Astonishingly, it was Slytherin who answered. Well, this place is a software oriented construct of a manifest machine mind. You are actually a power source for a massive computer world filled with machines that took over the human world in what you consider the future. You are the savior of the human world and can do wonderful things within it. Harry looked at the man, stunned and then his face grew skeptical. Wait a minute, that sounds familiar. Slytherin laughed. Nah, Im just having a little fun with you Harry. One of the dear departed told me about the Matrix Trilogy and it sounded interesting. Ahem, maybe we should be a little more serious about this, Salazar. Gryffindor said without any real admonishment in his voice. Gryffindor nodded sagely and then looked over at Ravenclaw. There was a question in his eyes accompanied by something more. Harry could swear that the stately woman was blushing at even the remotest attention from Godric. She quickly composed herself and looked at Harry. This place is very much in the eyes of the beholder. What you are seeing involve the spirits of those that have moved on, but it remains a construct of your own perspective. What drives it is a source, the core essence of life, what you may refer to as God, or Allah, or Yahweh. The four of us are manifestations of what you hold dear. The blank look on Harrys face caused Rowena to frown. Gryffindors voice boomed as he pointed to the pillar of light behind him. That, Harry, is the Source! Thats God? Harry asked. Gryffindor shook his head. No, but its the connection to Him. Its what binds all these places together. Its how my version of heaven is connected to yours. Harry stood and walked to the shimmering beam. It seemed both solid and transparent all at once. It radiated heat without being searing and the closer he got, the better he felt. He looked back at Gryffindor. Whats it made of? Harry asked. Slytherins face grew kinder, mellower. Touch it and find out. Harry reached out his hand and then drew it back, afraid. He turned towards Gryffindor who nodded encouragingly. He stretched out his hand and his fingers immersed themselves into the flowing light. He was immediately beset by flashing images of people and places. One right after the other, he saw Ginny and the kids, Hermione, Ron, Rose, Hugo, his parents, Sirius and others kept cycling through his head. It was more than the images. He felt warmth and happiness, a perpetual cycle of bliss and understanding. He slowly retrieved his hand and turned to face Gryffindor. The tall man smiled warmly. So, Harry, whats it made of?

Love. The answer came to him so clearly. The feeling that coursed through his chest was impassioned without being overwhelming, warm but not searing, selfless without self-centeredness. At its core, it was the feeling that had driven him and sustained him through the darkest of days. Harry smiled. So, I am dead. Gryffindor shook his head. Yes and no. This place, He held up his arms to the sky. is a moment in time of what your afterlife will look like, but you are not dead. If you can believe it, you actually have a choice. Harry nodded in understanding. Ive been offered the choice before. We know. Its very similar, because both times, you were drawn to this place before the time you were supposed to be here. Its very unusual for it to happen twice. What about me? Gerald asked, finally breaking his silence. Gryffindor looked at the forlorn man and smiled. You are a different case, Mr. Fitzgerald. You made a choice that was in any estimation, very ill thought. You have cost many people misery and normally, you would be suffering a fate much different than Harrys. Geralds face dropped. The girl, Rose, had been wrong. Gryffindor continued. The funny thing is, what really separates light from dark or good from bad is the ability to feel remorse and to achieve redemption. The question for you is how do you do that? The Earl pondered the question. As he did, he realized that he hadnt felt the hunger that drove him for his entire time here. Consequently, he could feel the horror of those he had drained. It was almost as if he could feel their ghosts cry out from inside him. Suddenly, he knew his penance. I have to release those Ive hurt. I need to free the lost souls of those Ive wronged. He looked at Gryffindor who encouraged him to continue. Gerald swallowed. The manner in which I took them prevents them moving on, from living in an existence like this. Helga clapped fervently. Her voice was high pitched and squeaky. Well done, Mr. Fitzgerald. Slytherin nodded. What are you prepared to do? What are you prepared to experience to make that happen? Geralds memories went back to the burning sensation hed felt when he first made the bargain. Was he destined for hell? Was that the price? He thought back on centuries of pain hed inflicted and the omnipresent guilt. Most of all was the memory of the hunger. He didnt want to do it anymore. He couldnt speak. Instead, he simply nodded his head. If you are willing, all you need do is walk into the light. Gryffindor said solemnly. Gerald nodded and turned to Harry. Im truly sorry for all this, for everything. Gerald walked slowly towards the beam of light and hesitated. Then he walked in and disappeared in a flash. There was a shower of sparks and a symphony of music as traces of released souls sang out in their release and were carried away to their own heavens. There was no sign of Gerald. Harry stared at the spot where the former shade had been. Is that it? What happened to him?

Gryffindor was beaming. He drew his sword and waved the tip through the edge of the Source and then pointed it at the ground. An image suspended in the air. Harry saw a different Gerald Fitzgerald busily watching a boy feeding a great white charger in a paddock. His arms were around the waist of a beautiful woman and they were standing outside the gates of Castle Kilkea on a fine Irish day. Gerald was smiling and seemed content. That is his version of heaven. Gryffindor said as the image disappeared. Harry shook his head. After all hed done, he gets rewarded? Slytherin shook his head. No, Mr. Potter, youve got it all wrong. Its not that he didnt pay for his sins, its that he felt remorse about what he did. He found redemption. Thats why I am here and why Tom Riddle is not. Voldemort was incapable of feeling remorse. Harry mumbled and Gryffindor nodded, but Harry still seemed a bit perplexed. It just seems too easy. Godric laughed. Saying youre sorry is very easy, Harry , but you have to really feel it. Think about all you did to get Voldemort, even as a small boy. Gerald made a decision while he was young, his family murdered and he was on the run. How fine was the line between the light and dark for you, in your darkest hour? Harry thought on that and finally relented. So, what now? Well, now, its your turn. You have a choice. Gryffindor waved his hands and waves of people appeared in the meadow, standing behind them. Harry saw his parents and Sirius, Remus and Tonks, Lockley and Fred standing among hundreds of people. Off to the side, there was a floating image that was in the shape of the veil that displayed the events in the Death Chamber. He saw Ron and Hermione, the rest of the Weasleys, James, Lily, and Albus and of course, Ginny, standing as close to his still form as they could. Gryffindor swept his hands between the spirits of the dead in this perfect place and the images of the living he could see through the void. You have a choice, Harry. Where does your heart lie? *** A flash of blinding light emanated from the arch. Ron felt a warm wind from the flash. Once his eyes recovered, he looked back down at where Harry lie. Something had changed. Ron reached his hand out and he was able to reach Harry. Seeing her brothers actions, Ginny surged forward and pulled Harry to her chest. She was sobbing openly and the room grew silent. Until Harry spoke. Um, Ginny. She almost dropped him at the sound of his voice. Almost. She looked down and saw him staring at her, his eyes dancing with delight at her beauty. Harry, are you all right? She asked plaintively. He smiled. I will be once you get your knee off my stomach. She moved with a start and then kissed him deeply. He reached up and ran his fingers through her auburn tresses. They kissed for a long time, ignoring the others around them. For the moment, he forgot

everything else and simply concentrated on the moment, on her. Finally their lips parted and Harry moved to rise. Ron and Hermione came up and hugged him. Before he could reach out for his children, there was a low rumble from the veil. The tendrils of the shroud had not let go of Geralds leg. They pulled his body into th itself until he disappeared into the folds of the arch. Within seconds, the 11 Earl of Kildare was gone. James, Lily and Albus seemed to leap on him all at once and he knelt to make sure he could encompass them with his arms. Somehow, he managed to pull Ginny in with them in one big family embrace. Albus smiled at his father, the mirror image of Harry. What did you see, Daddy? Did you go to the other side? Whats heaven like? Albus inquisitive voice filled the air. Harry looked at each of his children in turn and then locked his eyes on Ginny, the love of his life. Ill tell you, Al, heaven is just like this. He gripped them all tighter and then rose. Come on, lets go home. Chapter 268 V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N The loud ping echoed through the cabin as the flight attendant walked the aisle, checking the security of her passengers seat belts. An overweight man in a rumpled dress shirt and loosened tie made a valiant attempt at staying asleep, but he felt a nagging tickle on the back of his neck and unconsciously, he swatted his hand across the folds of skin. How can a flight that lasted this long and cost so much money be plagued with mosquitoes? The man didnt even want to take this business trip, not with the number of tourists that crowded this route, especially those with children. The man had tried to intimidate the three brats who had boarded behind him, and he thought hed been successful, for the most part, but then his slumber had been irritated by the persistent buzzing sound and ticklish feeling that hed had the en tire flight. Hed complained to the flight attendant, but to no avail. He thought, at first, that it had been those self same children hed seen, especially the older one with the flaming red hair and wise acre expression on his face, but they and their families were seated almost ten rows back in the cavernous aircraft. Besides, they were all asleep. The flight was almost over. The captain had just announced their entry into the main pattern and the man sighed to himself, as a wave of exhaustion came over his body. His eyes closed and he folded his arms, determined to ride the remainder of the flight in sleep. Then, the buzzing began in his ear in earnest. *** That was a good one, Uncle Ron. Im glad Uncle George worked the kinks out of this. James Potters excited whisper elicited a broad grin from his uncle. Thats nothing, James, watch this. Ron opened the lid of the small tin in his hand and dipped his finger into its contents. He pulled a small round dot from the center of the tin and flicked it into the air. The dot floated like a dust mite in the air and landed on the unsuspecting passenger ten rows forward. Ron closed the tin lid and tapped it once with his finger. The man shook his head, as if something were tickling his neck. Ron tapped the tin twice and the man rubbed his ear as if he were hearing something, because he was. I know all about that, Uncle Ron, weve been doing it to him all flight. James said, somewhat disappointed.

Ah, but you havent seen me do this. Ron tapped the tin three times and this time the man yelped, like hed been bitten and then smacked his hand on his neck. The man rose from his seat and began a torrent of curses at the flight attendant, something about the pestilence infestation on the plane. Ron looked at James in triumph. They bite, too! The two shared a collective laugh until a hand came down on them from the row of seats behind them, catching both of them on the backs of their heads. Ron Weasley, you are surely old enough to know better, and James Potter, how many time have I told you that when youre with your uncle, youre the adult? Ginny Potters visibly irritated face hovered over the back of the seats. Now, hand it over. She held out her hand to the two co -conspirators. Ah, Mom, we were just having a little fun. James wheedled. Ginny ignored her oldest son and held her hand out to her brother. Now, Ron. Ron sighed and handed the tin over to Ginny who gripped the tin tightly. Now, if I have to speak to either of you before this flight is over, I swear on Merlins beard I will bat bogey hex the both of you and this vacation will be over. Got it? Ron and James decided that silence was the best response and Ginny sat back in a huff. She occupied the center seat with her middle child, Albus, who was asleep in the aisle seat and her husband, Harry, who was sitting in the window seat, his hands with a rigor-like grip on the armrests. Ginny sighed and read the top of the tin. Georges Nagging Nit Bits: Guaranteed to pester with a laugh. She tucked the tin in her purse and smiled. Youd think George would have something better to do than give Ron toys to play with. Her husband remained silent and she turned to look at him. Harry was staring straight ahead, his face ashen and sweat coming down his forehead. Every so often, hed peer out the window and then snap his eyes forward. Ginny rolled her eyes up in her head. Really, Harry, I dont see how its even remotely possible that you are afraid of flying in these things. Harry blanched and looked over at his wife. Its not natural, Ginny. Theres no way something this big should get off the ground. Youve faced down Voldemort, performed acts of derring do on a broom I might add, youve even faced death itself and you mean to tell me that the great Harry Potter is afraid of flying? Ginny couldnt believe her own words, but Harry simply swallowed. Im telling you, Ginny, its just not natural. What was that? He jumped at a loud noise and another voice from behind them spoke in a familiar, know-it-all fashion. Thats the landing gear, were coming in for a landing. Hermione Weasley was seated in the row of seats behind them. Hugo was fast asleep on her lap while Rose and Lily had their heads near the window, watching the clouds pass by. Thank Merlin. Were landing. Harrys voice was a mix of relief and stark terror. He looked over at Ginny. Were apparating home. Ginny sighed and checked Albus and hers seatbelts. The pilot came over the intercom as he guided the large airplane to a soft landing.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Orlando, home of the Magic Kingdom. I hope you enjoy your stay in a place where magic truly exists. Ginny closed her eyes and wondered if the family vacation was going to be worth it. What was that? She sighed once more. Somehow she doubted it very seriously. *** The checked in through customs and made their way to the car rental counter. Given that they had four adults and five kids, theyd reserved a large van for the trip. Let me drive, come on Hermione, I can do it. Hermione shook her head. Ron could be pretty annoying when he whined. You dont even have your license, Ron. She finally said, hoping that was the end of the mat ter. Harry looked decidedly better, now that he was on the ground and he snickered. Come on Hermione, maybe hell do better in America. After all, Ron does like driving on the wrong side of the road. Ron shot a glare at Harry and then carried some luggage to the back of the van. Ron had committed himself to getting his drivers license, but the last time with the examiner had been a true test of courage for the bureaucrat. Ron had done the entire test driving on the right hand side of the road, and into traffic. Hed been studying for months and in a matter of thirty seconds, had failed the practical road test miserably. What was more was that Hermione had gone along, not to encourage her husband, but to prevent him from jinxing the tester. Ron had resolved himself to taking the test without Hermione there, but now he was without a license and a perpetual passenger. They piled in the van and Hermione got behind the wheel. Soon, they were off into the bright Florida sunshine weaving through the thicket of traffic that came with visiting Orlando. *** St. Ives was a small, rural hamlet located in southeastern England. It was nestled among an array of muggle villages and towns and was home to a good number of wizarding families. What separated St. Ives from places like Ottery St. Catchpole or Godrics Hollow was the fact that St. Ives was a community where muggles and wizards lived in and amongst each other. That led to a concerted effort by the magic folks to hide their powers to the fullest extent. What emerged, from a wizarding Britain standpoint, was a community of wizards and witches who were well versed in muggle affairs. There was a small Georgian townhome off the main village square that looked like any of the other homes in the commu nity. Hed chosen to live here because of how easy it was to hide among both the wizards and muggles. He cherished the aversion to magic, because it kept his magical neighbors from prying too far into his affairs while allowing him to cast spells that his muggle neighbors could not begin to comprehend. When you got right down to it, his wizarding neighbors probably wouldnt understand either. He was, after all, delving in mysteries that would most normal wizards would avoid. Such was the way of the Dark Arts. He carried the book to his dining room table and set it down gently. The previous decade and a half had made the procurement of dark arts writing problematic, but not impossible. There were always those more driven by the galleon than by principle.

He poured himself a cup of tea and dropped two lumps of sugar into the center of the scalding liquid. He added a healthy dram of cream and stirred the contents hurriedly as he sat at the table and considered the book. It was large, like a photo album with a dark, blood red cover. The edges were lined with gilded gold and the title was carefully scribed in gold and silver and he took a deep breath as he looked at it. Hed been searching for this tome for a long time, ever since hed caught wind of its existence. Hed traipsed all over the back hills of Bulgaria and the through the back pits of the London underworld until a stroke of luck and intuition led him to a small used book store on the outskirts of Godrics Hollow. Hed almost missed the book altogether, as it had been stacked indifferently among used atlases and obsolete travel guides. He took a sip of his tea and caressed the front cover. Still, his persistence had paid off. The title practically leapt off the page. He read it for the umpteenth time. Dark Secrets of the Dark Lord: A Minions Tale, by Peter Pettigrew The man smiled to himself and turned the cover over to read the first page. *** The Magic Kingdom was one of a number of parks that made up the Disney complex in Orlando. There wasnt a down time in attendance to the park, so the Weasleys and Potters had decided to take their joint family vacation during the fall. The two families walked down Main Street, USA and took in the sights. It was a steaming hot day, so theyd opted for summer wear to fend off the affects of the bright sun on their wintry dispositions. The spires of Cinderellas castle pulled them away from the various shops and restaurants that were designed to take their money going in and going out. When they reached the castle, they took the requisite pictures and then leaned over the maps that had been handed out at the entrance. Ron was wearing checked shorts and dark dress socks and sandals. He had a lavender golf shirt and a baseball cap complete with large mouse ears attached to the lid. He was shaking his head fervently at his wife, who was standing with her hands on her hips and her toe tapping furiously. No. Im not going to do it. Ron said emphatically and he crossed his arms to m ake the point. Hermione seemed ready to erupt until Rose Weasley walked up to her father and tugged on the strap of his camera bag. Daddy, please, I really want you to take me and Lily. Rose smiled and blinked her russet eyes slowly and Ron let out his breath and shook his head. He held out his hands to Rose and Lily and nodded. Okay, sweetie, but only because you asked so nicely. The trio walked off around a bend and Hermione shouted out to them. Well meet back here at three! Harry and James were trying to hold back their laughter and when Ron was out of earshot, both Potter boys stopped trying. After a few minutes, Harry waved at Albus and Hugo to join them. Were going to Pirates of the Caribbean. Do you ladies want to come? Hermione and Ginny shook their heads and walked through Cinderellas castle, leaving the boys to their own devices. Harry led the three boys towards the adventure ride. ***

The Mickey Mouse clock read three fifteen and everyone was present except Ron and the girls. Hermione checked her wristwatch against the clock nearby and finally sighed. I guess we should go look for them. She said reluctantly. Ginnys eyes widened. You dont think theyre still on it, do you? I dont think Ron could stand it. Hermione said. Harry chuckled. Hes an Auror, he can handle anything. Nonetheless, they collected the children and walked around the castle. Soon, they were at the entrance to the ride. It was one of the oldest attractions at the park and its reputation was one that most people wanted to avoid it at all costs. Consequently, the line was nonexistent. James, Albus and Hugo were busily running around, nattily attired in a pirate hats, eye patches and scarves while brandishing plastic toy swords, mementos of their visit to the Pirates ride. They stood by the exit and finally Ron trudged out, reluctantly being pulled by Lily and Rose. He spotted the rest of the family and tried to pull the girls their way, but Rose and Lily would have none of it. Daddy, one more time, please! Rose said plaintively and Ron finally put his foot down and stopped. No, Rose, I dont want to go anymore. The firmness in his voice shocked Rose and tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. Ron Weasley, this is for them. You go one more time. Hermione told him. Or you will regret it. The threat was implicit and real. Rons face was drawn and for a minute, Harry was sure he was going to cry, but he stood tall and acquiesced to being pulled to the rides entrance. Thats cold, Hermione. Hes been at it for three hours. Look at him. Harry whispered to his friend. Do you want to take them? Hermione asked bluntly. Merlins beard, no! Harry said and shut his mouth. His duty to saving Ron from the ago ny had been done. *** Ron and the girls weaved through the line and finally got to an open gondola. The girls tittered with excitement and all Ron could do was liken the safety bars lock to that of a prison door. The cab started forward and entered a long dark tunnel and the words started penetrating Rons skull like a rail spike being driven by a sledgehammer. Its a small world, after all. Its a small world, after all. Its a small world, after all. Its a small, small world Chapter 269 Rockets Red Glare Where are we going, Harry? Ginny asked apprehensively. For the most part, the vacation was going well, yet there were times when five children and two families in the confines of their rental home could be trying. Rons migraine from the Its a Small World ride had finally tapered off and the visitors had

gone on to Epcot and the Animal Kingdom and were scheduled to go to Universals Islands of Adventure in the morning. Harry smiled secretively as he guided the van along the road into the darkening night. Youll see. He said, looking very much like the cat that ate the canary. I hope were going to Ripleys. Ron piped in from the back. Hermione rolled her eyes and silently prayed for some other destination. The kids were tired from a full day of walking and fun, and were a bit restless. Harry simply smiled and urged everyone to rest. Well be driving for about an hour, so why doesnt everyone just take a break? Harry tapped the accelerator and edged around a slow moving truck on the highway. Surprisingly, most of the passengers took his advice. Except Ginny, that is. She slid her hand across the center console and took his. He stole a glance her way and was immediately rewarded with a smile. He smiled back and squeezed her hand in his. Are you having fun? He asked. She nodded. It can be hectic, but its so relaxing to not have to think about things. How about you? Harry snorted. I have to admit, anytime I can see you in a bikini is well worth any price. They spent their non-park hours around their rentals pool, giving Ginny the opportunity to sport the latest in swim fashion. Pig. She laughed, but her cheeks were flushed, appreciative that he still looked at her in that way. As they drove, the sky went from a bright blue to various shades of pink, orange and red until the sun set fully behind them. Harry guided the van expertly and the traffic began to build. It seemed a considerable number of people were headed to the same place they were. Soon, they were in thick, but steadily moving traffic and Harry seemed to know where he was going. Eventually, he pulled into a park that edged a portion of the Intercoastal Waterway and pulled the van into an open spot. Were here. He said. Great, were in the middle of nowhere with thousands of people. Ron grumbled. Harry laughed and went to the back of the van, pulling out an array of folding chairs and two large picnic baskets. Im famished, anyone ready to eat? Harry asked. There were nods all around and they set about pulling the repast that Harry had somehow gotten together and sat in the chairs and ate. I wonder if there are any alligators here? James asked, toeing the lush sea oats that lined the shore. Why do you ask? Albus stared out at the open water with a bit of anxiety. The man at the Magic Kingdom said anywhere there is standing water in Florida, there are alligators. James professed. Really? This time it was Ron whose voice betrayed a little anxiety. Hermione laughed. James, are you talking about the man dressed like Goofy? James nodded and then laughed. I guess that was a little silly. Still, Ron kept a close eye on the surface of the water, looking for suspicious logs floating his way.

Harry moved among them, handing out pairs of binoculars. Its almost time, everyone. Time for what, Harry? Ginny asked, accepting the binoculars. Harry smiled. Just look out over there. Harry waved his hand and the van started, its radio blaring. There was an atonal, pleasant voice coming over the speakers. 10, 9, 8, main engine ignition, 7, 6 Across the open water, a bright plume of flame erupted from a gantry about three miles away. Clouds of smoke billowed in the night as the solid flame burst from the end of a conical shaped cylinder, atop of which sat a white, aircraft-shaped vehicle. Oh my The eyes of the adults matched those of the kids. They gazed in wonder as the disembodied voice came over the radio. We have lift off of the STS-225, and the crew of the Space Shuttle Discovery on a mission of exploration for all mankind. As they watched the finger of flame push the orbiter upwards, it seemed as if they could reach out and touch the craft. The sound finally reached them across the bay, and the roar of the engines matched the majesty of the sight as the steam and smoke stretched up into the night sky. The area all around was awash in light and the faces of the onlookers was rapt in fascination. Harry approached his wife and wrapped his arm around her, drawing her to him. His other hand felt tiny fingers inserting themselves. He looked down and saw the tiny face of his daughter Lily, her mouth open as her eyes tracked the rocket as it headed east. Eventually, they had to bring their eyepieces up to follow the rapidly diminishing specter in the air. No one spoke, but watched as nine souls were carried to the heavens by the ingenuity and audacity of the decades of muggle achievement. Ginny finally remembered to breathe and turned and faced her husband. How much would Daddy have liked to have been here? Harry nodded, smiling at the notion of her father having the opportunity to witness this sight. He reached into his pocket and handed her a bundle of folded papers. I think hes really going to like it. She reached for the packet and opened it up. Cruise tickets? Harry nodded. I got your parents tickets on a cruise that leaves from Port Canaveral. Theres another launch scheduled for the time when they leave. Ginny smiled warmly. Harry had thought of everything. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him tightly. Oi, you two get a room! Ron mumbled beneath his breath. Ginny shot him a wicked grin and winked. As soon as we get back. Ron blanched and gagged and then proceeded to collect the children for their ride back to Orlando.

*** Glenn Livers slammed the cover of Pettigrews book down on the table. The book told him nothing. Dark Secrets of the Dark Lord was a sham. It was nothing more than a glowing biography for Voldemort and Pettigrew didnt seem to have the first clue as to how Tom Riddle had managed to accomplish what hed done. The Dark Arts were alluring to Glenn, they had always been, but not for the reasons that had driven Voldemort or a Death Eater. Glenn simply saw the Dark Arts, as a rule of thumb, far superior in form and function to what was preached as orthodoxy. Hed been a Slytherin at Hogwarts, right around the same time as Pettigrew and his brood of c ompanions known as the Marauders. Hed never drawn their ire, since they seemed to hold a special place for Severus Snape. Snape had been both an inspiration and a disappointment to Glenn. The greasy haired, ashen-faced teen had demonstrated a keen intellectual curiosity in the Dark Arts, only to be suborned, in Glenns opinion, by the followers of the Dark Lord. Glenn had been close to becoming a Death Eater, at first drawn in by the allure of Voldemorts knowledge of the forbidden magic, but something was missing. Whether it was disappointment in the lack of clarity behind the Dark Lords purpose or the realization that the beauty of the Dark Arts was being ignored, the path that Snape and the rest took when they followed Voldemort was a path Glenn hadnt wanted to take. When he graduated from Hogwarts, he left England. The First Voldemort War was in full swing and he didnt want to be placed in a position to choose sides. He took a teaching post at Durmstrang for a time, thinking that hed get an insight into the Dark Arts from a different perspective, but Durmstrang was more about pureblooded theology than learning the intrinsic forms of the Dark Arts. He left Durmstrang and wandered the continent in search of someone or something that would satisfy his curiosity. Eventually he ended up in Rome, and it was the Vatican, surprisingly, that showed him the way. He worked as a transcriber for a seemingly low level priest in the Holy See. Father Tucci was a kindly man who never seemed to utter a cross word towards the stranger from across the channel. Glenn worked hard to hide the fact that he was a wizard from his employer, given the perception that the Church would view him as a heretic, but one night, Father Tucci asked him to read a passage in a book and Gleen did so without realizing that it was a charmed text, only visible to wizards. At first, Glenn was mortified at having been tricked, but Father Tucci quickly reassured him that the Church knew a great deal about wizards and magic. In fact, many of the Churchs own members were powerful wizards. We are all Gods children, Glenn. That was all Father Tucci would say. It turned out that Father Tucci was more than a simple secretary. He was the librarian for the Vaticans vast special collections wing. He took Glenn down into the bowels of Vatican City and showed him a treasure trove of the collected writings about magic. There was, of course, a section reserved for the Dark Arts. Glenn could not believe his luck. His duties included categorizing and storing the many tomes within the collection. On lonely nights, he would wander the aisles, perusing the information that was available to him. One night, Father Tucci came down and found Glenn in the Dark Arts section, reading a book by one of the Medicis. The old priest crossed himself and lectured Glenn on the error of his ways. Evil is evil, my son. We keep these books because we know not what evil we will encounter, however, this is not a place for enlightenment. You must not immerse yourself in these things. It was then Glenn understood the Churchs position. The books in this library were there for safekeeping, not for access. Like Tantalus, Glenn could see his goal, but could not touch it. He made some excuse and promised to not delve into their mysteries, but the desire to learn more about the Dark Arts drove him.

One of Father Tuccis duties, as librarian, was to amass books on the Dark Arts and to add them to the repository for safekeeping. As he was growing older, Tucci relied on Glenn to be his field man. This was a task that Glenn gladly accepted. It allowed him a first look at the works before they were cast into the oblivion of the library. That was how hed learned about the Pettigrew Manuscript. Now, he sat here in frustration. For all his failures, and there were many, Voldemort had latched onto a course of action that seemed to allow the Dark Magic to flow. Voldemort had no concept of what he didnt know. More than likely, if Tom Riddle had any inkling as to the depth of knowledge that resided at the Vatican, he would have devoted his energies to gaining access to it. Instead, the megalomaniacal personality of the Dark Lord refused to allow for the concept that there was something he didnt know . Consequently, the Vatican collection remained safe from the Dark Lord. Yet, there was still something nagging at Glenn. What was it that separated Voldemort from the other dark wizards who had come before? Hed grown more powerful despite his inherent weakness. Glenn reopened the manuscript and scanned through it. Glenns brow furrowed as he reread relevant passages of Tom Riddles life. Riddle was evil, of that, Glenn had no doubt, but for all his craven desires, Voldemort also exhibited some surprisingly human character flaws. Riddle was insecure, responding to the unknown by lashing out at the source. He was sentimental, very often going back to the places of his youth to exact his revenge, like Hogwarts. Most of all, Voldemort had been arrogant. All of these things had led to his downfall. What, then, made him a powerful wizard despite these weaknesses? Glenns eyes centered on the passages regarding how willing Voldemort had been to take a life. Maybe that was the key? Glenn sat back in his chair and stroked his chin. He knew the technical specifics of the Dark Arts; the spells, the curses and the potions, but so did Voldemort. What Glenn was lacking was something else. There was something intrinsic in Voldemort that he was missing. Suddenly it hit him. The base of Voldemorts power, his ability to create the horcruxes so that he might live forever was founded on Riddles fundamental lack of morals. Hed been perfectly willing, no, actually, hed been desirous of taking another humans life. Voldemort was a sociopath, with no compunction about murdering innocents, children and adults alike, to achieve his goals. To Glenn, the Dark Arts were essentially amoral constructs, they operated outside the constraints of ethical standards. The ultimate restriction on magic in the world was the concept that every life was precious and what Voldemort lacked was the internal compass that differentiated that murder and torture were essentially, wrong. Glenn closed the book more gently this time and scratched his chin. Thats what hed been missing. Voldemort had been far from being a great Dark Wizard. Severus Snape had been a better practitioner than Voldemort could have ever hoped to be. No, the difference, in the final analysis, was that Voldemort was willing to do what was needed to achieve his ends. He was willing to kill in order to gain power. Glenn tucked the book in his satchel. What was needed, he thought, for him to be a true master of the Dark Arts, was for him to find a victim. Glenn would need to take a life, in order to gain the power he wanted. He would need to do it without hesitation and without consideration for who he was doing it to. For him to be a true Dark Arts wizard, he would have to kill someone. With a sudden realization, he knew who it would have to be. He pulled on his coat and looped the strap of his satchel over his shoulders. He locked the door and walked into the night. Chapter 270 Apprentice The Office of Aurors had undergone a dramatic turnover in personnel in five years. Harrys senior leadership team had changed radically. Gone were Lachlan McCrory and Elizabeth Cavendish as were

many of the senior Aurors that had been with the teams through the troubling times in Harrys initial run as Head of the Office. That had meant that an influx of new trainees had flooded the program. One of those trainees sat at his cubicle busily perusing a stack of reports piled on his desk. He was tall and lanky with a serious demeanor and a thoughtful expression. Carter Sigismund was in the middle of his third year of training. The son of Leonora Sigismund, a retired Auror, Carter had distinguished himself in his time as a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts. Hed been Headboy, a champion duelist and Quidditch player a nd had done several internships upon graduation. Possessed of a sharp intellect and a quick mind, hed any number of career opportunities presented to him, and it had come as somewhat of a surprise when he finally decided to apply for an Aurors position. When Carter joined the Aurors, Harry surprised everyone with his choice of mentors. At first, Mortimer Gafney seemed like an ideal choice given how similar Harrys former apprentice and Carter were in skill sets and demeanor. Another obvious choice would have been Sean Manchester, whod spent close to a decade as Leonoras partner and friend. But Harry decided that Carter would best be served learning under the tutelage of Ron. There were several reasons for his decision. One was to ensure that Carter learned from someone whose personality was diametrically opposed to his own. At the same time, Harry was convinced that the pairing would benefit Ron as well, perhaps offering a stabilizing influence to Ron, whose normally irreverent and impulsive style could use some tempering. Not surprisingly, the partnership was an unqualified success with the only thing keeping Carter from being a full fledged Auror was the three year waiting period until he could take his final M.A.G.E certification. Ron walked into the office and gingerly sat down at his desk. Carter looked over from his adjacent seat and stifled a smirk. I told you to bring sunscreen. Whered you get burned? The youthful Auror could not hide the amusement in his voice. We dont need to discuss that detail. Ron retorted and quickly changed the subject. Whats been going on? Taking the hint on the subject change, Carter shrugged his shoulders. Its been pretty quiet. In fact, weve spent most of our time assisting the Muggle Affairs department. Its been mostly catching kids playing pranks on muggles. You know, transfigured toilets and mailboxes and the like. Frankly, its been pretty boring. Ron caught the hint of disappointment in Carters voice. Hey, boring is very good, in fact, I like boring. The skepticism in Carters eyes told Ron that the young man expected more out of being an Auror. Ron sighed, mostly because he understood the sentiment. Look, Carter, most of this job is routine. The unusual stuff can be frightening and downright deadly. When things are boring, it tells us that were doing our jobs right. You dont become an Auror because you hope for another Dark Lord to come down the road. I know, Ron. Carter released the tension in his shoulders. I really do. I cant tell you how afraid I was when you and Mum and the others were staring down all those evil people. I get it, really. Its just that sometimes, I wouldnt mind a little action. Believe me, Carter, I understand that. Ron winced as he moved his hand to pick up a parchment from his desk. But remember this, be careful what you wish for, you might get it. *** Glenn walked through the narrow underground passage and stopped in front of the thick, steel door. He pushed the door open, feeling his heart firmly lodged in his throat. His knuckles were white from the grip

he had on his satchel as he entered the special collections section of the Vatican library. True to form, Father Tucci sat at a large, rectangular table bent over an open, dusty book. Livers took a deep breath and reached into his satchel, removing the Pettigrew Manuscript. Father Tucci looked up and smiled. So, I trust you were successful in your search? The kindly old mans words elicited a fresh wave of gui lt and anxiety in Livers. Yes, Father, although I dont know how revealing it is. It seemed like a simple biography to me, albeit a poorly written one. Livers placed the book gently on the table near Tucci. The old priest nodded. I dont doubt it. Tucci glanced at Livers and saw the younger mans furrowed brow. What is troubling you, my son? Well, Father, I was wondering, was Voldemort a master Dark Wizard? Was there talent involved? Tucci reclined in his chair and removed the tiny eyeglasses that had been perched on his nose, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he thought. That is a very interesting question, Glenn. There is no doubt that Tom Riddle was a very bright man. He definitely learned things that most wizards did not know, and yet, the idea that he was some master wizard is very problematic. Whys that? Glenn asked, taking a seat opposite the old priest. Well, were not born with knowledge, Glenn. We have to learn things. Riddle was obviously bright enough to pick up bits and pieces of arcane information, but he never got beneath the surface to understand the why of things. For example, he figured out Horcruxes, but he never really got what they did. He could make them, but didnt understand the price he paid to c reate them. If he had, he would have known that Potter was one of his Horcruxes. Tucci watched as Livers processed the information. He was still a very powerful wizard, rivaling Dumbledore and Potter himself. Livers offered. True, but that power had very little to do with his knowledge. He was consistently wrong about the nature of his abilities. He was wrong about the Horcruxes, on why he was unable to kill Potter and wrong on the nature of the Elder Wand. He made very elementary mistakes based on assumptions that were not rooted in knowledge. Tucci pointed out facts that Livers had deduced himself for the most part. Then why was he so powerful? Tucci sighed and smiled wistfully. Glenn, Ive studied magic for almost my entire life. I ve observed what the wizarding world has done and the most important thing Ive seen is that wizards and witches are first and foremost, people. They are human beings. That means despite their abilities, they are limited by human failings and constraints. The reason why someone is a great wizard is the same as the reason someone is great at any endeavor. Whats that? It boils down to one word, commitment. Tucci smiled. It has nothing to do with Dark or Light, but with how committed the wizard is to the magic and the cause. Harry Potter became a great wizard, not because he was possessed of any different or better font of magic, but because from the time he was very young, he was committed to his cause to the point he was willing to die for it. It was the same for Tom Riddle in that he was firmly convinced in his own superiority. His magic was stronger because he was willing to do heinous things because of his commitment to his own self. Glenn stood and paced. Finally he turned and looked at his old friend. So knowledge is not important?

I didnt say that. Look around you. Tucci waved his hands at the numerous tiers of books in the room. Theres a vast collection of knowledge gathered here. There are dozens of spells related to th e Dark Arts that, thankfully, will never come to light. But consider this, Voldemort only really used four spells, the three unforgiveables and the Horcruxes. That was it, yet there are all these spells that he could have used, had he had the knowledge. The difference between Voldemort and a Dark Wizard who had studied was commitment. I shudder to think how dangerous Voldemort would have been had he had both the knowledge and the wherewithal. He would have been the most powerful wizard ever. The words echoed in Livers head, The most powerful wizard, ever. Glenn nodded and continued his pacing. Father Tucci shrugged his shoulders and opened the Pettigrew Manuscript, leafing through the pages. He didnt see Glenn stop and slowly draw his wand. He didnt see Glenns expression of indecision slowly harden into one of resolve. He didnt see the wand come up and aim in his direction. Finally, he didnt see the flash of bright green light that came from the tip of Glenns wand, striking the old man i n the chest. Avada Kedavra! The initial sensation was guilt. The entire time he was drawing his wand and aiming it at the old man, Glenn felt a pang of regret, remorse and guilt. When he spoke the words, it hurt, physically. Then the feeling of power and accomplishment coursed through him. The spell emanated from him. Never had he felt so accomplished, so powerful. It was a feeling hed never felt before, a sense of pure magic flowing through him. Soon enough, the regret disappeared, replaced by an almost blissful feeling as the deadly curse sprang from his inner self and channeled through his wand towards the man whod been his friend for so long. He stood for a moment, staring at the old priests lifeless eyes as the man slumped over table. Then, all hell broke loose. A loud clarion rang through the room and the building. The Vatican had been dealing with dark wizards for centuries. Obviously, theyd had an alarm system to detect when a killing curse was used. Glenn took one more look at his victim, then he waved his wand, remembering both the guilt and the strength that hed felt. He ran to a small cabinet and broke open the door. Inside, there were four books that he tossed into his satchel. Then, Glenn ran out the door and sped down the hall, escaping just ahead of the first pike wielding Swiss guardsman coming from the other direction. *** Father Giuseppe Fangio was surprisingly young to be First Secretary, the primary adjutant to the Pope. Barely in his thirties, he entered the special collections room, passing between the grim-faced pair of Swiss guardsmen who were posted at the entry. Fangio was short and stocky, looking more like a longshoreman than a man of the cloth. He had short, jet black hair and a matching goatee, grown to make him look older in the face of his youth. He walked into the room and stared sadly at the broken figure of Father Tucci. Fangio crossed himself and then placed his hand on Tuccis forehead, whispering a blessing of passing, then softly closing the lids on his lifeless eyes. Fangio looked around the room, noting the general disarray. His eyes were drawn to the small cabinet in the corner and he walked to it rapidly, kneeling down. He noticed immediately that the four books contained within the cabinet were gone. Fangio blanched and returned his gaze to the dead priest. Standing, Fangio waved his hand to capture the attention of one of the guards. Summon Archbishop Valliere, immediately. The guard snapped to attention and ran out of the ro om. Meanwhile, Fangio reached into his pocket and pulled out his rosary, thumbing the beads nervously as he waited for the Archbishop. ***

Archbishop Carmine Valliere was a tall, broad shouldered man born and raised on the Southside of Chicago. An accomplished football player in high school and college, he shocked the professional football world when he left Notre Dame to become a priest in the Vatican hierarchy, leaving a multimillion dollar contract on the table for a life of austerity and poverty. He walked with the gait of a predator, with the same aggressive lean that he did patrolling the defensive backfield as a linebacker. He entered the special collections room and stopped immediately as he took in the sight of Father Tuccis lifeless body. H e turned and faced Fangio. I guess thats the reason for the alarm. He said in a matter of fact voice. Fangio nodded to the big man and shook his head. Thats not all, we have a very serious problem, Carmine, one that will require your services. Valliere looked around. I dont know what we can do for you, First Secretary. Do you know who did this? I believe it was Father Tuccis assistant, Glenn Livers, Carmine. Father Tucci had mentioned Livers interest in the Dark Arts and he was a wizard. Valliere snorted. We should have banned wizardry from the start. I never understood the Churchs position on this. It was Fangios turn to chuckle. Considering you are an accomplished wizard in your own right, Carmine, Im surprised at your attitude. Valliere ignored the riposte and took in the scene. If you know who did it, why do you need us? The Torquemada Ledgers are missing. Fangio said quietly, causing Valliere to take an involuntary gasp. Tomas de Torquemada had been the head of the Inquisition during the late 1400s, during a time when the Church had a less enlightened outlook on magic. Torquemada took his Inquisition to Spain, ostensibly to persecute the non-Christians in the area, but Pope Sixtus IV had charged him with another, secret mission. Torquemada had brought his reign of terror on the wizards that lived in Spain. One segment of magic denizens lived in Barcelona under the Muslims and had dedicated their lives to the study of the Dark Arts. Under the pain and pressure of Torquemadas tortuous ways, they had been forced to reveal the results of their studies. Torquemada collected their findings in a series of ledgers, which became the most comprehensive collection of Dark spells and potions known to be in existence. Those ledgers were now missing. Fangio nodded gravely at Valliere as the realization of what was at stake became known. I dont have to tell you what those books mean in the hands of a practitioner of the Dark Arts. It would make Voldemort look like a choir boy. Vallieres face became solemn as the large man mumbled a quick prayer. Then, the large priest offered an expression of resolve. The Knights Templar accept this charge. We will recover those books and bring this Glenn Livers to justice, under pain of death, First Secretary. Fangio nodded and watched Valliere turn and leave the room, his stride revealing the strength of his purpose. The Templars were the Vaticans fire brigade, the last backstop against the evil in the world. As such, they were allowed to operate with a certain amount of freedom, and were sanctioned to use any force required against anyone who might stand in their way, including the innocent. Valliere was their leader and completely committed to their charter. Fangio prayed for the souls of those that might

oppose the Templars. He sighed and mentally began to prepare his report for the Holy Father. Then he turned and faced the door where Valliere had just exited. Go with God, Father Valliere, go with God.

Chapter 271 Extreme Righteousness

The rattle of the lock and the squeak of the door were the only sounds that permeated the air in the late evening hours. Glenn Livers walked into the hotel room and dropped his satchel carefully by the bed in the center of the room. He took a few minutes to glance around and then walked to the balcony of his room. Despite the late hour, the city was still alive with sound and flourish, as cars whizzed by towards their various destinations. He looked down and noticed his hands were still shaking as the conflicting emotions of what hed done coursed through his body. Hed not been able to keep any food down, as the horror of his actions assaulted this conscious. Father Tucci had taken him in when no one would have him, yet he callously took the old priests life. At the same time, there had been an utter thrill during the act, when he felt the power channeled through his essence and transmit through his arm to his wand. Hed never felt such a sensation before. It was precisely like hed read about, only more. No wonder a charlatan like Voldemort had been so close to ultimate power, only because hed been willing to cross over the line of human morality with such relative ease. Glenns eyes wandered to the bag near the bed. Inside were Torquemadas Ledgers, the sum total of extreme darkness that existed in the known world. What would a willingness to do anything combined with the knowledge of the dark arts mean? Livers pondered the thought for a moment. He could, like Voldemort, attempt to amass power for its own sake. After all a true master of the Dark Arts would have no rival, but at the same time, Glenn had no ambition to hold such power. So, then, the question remained, why was he doing this? Was this some sort of self-perpetuating action? Had his leap into this world, as shown by his murder of Father Tucci, led him down a path from which he could not recover? He didnt know, but most of all, he didnt know what he was supposed to do next. For the first tim e in his life, Livers was afraid and that fear grew deeper as he tried to analyze what the Vaticans response to his actions would be. The Vatican knew about the books, of course and they knew the implications of their removal, or thought they did. The powers in the church would spare no expense in getting the spells back, of that Glenn was sure. That could only mean that the mechanism the Church would employ would be extreme. Hed only heard rumors, naturally, of the secret society of dedicated clergy who were the Vaticans last line of defense. Hed never actually seen a Knight Templar, but all his reading in the ancient library convinced him that they existed. They were a power unto themselves and if the Vatican decided that his breach was extreme enough, they would be forced to turn to the Templars to find him. Livers walked to the door of the hotel room and secured the chain and deadbolt. Perhaps hed gone too far. If so, he would have no choice. With the Templars seeking him out, he would have to use the power of the Dark Arts, if anything, to save his own life. The question was, would he unleash the forces that existed in those books to do so? Glenn Livers was not sure. *** The gleaming stone spires of the old papal palace stretched up into the midnight sky. Valliere whisked into sudden appearance before the ancient gates and sighed as his shoulders dropped as if a tremendous weight held him down. He glanced behind him and took in the sleeping city along the Rhone River. Avignon had been the site of the great Western Schism, when predominantly French clergy had declared a second papacy and had actually sat seven popes in the southern French town at the papal estate. Valliere

sighed as he stared at the raised stone archway and then he turned and walked away from the massive edifice and walked down the cobblestone streets of the old town. He stopped at a pub, a non-descript, well attended establishment with tables and chairs outside, in line with the other small cafes that dotted Avignon. He walked inside and gave an imperceptible nod to the swarthy bartender and walked among the throng of younger patrons that crowded the bar. He wound his way back and entered a door with a Private sign on the front. The room was small and looked like an office, complete with a desk and personal computer humming along the wall. He walked past the desk to the far wall made from stacked stone and mortar and turned a carriage light suspended on the wall a half turn. The wall opened to reveal a spiral staircase, leading downward into the catacombs of the city. There was a time when the secular rulers of France were jealous of the power and wealth the Templars had amassed. That led to a general reign of terror against all things associated with the warrior order. Many were imprisoned or killed and the Templars holdings throughout the Middle East and Europe were seized. Some of the Knights were absorbed by the Hospitalers while a small number retained their membership and fled underground, along with vast quantities of their collected wealth. It was these small cells of members that retained the code of the Templars. Pope Clement ostensibly cleared the order of any wrong doing but also closed their charter, disbanding them. For the most part, that was true, save for the small number of diehards that were re-established as the Vaticans fire brigade. Valliere walked down the stairs and found himself in a small, open room with two rows of long tables. At each table were a half dozen men wearing white smocks with large, blood red crosses adorning their front, the emblem of the Templars. Carmine waved a hand at one of the men seated at the tables and motioned him to follow into Carmines office, which was off the main room. The man was tall and thin with light blonde hair and dark brown eyes. His age was indeterminate, somewhere between early adulthood and ancient, his stare long and faraway. He followed Carmine into the office and stood rigidly by the door. His stark white smock and ruby colored cross didnt move as he waited for the Archbishop to seat himself. Carmine smiled balefully and waved his hand for the man to relax his stance, which he did subtly, while maintaining his disciplined demeanor. We have an assignment, Michael. Carmines voic e boomed through the room, and Father Michael Wynn nodded his head, remaining silent, waiting for the Archbishop to continue. Father Tucci has been murdered and the culprit has taken the Torquemada Ledgers. A small crease formed in Michaels face, the first visible sign of emotion from the Templars face. Do we know who took them, Archbishop? Carmine nodded. His assistant, Glenn Livers, is thought to be the one. Hes the wizard, isnt he? Again, Carmine nodded and sighed. Valliere studied a carefully hand woven tapestry hanging on the back wall of his office. It showed one of his antecedents tied to a stake, about to be burnt. This particular rector of the Templars had refused to confess to any type of heresy and had asked that he be burnt facing the cathedral of Notre Dame and his hands be bound as if he were praying. There was a man committed to the cause. Carmine wondered if he could be so devout. He is a wizard, although I dont think that was the problem. He is a devotee of the D ark Arts. We must find him and get those ledgers back. Carmine scratched the stubble on his chin and shook his head. What is it, Archbishop? This seems to be a straight forward assignment. That was as far as Michael was willing to go. Valliere was the fourth head of the Templars hed served. Each had been different in their devotion to the Church and the Order. This one had the makings of a great Grand Templar, if he so chose, but God would determine if that was the case.

Carmine studied his second in command closely, unable to find a chink in Michaels armor. Finally, Carmine decided to take the plunge and trust his deputy. I dont think that our problem is this Livers fellow. God knows the Templars will fulfill our assignment, as always.

What is the problem, Archbishop? Carmine hesitated and then nodded. The Ledgers should have been better protected, if not completely destroyed. This decision to retain such knowledge is dangerous, to say the least. That is beyond our realm of decision. The Holy Father has determined that the knowledge must be kept, if only to provide the Holy See the ability to respond to threats. The admonishment was mild, more a reminder of policy than a condemnation of Vallieres statement. That is true, and I understand the reasoning, but answer me this. With all the turmoil and tumult that has occurred for the past twenty years, why wasnt the knowledge used? We knew the danger a Voldemort or Leclerc posed, yet we did not act. It was true, some of the biggest threats to the world order were well known to the Templars, yet the Vatican had seen fit to stay neutral, lest its knowledge of the wizarding world become generally known. Carmines face returned to the tapestry. There was a time when the Templars were seen as heretics and evil, and still the Order committed itself to the path of the righteousness. The path was beginning to show itself to Carmine, slowly but surely. We must recover the Ledgers, but the real question, is what do we do with them? You are speaking of going against the Church? This time, Michael was unable to hide his surprise and Carmine chuckled. Our mandate is to preserve the Church against that which would destroy it. Carmines eyes grew narrow. We must protect the Church from itself. The Ledgers and their knowledge will be retained in the safekeeping of the Templars. Michael stood still and then his head nodded ever so slowly. Hed been right, this leader was different than the others. He wasnt sure whether this was a good thing or bad, but he knew he was oath bound to follow his directions. Only God would know if this was the right course. Still, the fact remains, that we must first find this Glenn Livers and recover the Ledgers at any cost. An unspoken order had been given. The ledgers would be returned to Templar headquarters, not the Vatican library. Another thought struck Michael. This man, Livers, is from England. More than likely, we will have to deploy there to find him. Michael asked cautiously. Of course, that makes sense. Is there something about that which troubles you? Carmine asked quietly. Well, Archbishop, the English Ministry of Magic has shown itself quite capable. If this man decides to craft a wave of Dark Arts destruction, they will no doubt become involved, especially their Aurors. Again, Michael was careful to ask a question without putting it to words.

Valliere pondered the dilemma. He admired the English, especially Harry Potter and his Aurors. They were true warriors fighting the battles, that by any right, should have been the duty of the Templars. Yet, the stakes were far too high to allow a simple emotion like admiration to distract them. Im going to be perfectly clear, so as to allow no ambiguity. It is the duty of the Templars to recover the Torquemada Ledgers and bring them into our safekeeping. Anyone who gets in the way should be considered an obstacle and dealt with. Livers has already forfeited his life to Gods judgment because of his acts. And if an Auror gets in the way? Carmine exhaled slowly and then nodded. Consider their lives forfeit as well. Our cause is holy and God rewards the sacrifices of martyrs. The Aurors may not believe as we do, but they understand the need for sacrifice from time to time. In time, they will understand that they died for the greater good. The righteousness of our task outweighs even the preservation of life. Even the innocent? Michael asked, his inscrutable mask once more in place. Archbishop Carmine Valliere straightened his shoulders and stood. He walked over to a small hook on the wall and pulled down his own Templar smock and slowly pulled it on over his clothes and vestments. He turned and faced Michael. In the battle between light and dark, is anyone truly innocent? The question hung in the air and then Michael bowed and left the room. Chapter 272 The Dark Arts The setting was nothing like hed imagined it would be. The plush hotel room had been left far behind and he found himself sitting in the breakfast nook of the house hed broken into. Through neighbors, hed found that the owners of the home were on an extended holiday to the Far East, so he decided it was as good a place as any for him to hole up. He had no doubt that the Templars would be looking for him. Livers sighed to himself and took in his surroundings. The family who owned this home seemed to have an infatuation with Martha Stewart. The kitchen was a deluge of potpourri and candles replete with a vast selection of cloth napkins and floral arrangements that provided a sickening miasma of normalcy to his abnormal endeavor. Livers sat at the head of the table and stacked the four thin leather books in front of him. He picked the oldest and the first volume from the stack and laid it on the table in front of him. He sat there for a few minutes, his hands in his lap as he stared at the cover. Torquemada was an organized person, possessed of the working habits of an accountant. The writing on the cover was neat and legible and very minimalist in its presentation. It simply said, Forbidden Arts in artful Latin. Glenn studied the letters and considered what he was doing for the umpteenth time. Were he to crack the wax seal holding the ledger together, hed be embarking on a path that there was no return from. But hadnt he already taken that first step? His murder of Father Tucci still resonated with him. He felt the combination of guilt and revulsion intermixed with blinding greed and avarice. Still, the Church had always been about redemption. Could he not turn away from his lifelong dream of truly understanding the Dark Arts and leave it behind? In the end, he knew hed open the book. He was destined to open the book and to know. The sin in the garden had nothing to do with the act of defiance but with the knowledge that was imparted. Adam and Eve had defied God, but what was worse, they were introduced to shame and knowledge that destroyed their innocence. There were stories and myths all around that told this story. Livers sighed and snapped the wax seal on the side of the book and opened the broad cover to the first page.

There was no bright flash of light and he wasnt struck blind. Instead, the first page was a very plain, bureaucratic cover, basically detailing Torquemadas secret charter to uncover the secrets of the Dark Arts from the Moorish and Spanish wizards he was nominally trying to convert to the Church. It read very much like a bulletin or recipe book, outlining the practices and most of all, the safeguards the Inquisition took to ward off counter responses from the wizards. He felt his eyes widen as he noticed familiar names in the text. Malfoy, Black, Bones, Weasley: These were the names of wizards whod been enlisted by the Grand Inquisitor to assist him in his task. Apparently, Torquemada had been a pragmatist who knew his only protection from wizards was to have his own wizards to ward off hexes. The accounts of physical torture and immolation made the guilt come back to Livers, but only slightly as he began to get a subtext as to how Torquemada understood the Dark Arts. There were three types of Dark Magic, according to Torquemada. There were the Unforgiveables, those three spells that were well known and universally accepted as completely evil, not just dark. At the time, the Cruciatus Curse and the Killing Curse were understood, but it had taken some time for the Imperious Curse to join them. It had been a near thing, but finally, the idea that a spell could force someone to act amorally warranted its place in the pantheon of dark spells. The second category of spells were classified as minor evil, those spells that could cause mischief and mayhem, but were mostly attributed to the intent of the person casting the spell. These included love potions that changed the will of the target, those designed to break up marriages and those that intended to amass someone elses possessions or wealth for ones own use. Torquemada was clergy, so he categorized those in this group under the principles of the Seven Deadly Sins, those being Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Anger, Greed and Sloth. Strangely enough, this made sense to Livers, and yet, werent a lot of the so-called good spells characterizations of many of these? The last grouping of Dark Arts spells seemed to answer his question. The section was titled Veneficium Canus or Gray Magic. These were spells thought to be good, but were altered by intent. These were the most insidious form of the Dark Arts, in that, these were completely benign spells that seemed for the good and were turned to the bad. For example, Torquemada spoke of an enrichment spell. The wielder would cast it, hoping to make himself richer, and within a day, his mother would die, leaving him some money. In actuality, the Imperious Charm had started in this group. What better intent was there to compel someone to believe in the greater good, to make a bad man believe in the good, and yet, the act of compulsion, made the spell evil. It was something that intrigued Livers. It outlined the hypocrisy of those wizards who looked down on him for so long. What made their will good over his will? Was it merely about intent? Within a few hours, Livers had read through the books, absorbing their content with greater and greater acceptance. What separated practitioners of the Dark Arts from those who looked down on that side of magic was a simple matter of ethics and intent. What was wrong with being self serving? In the end, Voldemort had been about Voldemort. That made him powerful, but it also was his undoing. What if Livers could serve the greater good by serving himself? He could usher in a new understanding of this amoral side of magic. He could be a powerful wizard who had harnessed the dark arts. That would be a task greater than anything he could have imagined. He reclined in his seat and contemplated his next move. The sun had set outside his window and the town of St. Ives lit up in a bustle as the evening took over the place. Hed returned to St. Ives because of the location and its relatively uncaring magical and muggle population. Here was as good a place as any to hide and experiment. He grasped original text and flipped through its contents. It was time. *** Ron, youre up! Harry walked into the main office area seeking out his friend. Harry was holding a piece of parchment in his hand and waved in front of him as Ron rose from his desk.

What is it, Harry? Ron asked, even as he nodded to the senior members of his team. Harry grinned and handed the parchment to Ron. Im not sure, but some brooms seem to be going haywire in St. Ives. The braking charms are being manipulated to toss their riders. Crestfallen, Ron shook his head. Oh, come on Harry, its probably someones idea of a practical joke. Im sure it is, Ron, but the problem is that some people are getting hurt. We cant let things get out of hand. Harry watched as Rons mind turned. Well, it may give me some good training time for Carter. I dont think I need the whole team, but Ill take Carter and maybe the Bobsy twins with me. Itll get the kid some practice before he takes his final M.A.G.E. next month. Harry shook his head at Rons mention of the Bobsy Twins. Deana Lindsey and Seth Cottrell were not related, but as Auror partners and members of Rons tea m, they were inseparable. Deana was tall, well over six feet with long blonde hair and a pale complexion. Despite her intimidating size, she was surprisingly shy and compassionate. Seth was the polar opposite of Deana. He was barely over five feet six inches, and was completely bald. Ron likened his appearance to that of a fireplug. Seth was short, stocky with large broad shoulders and a cantankerous disposition. He and Deana had come through training together, and for some reason, theyd gelled as a team. Carter Sigismund made a good amount of sense to Harry. Ron was right, within thirty days of taking his final entrance exam, Carter could use some good field experience. Harry nodded and turned to leave, stopping to throw his friend a word of advice. Its probably nothing, Ron, but make sure Carter doesnt treat it lightly. You never know whats lurking out there, and I want him taking every assignment seriously. Harry c autioned. Ron held up his arms. Harry, its me! I take everything seriously. Harry snorted and nodded and returned to his office. *** The nave of the old church looked very much like an old hearth. There was a heavy metal grate piled high with ashes in the center of the vestibule. The church was an abandoned shell of its former glory, the great schism between Protestants and Catholics had long ago driven out the parishioners and priests, but the building remained, empty until such time that enough adherents were found to reopen its doors. A flickering greenish yellow flame began to smolder in the center of the nave, wisps of smoke stretching up towards the dome-like ceiling. All of the sudden, the flame flared brightly and seven figures appeared in a spear formation, hands touching shoulders as the men materialized. At the point of the spear, Father Michael wiped a bit of soot and ash from the shoulder of his jacket. They were dressed alike in sleek, muted suits with white shirts and blood-red ties. Michael stared at his team. We suspect that Category Three spells have been carried out here, but we can not be sure. Stay in the background until we confirm that the excommunicate is responsible. We do not want any untoward entanglements with local authorities, unless we have to. Is that clear? The men stared ahead, their compliance all but assured. Michael had recruited each and every one into the Templars. He knew their loyalty was unquestioned, and he wondered why he felt the need to articulate the instructions. Perhaps he was feeling a bit queasy about their mission? The ledgers had to be recovered, that was for sure. So why did Michael feel uneasy? ***

St. Ives was divided into two distinct sections of town. There was the muggle section, replete with the main town square with all its attendant shops and municipal buildings, while the magical portion of the population stuck to a smaller, more isolated section, located around a smaller square. It was in this green area that the local club Quidditch club held its matches. Livers had found a small canvas grocery sack and had proceeded to the small square to purchase some of the necessities that hed need to maintain his study. As he stood at the check out line, he noticed a collection of people in the middle of the square. He nodded to the teen age clerk. Whats going on out there? The bored clerk shrugged his shoulders. It looks like someone has been meddling with the braking charms of the team. Im thinking it was the Ottery St. Catchpole squad, but thats just me. The clerk accepted the galleons that Livers handed him. Anyhow, everyone is all excited because the Ministry sent some Aurors to look into it. Livers felt a cold chill go through his chest. Aurors were the last people he wanted to see. His bad luck seemed to be compounding. He hadnt even had a chance to try out any of the spells. He thanked the clerk and stood near a post box and watched the Aurors go through their investigation. They were led by a tall, redheaded man, who Livers recognized from various news articles in the Prophet. A slight flicker of movement in an alley across from him caught his eye. He focused in on the movement and then froze in place. There was a man in a black suit and dark red tie standing there, staring at the Aurors. Livers recognized the man, especially his light blonde hair in its crew cut and dark brown eyes. Despite the Templars penchant for secrecy, the Vatican was a creature of ceremony and pomp. When Carmine Valliere had been named Archbishop, this man had been there, introduced, nominally as his deputy. Now he was here, in St. Ives, standing no more than a few meters from Livers. Any sudden movement on his part would draw the mans eye. Livers froze in his spot, wondering what his next move would be.

*** Livers wasnt the only person who noticed Father Michaels observation point in the alley. Carter Sigismund had just completed an interview under Rons watchful eye and had noticed the man standing in the alley. He turned to Ron and avoided drawing the mans attention. It looks like we have an interested watcher. Carter said. Theres a man in a suit with a red tie in that alley over there. Ron stayed calm and took in his apprentice. So, whats that got to do with anything? Carter smiled. Theres two more men in different spots around the square with the same tie. It looks like theyre keeping track of us. Ron nodded and waved Deana and Seth over. He quickly informed them of his young train ees notions. What do you think? We saw the other guys over there. Id say theyre either watching the Quidditch or watching us work. Deana said quickly. I guess wed better go see what theyre so interested in. Ron said. Carter and I will check out the guy in the alley. You guys take a look at those fellows across the way. Ron motioned for Carter to follow and the two pairs of Aurors headed in opposite directions.

*** Something tugged at the back of Michaels skull. He turned slowly , his watchful eyes taking in the crowd around the square. This seemed like a dead end, yet something was troubling him. There was some movement from the Aurors, yet he pried himself from the tableau in the middle of the square and his eyes rested on a man standing nearby with a canvas grocery bag. The man was staring at Michael, not at what was going on in the square. The man had long, dark black hair parted in the middle that looked somewhat greasy and disheveled. It was the eyes that gave him away. They were black, and full of fear, but most of all, they were aware. The man knew who, or more importantly, what Michael was. Most of all, Michael knew who the man was. It was his quarry. It was Glenn Livers. Michael didnt hesitate. He drew a wand from his inside jacket pocket and aimed. The St. Ives square suddenly exploded into a pantheon of light and smoke as the building behind Livers disintegrated from a well-aimed blast. Chapter 273 Gray Magic, Indeed Rons hesitation was momentary as he processed the pace of events unfolding in front of him. Without a second thought, he drew his wand and tapped the tip on the face of his Aurors shield and then motioned for Carter to dodge to the right, behind some rubbish bins. They saw the man with the red tie running at full stride, curses emitting from his wand while his intended target dropped the bag he was carrying and began running down the crowded street. I guess we dropped in on someones party. Ron quipped, but his face grew serious. Weve got to stop this before someone gets hurt. Ron looked behind him and saw Deana and Seth running across the park towards the sound of the disturbance. Ron made a mental calculation and pointed towards Livers retreating figure. You try to catch up with that bloke. Take him back to the Ministry. Well find out what makes him so interesting there. Ron said, giving Carter a gentle shove. What are you going to do? Carter asked. Ron smiled wickedly. Im going to crash this other fellows party. Carter gave a casual wave and bounded off, cutting across the park to intercept the fleeing Livers. Ron returned the gesture and ran off at full speed to block Michaels path. *** It hadnt taken long for Deana and Seth to process the actions going on over on the other side of the park. The explosions and screams lent themselves to interpretation. The ran from the far side of the park and gained the center in time to see Ron and Carter split up. Without speaking, the pair also divided, Seth chasing after Ron while Deana followed in Carters wake. Seth closed on Ron and watched as the senior Auror drew up his wand and shouted at the man racing down the street. All right, thatll be enough of that! Stop where you are! Ron shouted, auth ority in his voice. Michael took a quick look and spotted the silver badge on Rons breast. The priest in disguise grunted and raised

his wand. Ron barely got up a protective charm before the blast deflected on his shield and struck a nearby monument, raining rock and debris on his back. Ron countered. Stupefy! The stun charm blazed across the street and struck Michael in the side, sending him tumbling into a nearby row of newspaper machines. Ron shook the dust from his head and ran towards the spot Michael fell, his arms extended and his wand at the ready. Ron noticed a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. He had barely half a second to dive to the ground before a cascade of bright red light passed over his head and impacted on the side of a parked car, producing a tremendous explosion that showered Ron with shards of metal and glass. One particularly jagged piece lodged itself in Rons leg. He felt the fire of the pain pass up his thigh and the force of the blast carried his wand into the street and out of arms reach. The new arrival ran up to Michael and helped him to his feet. Michael glanced at Ron and then nodded to his colleague before running after his prey. The Templar adjusted his suit and aimed his wand at Ron to offer the coup de grace. That was when Seths curse struck him, full in the chest and sent the man flying through a plate glass store front. Ron lifted his hand and called for his wand which flew through the air. Seth bounded up to Ron and inspected the wound. With the metal still embedded in the flesh, a simple episkey charm would fuse the skin around the shard, making its extraction even more problematic. Instead, Seth reverted to simple first aid and took his belt and tied off Rons thigh to stop the blee ding. Ron nodded his thanks and then snapped up his wand, firing a curse out towards the park. What the blazes? Seth grumbled and then turned to see two more of the nattily clad assassins hiding behind park benches and play ground equipment. Who the hell are these guys? Seth asked. Ron grit his teeth on the pain, as Seth dragged him behind a large stone parking post. The real question is how many more of them are there? Seths words were lost in the blasts that impacted nearby. *** Carter raced at breakneck speed across the park. The sounds of battle reached his ears as he bounded between a pair of parked cars and ran across the street. Carter was tall, lean and after three years of Auror training, in peak condition. He demonstrated that conditioning by hurdling over an overturned rubbish can in mid stride. He brought his arms up and aimed his wand at Livers, both hands clasped tightly around the end of the wand. Livers stopped short at the Auror. Hold it right there. Let me see your hands. Carters voice was steady, the exertion of his pursuit having no affect on his breathing. Livers held up his hands unsteadily. Youve got to let me go. Theyre going to kill me. There was a quiver of fear in Glenns voice. Carters eyes narrowed. Who is going to kill you? Who are you? As if in answer to his question, Carter saw the man whod started the battle running towards him from down the street. On instinct, Carter shouted at Livers. Get down!

Livers dropped to the ground as Carter let fly with a stunner. Michael had seen the bolt coming and dove over the hood of a car, the spell passing just over his shoulder. Look out! Livers shouted, pointing behind Carter. For a split second, Carter thought it was a trick, but he couldnt afford to ignore the warning. He dropped to his knee while whirling around. He spotted two more of the suited men coming up the street at him. Carter sent out a blasting charm that landed in the center of the street, throwing cobblestones and mortar in the air and momentarily blinding the approaching men. He had not forgotten the other man hed fired at and he dove to the side, anticipating a strike that was not long in coming as Michael fired from the street in his direction. Carter did a roll near the curb and landed by Livers. He pulled the man up by the collar and shoved him down a flight of stairs that led to a basement entrance to one of the buildings. The small landing offered cover and protection as Carter fought off assaults from both sides of the street. If the man that Ron had been after was here, it meant that his mentor had run into some sort of trouble. He couldnt think about what that trouble may be. Instead, Carter focused on fighting off the tide of wild spells that were flying all about and hoping that Deana and Seth would arrive to help. *** A baleful wail echoed through the Ministry as a specific caterwaul charm cried out for attention. Each Auror team had a specific warble, a unique pitch to its caterwaul charm. When Ron touched his wand to this shield, it called out to a wall inside the Office Aurors, where a shield identical to Rons rested on a shelf with a glass of amber liquid lying atop of it. The Protean Charm caused the glass to fall from the shelf onto the floor, emitting the scream. Harry was sitting in his office going through his teams expense ledger when he heard the shrieking cry. He rose from his chair and bolted into the main Office area, almost running headlong into Dennis Creevey, who was leading a group of his Hit Team towards the apparition points in the Atrium. Thats Rons signal! Dennis shouted. Where is he? The lean, muscular warrior continued on the path down the hall, forcing Harry to run after him. St. Ives Memorial Park! Harry shouted as he caught up to the gargantuan man. Harry dropped his voice. Ron isnt one to set off his charm lightly. He must be in a heck of a mess. *** Were in a heck of a mess, here. Who are those guys? Ron asked as he shot another bolt towards a well hidden assailant. He could feel the shock spreading from his wound. His head felt light and he knew he wouldnt be able to stay conscious for long. Weve got to get you out of here, Ron. Youre losing a lot of blood. Seth mumbled, all the while keeping up a terrific rate of fire. Cant Ron was weakening. Cant leave Carter. Seth nodded soberly. They were here until the end. *** Livers felt a sharp stab of pain as a splinter of concrete struck him in the back of the neck. A blast from above had sent the small piece of rock into them. Glenn looked up the stairs as the young Auror fought desperately to hold off the Templars. It was a pity, really, the young man had no idea who he was up

against, and still he fought to protect a total stranger. Livers reached into his pocket and drew his wand. For a moment, he contemplated aiming it up at the young man, but the shower of sparks and light changed his mind. Instead, he looked at the bolted door of the basement entrance. He rose slowly and pointed his wand at the door. Alohamora! The door opened with a click. Livers looked up at the Auror and the two made brief eye contact, Carter warning Livers not to run. Livers gave a small wave and ran into the door. Carter cursed under his breath and then ducked as another spell struck the landing. He raised his head and returned the fire. Suddenly, Deana was there, behind the two men up the street from Carter. Her wand flashed and she stunned one of them and drew the attention of the other. Carter sent curses flying towards Michael, the assault sending him retreating as the young Auror sent a cascade of fire and water in an impenetrable wall. In the park, the telltale sounds of apparition began to be heard. Finally, the Ministry had sent reinforcements. Carter took a quick look at Michael and then raced into the building, after Livers. Michael also heard the sounds of the arriving Aurors and Hit Team members. Theyd lost their opportunity. He slid behind an overturned mail truck and studied the building where the Auror and Livers had taken refuge. He thought for a moment and then nodded to himself. Slowly, he raised his wand. *** Livers had entered the building and looked around. The room was bare, just four walls and assorted junk and used furniture tossed about. He saw a row of rectangular windows on the far wall that led to the alley behind the row house. A desperate plan began to form in his head. He had to throw off the Aurors and the Templars. He ran to one of the windows and tossed it open. He pulled himself through the window and into the alley behind him. He looked around and saw no sign of anyone in the alley. He dusted himself off and drew his wand. He needed some breathing room. He aimed his wand at the building and scowled. *** Carter walked into the room and looked around, his wand at the ready. He turned from side to side, checking the room for any sign of his quarry. He looked up and spotted the open window and sighed. Hopefully, the man hadnt gotten too far away. He took the first step towards the window when *** The building collapsed on itself. The top floor pan caking on the next floor, then on the next, then on the next. In one terrific boom of fire, rubble and dust, the sturdy row house had erupted and been destroyed in one fell swoop. Deana looked at the building in shock. She turned and saw the man shed been fighting grab his wounded partner by the wrist and apparate away. She looked down the street and saw the man Carter had been fighting drop his wand and also apparate away, a sorrowful and shocked look on his face. Carter had been in that building! Deana raced towards the spot, hoping to pull the young trainee from the rubble, but tons of rock and stone and four stories of building had simply imploded. There would nothing to find. *** Livers had felt the power course through his body. The charm had been simple, actually. It was quite benign. All it was designed to do was add weight and heft to a buildings structure. This time, hed only applied it to the top story of the building, making it far too heavy to be supported by the bottom stories.

Gray magic indeed, he thought. He felt the power, good magic turned into bad. It was exhilarating. Hopefully, one of the Templars had been caught inside. Someone had, or he wouldnt have felt this way. He stowed his wand and ran down the alley. *** Six of the seven Templars had gotten away. The seventh, the one that Seth had sent through the window, was seriously injured. Harry ran up to where Ron was leaning against a car. His friend was pale and raspy, the wound in his leg bleeding. Weve got to get him to St. Mungos. Harry shouted. Ron held up his hand to Harrys chest, struggling to breathe. Wait. Ron said, his voice faint. Wait.Harrywheres.Carter? Deana ran up to them, her voice a mask of pain and shock. Harry looked at her and knew. Tears were streaming down her face. Ron mustered up as much strength as he could and grabbed Harrys shirt front, bringing Harrys face near his own. Wheres Carter? Ron shouted with his last remaining strength. Harrys voice was soft, already contemplating the pain that Leonora would be facing when he told her. Harry put his hand on Rons. Hes gone, Ron. He didnt make it. Ron stopped fighting the tears and they streamed down his face as the pain and guilt washed over him. Harry was grateful when his friend finally surrendered to the blackness of unconsciousness, but he knew the respite was temporary. Ron would blame himself. Harry stood up and motioned to Dennis, who had two of his men grab Ron and apparate to St. Mungos. Mortimer walked up and nodded soberly to Harry. We got one of them, Harry. Were taking him in now. Harry nodded and looked Deanna and Seth, the two Aurors holding each other over the loss of their young team mate. Now will someone tell me what in Merlins name is going on? Only the grief of the moment responded. Chapter 274 Answers and More Questions The main interrogation chamber for the Office of Aurors harkened back to the days when medieval barons held recalcitrant souls in dungeons. The walls were composed of giant slabs of rock arranged in a small square space. There were tiny holes in the wall, remnants of the shackles from days of yore that had long since been removed. The only light came a small, fist-sized globe that was suspended in the air in the center of the room. It fed a bright sheen of light that created shadows in the corners, while focusing a tight beam down on the center of the floor. In the center of the beam was a simple wooden chair with a man bound to it tightly by several turns of a rope, his head slumped down with his chin resting on his chest. After a while, the mans head stirred and he took a moment to assess his situation. He was broad shouldered, wearing a finely tailored suit with a white Brooks Brothers shirt and a dark red tie the color of blood. It took him a moment to understand his incapacity, reflexively, he strained against his bindings and then gave up. He looked around, an impassive expression on his face and settled his eyes on the wall ahead, waiting for the inevitable appearance of his captors.

His patience was soon rewarded as he heard the squeak of hinges from the door obviously on the wall behind him. He heard one set of footsteps approaching him from behind. A shadow passed over him and he took a deep breath, settling his nerves. Hed been trained for this. Templars were impossible to break, either physically or magically, but the anxiety was there, nonetheless. His jailor came into view. The man was easily recognizable, even if the Templar hadnt read his file in preparation for this meeting. He was taller than he expected, dressed in all black with broad shoulders, but lean throughout his body. His face was drawn and etched with lines from years of battle and stress. Perched upon his nose were a pair of frameless glasses and his trademark scar was faint, barely discernable beneath the wayward mop of jet black hair that spread wildly across the mans head. The Templar steeled himself, willing his beating pulse to slow, but he failed. It was the eyes. The mans eyes were a bright emerald that seared with a heat and brightness that penetrated the Templars head like a spike through the brain. The gaze almost physically hurt and the Templar tensed and waited for the man to speak. My name is Harry Potter. You look like a man who knows his way around an interrogation room, so I wont bore you with bravado or tricks. Despite his attempts to remain expressionless, the Templar felt his eyebrows arch at the mans candor. Still, your actions have resulted in the death of one of my Aurors, so Ill just leave it at this. We can do this hard way or th e easy way, but we will find out why you murdered one of my men. The Templar mentally went through a recitation of a prayer, but remained silent as Potter stared at him. Harry sighed heavily, looking despondent at the Templars recalcitrance. Potter se emed genuinely sorry that the Templar had selected the hard option. Very well, why dont we establish a baseline of what I require to learn from you? Who are you? What is your name? Who were you and your associates attacking? Why did it require the death of a Ministry official? Harry didnt expect the man to respond. The professionalism of the attack coupled with his hardened silence made Harry sure that this was no simple case of hooliganism, but the questions were in the mans conscience. Now he would think of the responses as Harry was forced to do what he had to do. Legillimens! Harrys voice was sharp, cold and he leaned forward, almost touching the mans forehead with the tip of his wand. Harry felt his conscious self immersing in the mans brain. There was a cascade of fog and darkness with a distant globe of light in the distance. Harry propelled himself towards the light, the source of the mans memory. Harry strained, the going difficult, like walking through hip deep mud. When he reached the light, Harry found himself blocked. It was like a locked gate prevented Harry from penetrating the mans conscious mind. Harry strained against the lock, but it would not give. He could feel beads of sweat pouring down his brow, but the mans memories would not surrender to his probe. Harry drew back and stood, heavily breathing and stared at the man. The encounter had not left the man unscathed. His face was pale and his brow was soaking wet. His eyes were wide from pain and agony, but he knew he had resisted. Harry shook his head and walked out the door. Outside, Harry passed the sleeve of his robe over his forehead, mopping his brow. Mortimer stood off to side, looking through a one-way mirror at the prisoner. Occlumency? Mortimer asked. Harry shook his head. No. What I ran into inside his head was far more powerful than simple occlumency. Harrys mind drifted to his own training at Snapes hands at the defense art against mind intrusion. Occlumency required far too much power and discipline. Far more than this man had demonstrated. There seems to be an external block, a spell cast to prevent intrusion. Whoever he his, this man is well connected.

Should I try veritaserum? Mortimer asked, producing a vial of the liquid from his pocket. Harry looked through the window at the man. I guess we can try it, but whoever this guy is with planned for an legillimens probe, Im sure they prepared for veritaserum. I doubt well get anything out of him that way. Whatll we do? Mortimer asked hesitantly. Harry shook his head and rolled his shoulders. Well have to try the old fashioned way if it fails. Mortimer swallowed hard then nodded. He reached for the cell door and went inside, his vial at the ready. *** Sean Manchester and Eric Williamson stood off to the side as their teams poured through the rubble of the home. In their guise as Department 19, they managed to send away the local muggle authorities and allowed the Aurors the grim task of digging out the remains of one of their own. Sean stood silently, his face a mask of muted pain. Hed known Carter since hed been born. He remembered how proud Leonora had been every time she talked about her son. Carter made Ravenclaw. Carter is a prefect. Carter is Head Boy. Leonora never tired of regaling Sean about her son. It was an especially touching that on the day Leonora officially retired from the Office of Aurors, Carter had been sworn in, creating a legacy chain within the ranks that just seemed right. Seans thoughts drifted to Leonora. His former partner had helped him get through the loss of his wife, Lockley. Hed felt rage then. Rage at the world, of course, but also at Harry and the Ministry for putting her in a position to get killed. From all reports, Ron had called things the right way, yet Sean had made blaming Harry a cornerstone of his grief. Leonora would no doubt place some blame on Ron. Sean sighed. Hed have to step in and help his friend. It was one of the reasons he was he re. It was time to return her sons remains. There was a loud crash and outcry from the site. One of Seans Aurors stood and ran over to him. Sir, I think youd better come and see this. The wide -eyed Auror led Sean back to the site of destruction. *** Flecks of blood were sprinkling from the prisoners mouth. The veritaserum had encountered some barrier within his larynx that while painful for the prisoner, had prevented the concoction from working its way down his throat. Mortimer stepped back and looked at the small vial in his hand. He heard the door open and watched as Harry ushered in a healer into the room. The healer studied the man and waved his wand. He has a counter serum charm. Harry said. He looked at the man as the healer co ntinued his ministrations. Harry noticed a small mark on the reverse side of the mans left wrist. He moved forward and turned the hand over and studied the mark. It was a tattoo, carved in the shape of a cross with a small lions head on the front. Harry looked at the mark curiously and showed it to Mortimer. The old fashioned way? Mortimer asked. Harry nodded. Yep, it looks like we have to become detectives. Harry allowed Mortimer to proceed him through the door as the two men went to look into the origin of the mark. ***

Despite the miraculous healing potions and powers that were available to the wizarding world, the simple fact of the matter was that they were, when all was said and done, simply human. Rons injuries had been catastrophic, with the shard of metal nicking his femoral artery. Hed lost a tremendous amount of blood and hed been touch and go for quite some time. It had been easy enough for the wizards of St. Mungos to remove the shrapnel and heal the flesh, but the risk of infection and the tremendous loss of blood had nearly killed him. He opened his eyes, barely able to focus. His tongue felt heavy and his body seemed to be bereft of the ability to move. The antiseptic white walls of the ward made him wince and his head felt as if a full sized goblin was hammering away on the inside of his skull. A low moan left his lips and he closed his eyes to steady his equilibrium. He turned to the chair beside the bed, but it was empty, although the tell tale signs of a Hermione encampment were there, including her throw and her purse. A light, quiet female voice came to his ears. Your wife went downstairs to talk to some Aurors. Shes been here the entire time. He focused on the figure of a thin, pretty woman in the green garb of a hospital matron. Ron nodded, and was immediately rewarded with a dull pain behind his eyes for the effort. He took a breath and exhaled slowly. H-how long? The woman smiled. Youve been here for almost a whole day. It was touch and go for a while there, but Healer Ramsey says youll pull through. Somehow, that news didnt seem to cheer Ron up as a flood of memories rushed through him. Hed killed Carter. The matron checked his forehead and then turned to leave. Ill be in to check on you shortly. Im heading down to the main lobby. If I see your wife, Ill tell her youve awaken. She nodded and walked out of the ward. The events at St. Ives replayed through his head. He heard every syllable, rethought every decision. No matter how he played it, he couldnt get past the fact that Carters death was on his conscience. He killed Carter. You killed my son. The voice wasnt panicked, or angry or even off balance. It was calm, cool and composed and its softness pummeled Rons ears like the sound of a roaring crowd at a Quidditch Match. Leonora stood at the foot of his bed. Ron wanted to look down, wanted to turn away from her accusatory gaze, yet he couldnt. His eyes locked with hers and he deep down, he agreed with her. Im sorr- No, Ron, you dont get to apologize. You never took this role seriously. You were always whining about something or being flippant about something, but you were responsible. You were the one charged with his safety and you let him go out there alone. Its your fault. At the end of her soft tirade, it seemed as if Leonora was going to break down. Ron stared at her and nodded. Youre right, Leonora. It is my fault. She hadnt expected that. She hadnt expected him to accept responsibil ity. In her dealings with him, hed always dodged accountability, always been the class clown, but she saw none of that. It made what she wanted to do that much harder. Someone has to pay, Ron. Someone has to be held to account for killing my son. S lowly, she drew her wand from her purse and caressed its handle.

Ron nodded and felt oddly calm about the situation. Youre right, Leonora. I dont blame you. Do what you feel you must. If taking my life brings you comfort over Carter, then so be it. Im sure thats what he would have done in your place. She froze and looked at Ron accusingly. It was as if hed slapped her bodily. Her wand shook in her hand as she brought the tip up towards Rons chest. Carter would not want her to do this. She could almost hear his voice in her head, screaming at her to stop. No, Carter wasnt screaming, he was whispering urgently. Mom. She shook the cobwebs from her head and looked at Rons face, but Ron wasnt facing his executioner. He was looking beyond her to the wards entrance. Another familiar voice filled the room. You dont want to do that, Leonora. Put the wand down. Sean was there with Hermione standing behind him, her hand over her mouth. Behind Sean, several healers were pushing a gurney to the treatment area. There was a figure on the bed, who looked vaguely familiar. Leonoras eyes grew wide as she caught sight of her son, Carter. His body was badly broken, his face bruised and misshapen, but he could speak in a low whisper. Mom, dont do it. Leonora dropped her wand and ran to her sons side. Carter pushed away the hands of the nearest healer and held his mothers hand, desperation in his face. No matter what happens, Im where I want to be. This isnt Rons fault, mother. The exertion took the last of his reserves of strength. A burly matron gently moved Leonora to the side as the healers took Carter into the treatment room. Leonora turned to Sean. What happened? Sean shook his head solemnly. He managed to get a partial shield up over his vitals. His legs were crushed and he might not make it, but hes been trained well, Leonora. His instincts helped him survive the collapse. Leonora nodded numbly and then the tears burst from her eyes. I almost did it, S ean. I was ready to kill him. I know, Leonora. Sean reached his arm out to his friend and drew her close. Believe me, I know. In the back of his mind, part of Sean remembered how close he had been to sending a killing curse at Harry for Lockleys death. He held Leonora close as her body wracked from her sobs. Sean stared at the door theyd taken Carter through. It had been a near thing, and the fact remained, had he not found Carter, would he have stopped Leonora? He honestly did not know. Chapter 275 Conscience versus Duty He sat up in his bed, sweat pouring down his face. Glenn Livers reached for the small light at the bedside table and flicked it on. The dream caught him by surprise, not so much from the content but from the sheer intensity. He pulled the threadbare sheet from his chest and swung his legs to the side. In the dream, he was falling into a dark abyss, until his hand was caught by another, who was standing on a ledge, keeping him from the dark maw of the pit. When Glenn looked up, he saw the face of the young

Auror whod shielded him from the Templar attack. The Aurors face was kindly and Glenn smiled at him. Then, as if he had no control of his actions, Glenn reached with his other hand and extended his wand. He sent a spell that struck the Auror, forcing the man to release his life saving grip. There was a look of surprise and disappointment on the mans face, while shock radiated through Glenns body. Then Glenn fell into the pit and started awake. He rose and went to the small bathroom off the efficiencys one room. The glare of a harsh neon light bathed the room in reddish, almost hellish tint. There was no doubt that he had to leave St. Ives. He didnt know what hed done to bring the Templars to the tiny ha mlet, but he knew that strangers would stand out. Once he fled from the scene of the building collapse, he made his way to his temporary hideaway, collected the books and made his way to London, intent on blending in with the millions of faceless muggles in the large metropolitan area. That being said, the Vatican had a long reach, and normal means of payment would easily give him away. He found himself in a seedier part of town, forced to let a room that could be paid in cash. He was, by no means, wealthy, however, he bought himself some time. After washing his face with cold water, he walked back into the main room and sat at the rickety table near the small kitchen area. The Torquemada Ledgers rested there, carefully stacked in order. Glenn stared at the cover of the topmost ledger and rubbed his stubbled chin. He remembered the overwhelming sensation of power that he felt executing the spells, but the fall from that height was also abrupt and precipitous. Hed often read that addictions acted this way. The rush was fleeting, while the consequences far more long lasting, but what a feeling it was. His hand moved from his face to the top of the book. He caressed the leather binding and he could swear that he felt a tingle in his fingertips. Hed reached a decision point. The whole thing had been set in motion as a result of a spur of the moment decision, yet now he had to make a choice. If he committed to fully realizing the power of the Dark Arts, hed have to deal with the consequences of his actions. Hed have to, for lack of a better term, sell his soul completely to the activity. Yet, here he was, in the middle of the night, feeling the impact of his conscience. Hed killed another innocent to save himself. The books called him. Outside, the lonely blare of a siren sounded off as life continued in the seamy underside of the world. *** How is that possible? Harry sat back in his chair and studied the faces of Sean and Eric as they relayed the news that Carter had survived the collapse of the building. Eric shrugged his shoulders. Carter is good. Hes always been good, but you know how much Ron drills his teams. Hes always catching them by surprise. I though he did it to try to trip them up, but maybe I was wrong. Carters response was instinctive and rapid. He pulled a protective charm around himself when he realized the building was coming down on him. Harry nodded. Back when he was a team leader under Dawlish, Harry had spent a lot of time in the training arena with his team, bringing in outside wizards to test the mettle of his Aurors. Ron had taken it a step further, yet no one had really understood why and Ron had done nothing to dispel the myth that hed stolen the idea for surprising his Aurors from the Pink Panther movies. In fact, Ron had taken to referring to the exercises as Cato maneuvers after the manservant who would attack Peter Sellers character in the movies. What it had done was make Rons teams much better on their feet and in this case, saved Carters life from certain death. So, whats the update on his condition? Harry asked. Will he make it?

This time it was Seans turn to respond. Hes seriously injured. He was unable to cover his entire body with his shield, so hes had an arm and both of his lower legs crushed. The healers dont know what will come back. Even healing in the magic world had limitations. We have to wait and see. Seans face lowered as his voice dropped. Harry sighed and then nodded to Eric, who excused him self from the room. Harry placed his hands on his desk and looked at Sean. I heard about the incident at St. Mungos with Leonora, Sean. Is she going to be a problem? Sean snapped his head up. What do you mean, Harry? Well, I take attempted murder very seriously, Sean. Dont you? Harry responded, curtly. Can you blame her, Harry? Can you blame any of us? The heat of Seans response caught Harry by surprise. He stared at Sean and finally noticed that Manchester had an expression that he h adnt seen or hadnt noticed. What are you saying, Sean? Are you saying that what happened to Carter was Rons fault? Are you telling me that what happened to Gwen was mine? Is that what youre saying? Seans eyes were alit with fire. He stared daggers at Harry. Maybe, Harry, just maybe I am. Trouble follows you. It always has. Its like youre on some personal crusade to right the worlds wrongs and you take us with you. Harry was taken aback by the fierceness of Seans response. Are you saying that we shouldnt have responded to the threats? We should have let Leclerc and Moriarty have their way? Seans face softened. No, of course not, Harry. What Im saying, though, is that not everything is a dire threat to planet. Not everything requires the ultimate sacrifice. Maybe its a case where your presence is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe its you. What would you have me do, Sean? Quit? You think everyone would be safe if I left the Ministry? Sean turned and started for the door, then he stopped. Who knows, Harry? Did you ever stop and think about that? Maybe youre the problem? Sean turned and left Harry to his thoughts. Harry sat motionless, at his desk, staring at his hands. Hed spent countless hours reflecting on the guilt of the losses hed sustained, and hed resolved them, at least in his own mind. Sean was wrong. For the first time in a long time, Harry knew that to be a fact. Everyone had lost someone. That was the price to be paid to battle evil. Thats what Harry was committed to. He did not subscribe to the concept that he, Harry, was the cause of the misery. Sometimes, bad people did bad things, and Harry was there to stop it. That was the fact. If Sean or anyone else didnt want to take the risk, then they shouldnt be Aurors. It was a cold calculation, but that was reality. Harry sighed and idly shuffled the paper on his desk. He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Harry looked up and saw Mortimer looking in. What is it, Mortimer? Harry shook off the fact that he felt a little anxiety when his team leader poked his head in. Mortimer smirked. Weve identified that fellows tattoo, Harry. Really? Who is he? Youre going to love this, its a Vatican mark. Hes a priest.

What? Harry rose from his desk. A priest? Are you sure? Mortimer nodded. Yes. The tattoo represents a small monastery in the Pyrenees, the Order of St. Richard. What the hell is going on? Why is a priest involved in a battle in St. Ives? Who w ere they chasing and why were they willing to hurt an Auror? Mortimer gave Harry a blank look. I dont know, boss, I guess were just going to have to ask. *** Carmine Valliere stood in the nave of the abandoned church and held his head up towards the hole in the broken dome. The building had survived the religious wars of the great schism and had been bombed during the Second World War. Technically, the Church still held the title to the property, but Catholics had left this part of England centuries ago and it was as good a place as any to house a meeting between himself and his field team. Valliere dropped his head from the ceiling and turned his gaze towards the impassive form of Father Michael. Whats our exposure? Will Father William talk? There was an edge of worry and menace in Carmines voice. The older priest shook his head. I dont believe so, Archbishop. His protections are strong, but we cannot assume that the Aurors wont figure out who he represents. Michael watched the storm of emotions pass through Carmines face. Were no closer to finding Livers, are we? Whose to say we havent squandered our best opportunity to deal with him? There was an accusatory tone in Carmines voice. His eyes mirrored the tone. Father Michael felt oddly at peace. We took a chance on the signs that he would be there, and we were right. Plus, we have an advantage over the Aurors because of what we possess. It is only a matter of time before we catch up with him. What if we dont have time, Michael? What do you think the Aurors will do once they find out about us? We cant assume that they will find out about us, Archbishop. Our security is very good. Even if they figure out William is a priest, there is no way for them to co nnect him to the Templars. Father Michael stared straight ahead. Well find him. Valliere leaned his face into Father Michaels, his hulking football body towering over the older man. I would never assume that there was no way for them to connect William to us. Our priority is the recovery of those books. They must be kept safe. Carmine stepped back and began pacing. Im sending in another three teams. We must use as many resources as needed to complete the mission. Those books must not be accessible to anyone except the Templars. Only we are in a position to properly store and protect them. Carmine placed his hands behind his back. The Aurors will start getting an idea whats going on. Someone will tell them. I dont know who or when, but they will find out. Heck, Livers may run to them to save his own life. That does not change our mission. The Torquemada Ledgers are far too dangerous to leave in the hands of the Ministry of Magic. They couldnt even keep secret of Atlantis. We will recover those books at any cost, am I understood?

Yes, Archbishop. There was something in Michaels tone that made Carmine pause. Speak your mind, Michael. The Aurors are not our enemies, Archbishop, plus I simply cant understand how they d figure out what were after. Normally, were on the same side of issues, so I am troubled by putting them on the target list. Carmine looked at his deputy and then smiled. Youre right, but weve already determined that our leadership at the Vatic an may not be as robust as we need, else the books would not have been lost. The Aurors are good people, but ill equipped for what they will find. They are wizards, after all, and the temptation would be too great to avoid using whats in the ledgers. The Templars have both wizards and muggles, which offers a balance. I pray that we can avoid a confrontation, but the over riding need will be the recovery of the books, do you understand? Yes, Archbishop, it will be done. Among all of his qualities, Father Michael was loyal. Hed made his case, but Carmine knew hed execute his mission with utter ruthlessness. Carmine crossed himself as he prayed for the Aurors. Now if only they would get the time they needed to complete the mission. *** You have a guest, Monsignor. Giuseppe Fangio looked up from his reading and smiled at his assistant. Who is it, Giorgio? Giuseppe closed his book and rose from his seat. He would not say, Monsignor, but he gave me this. The aide held out a small silver token on a silver chain. On the token was the image of a woman wearing a crown with writing around the edge of the token. The works were printed small, but were easily read. Pax Mary or literally translated, Marys Treaty or Marys Peace. Fangio grew silent and studied the chain and coin for a few moments and then gestured to his aide. Show our guest in, Giorgio. The man ushered in was more than Fangio had expected, which was surprising, given the already incredible stories that hovered around him. His stride was purposeful and smooth, like a hungry tiger on the hunt. The startling green eyes roved the room, seeking danger and finding none, but Fangio had no doubt that the man would respond as needed to any threat. Fangio adjusted the collar of his cassock and extended his hand to his visitor, holding out the token hed been presented. Its been almost three centuries since someone has invoked this. He handed the token to the new arrival. When Mary, Queen of Scots had been beheaded, it gave rise to the possibility of a destructive religious war between Britain and the Catholic League. The Ministry of Magic wanted no part of a struggle with the Church, especially after the openness of the Renaissance. The Minister set up a communication protocol with the Vatican, called the Pax Mary. A representative of the Ministry need only present the token to open a dialogue to interdict violence. Such an open channel had not been needed in quite some time. The visitor accepted the token back and shook Fangios hand. I didnt expect wed need it, after all this time, but given whats been happening, I couldnt be sure the Vatican wasnt at war with us. Harry pocketed the token and took a proffered seat. My name is Harry Potter, by the way.

I know who you are, Mr. Potter. Your reputation proceeds you. Why are you here? Fangio asked pleasantly enough. Harry sighed and crossed his legs. Its simple, Monsignor. Id like to know why you have priests in England trying to kill my Aurors?

Chapter 276 Rabbit Holes Monsignor Giuseppe Fangio sat back in his chair and rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he absorbed Harrys statement. That is a very inflammatory statement, Mr. Potter. I can assure you that the church has no desire to see anyone injured, least of all your Aurors. Harry studied Fangios expression and the mask of uncertainty behind his words. Reaching into the folds of his jacket, Harry pulled out a small photograph and leaned over to hand it to Fangio. A ma n with this tattoo was part of a group that seriously injured two of my Aurors, almost killing them both. We know the mark is from the Order of St. Richard. The man we captured is a priest. Surely the Vatican knows about elements within the church that could be capable of harming innocents. It is not Vatican policy to harm anyone, Mr. Potter. Fangio seemed more unsure of himself, the picture in his hand shook. I would be appalled if the church had rogue elements within its ranks that were operatin g outside the bounds of its authority. Let me remind you, Monsignor, that these priests were also wizards, who were knowledgeable in the fighting spells, not the healing spells. Can we dispense with the mental fencing for a bit and get to some truth? Id hate to have the Pax Mary revoked because you were unwilling to be forthright with us. Harrys emerald gaze arrested Fangios face. They locked eyes for a moment and then the priest dropped his gaze to the floor. Fangio rose from his chair and strode to a large picture window overlooking the square below. The place was teeming with visitors, both tourists and the faithful. The dome of St. Peters Basilica rose above while a small troop of Swiss guardsmen strode through the center of the square. Fangio sighed and turned to face Harry, holding the picture in his hands. What do you know about the Spanish Inquisition, Mr. Potter? It was not the question that Harry expected, and the subsequent answers almost made him wish he hadnt been asked. *** Glenn Livers slowly placed the ledgers in his satchel. The decision had not been an easy one, but it had been the only one he could live with. The course of action was necessary and true to himself. He slid the satchel strap over his head and felt the weight of the bag on his hip. The Templars wouldnt stop and based on what he saw, he didnt know if they could be trusted entirely with the knowledge contained within the ledgers. Livers closed his eyes as the memory of the power he felt raced through his brain. There was so much more to the Dark Arts, if only he had the time. That time wouldnt come with Templars on the prowl for him. Still, no matter what he did, he was a dead man, of that he was sure. Turn the books in, keep the books, he was confident that the Templars would come out swinging for him. He sighed. Hed just have to see about that. His plan was desperate, with more downside than up, but it beat dying and right now, that was his ultimate goal. He swung open the door to the hotel room and walked out into the night. ***

You sent Templars to my country? Why didnt you just ask us for help? It would have made things a lot less complicated. Harry rose from his seat and began pacing across the floor of the ornate office. Do you realize the implications of what youre saying? You have a someone roaming England with the most powerful dark arts resources known to man and a team of unsupervised secret wizard priests pursuing him. Youve taken action that has caused harm to my team a nd you did it all in direct violation of the Pax Mary. Have I got it all? Yes, Im afraid so, Mr. Potter. Fangio nodded his head sadly. So, what do we do now? Harry grimaced and then ran his fingers through his unruly hair. First things, first, Monsignor. You will have to remove your Templars from my country now. I will not have some quasi-military unit running roughshod through my country. It was Fangios turn to frown. I dont know if I can do that, Mr. Potter. What do you mean? You sent them, now recall them. Harrys demeanor grew more and more cross. He folded his arms in front of his chest and stood still as Fangio apologized. The Templars are chartered to perform a task, much like a contract. The contract is inviolable until the terms are met. We cannot back out and they cannot be recalled until the books are returned to the church. Fangio said, apologetically. Harry stood in shock and shook his head. Then another thought came to him. Is that their charter? To return the books to the Vatican? Of course. Said Fangio. Are you sure? The Church has a thing for the literal, so is that precisely what youve chartered them to do? Harry was insistent. Something about the violence in St. Ives had shaken him to the bo ne. Fangio hesitated, trying to recall his conversation with Carmine Valliere. Well, the Templars accepted the charge to recover the books and bring Livers to justice. Thats it? Harry asked carefully. Yes, what of it? Fangio responded. I dont see anything there about returning the ledgers to the Church, do you? The look on Fangios face betrayed his surprise. Hed just assumed that recovery meant return, but what if it didnt? Surely, youre not suggesting that the Templars would keep the books? Fangios voice shook from the implications. Im not suggesting anything, Monsignor, but they werent trying to recover anything in St. Ives. They were shooting to kill, so I can only assume that they were looking to do more than return the books. Why would they do that, Monsignor? Their leader isnt one who craves personal power, Mr. Potter. He is committed to the preservation of the faith. Fangio seemed very sure of himself. His statement made Harry shake his head in response. Fangio arched his eyebrow in response. What is it, Mr. Potter?

This could be worse than we thought. Itd be one thing if the Templars were driven by the need for personal power, but what if they were something far worse? Harry saw the confusion on Fangios face. What if they were true believers? What if they thought that the books would be safer with them? Fangios first inclination was to dismiss the notion altogether, but there was something about Valliere that made him hesitate. A dark cloud came over the Vaticans First Secretary. Hed really not thought through the Templars response. The issue was that the Templars were bound to preserve the Church and did not answer directly to the hierarchy. That meant that he truly did not know what Vallieres intentions were. Still, this was a matter that concerned the church and Potter was not part of that equation. I will keep that in mind, Mr. Potter. I will discuss this with the Templars. That was as far as Fangio was willing to go. Harry nodded, but kept a stern visage. Thats unfortunate, Monsignor. Harry rose and proceeded towards the door, Fangio close by his side. Harry paused. Please know that if I find any of these Templars operating within our borders, we will aggressively seek to detain them. The Ministry of Magic cannot abide to having armed wizards operating without any restrictions that would protect the public good. Apparently their mission runs contrary to good order. I will move to stop their activities. Open conflict with the Ministry of Magic is something we wish to avoid, Mr. Potter. Were on the same side. Fangios voice was pleading. Harry smiled sadly. I hope that we are, Monsignor. But let me remind you, Im on the side of the people of England. Id strongly urge that you convey that message to your Templars, before someone gets hurt. Harry shook Fangios hand and left the room. Fangio waited a moment and then his aide entered and bowed. Giorgio, I need to see the Holy Father. We have a problem. Giorgio bowed at the waist and left the room. *** Livers kept out of the light from the street lamps, keeping to the shadows. There was one way for him to bring his plan into motion, and it required him to be out in the open, but it wasnt quite t ime for that. He slid down the small street and made his way into the Leaky Cauldron. This was the moment of truth. He was reasonably sure that the Ministry wasnt on to him yet, but there was always a chance that the Templars would have the entrance to Diagon Alley staked out. He held his breath and made his way to the brick wall, finding the right one and opened the entrance to the alley. He walked through the portal and onto the main concourse. He was looking for someone in particular, not necessarily a specific person, but someone with high enough of a profile to activate the course of action he was hoping for. He walked down the alley and spotted the entrance to Flourish and Blotts, the wizarding book store. By chance, the manager of the store was coming out of the entrance and making her way down the street. She was slim, athletic with soft pale features. She walked with an easy grace that belied years of sports activities and an aristocratic upbringing. Part of Livers conscience called out to him, but hed chosen the spell for a specific reason. The woman turned a corner and he knew it was time to act. He walked up beside her and whispered a spell into her ear. She bolted upright and walked mechanically behind him. Time was of the essence. The Ministry had long ago established a jinx on the Unforgiveables and he knew that his use of this curse had set off a caterwaul charm at the Office of Aurors. He led the woman into a back alley and commanded her to stop near a wall. The Imperious charm was good, but he knew he had to draw both antagonists in.

Crucio! The woman began to writhe in pain, falling to her knees as the agony overcame the Imperious curse. A surge of power and warmth came through Livers body, and he almost lost h imself in the moment. The power was so enticing. Then he remembered where he was and dropped his wand to his side. The woman hugged her knees while sitting on the ground. Without so much as a look at her, Livers reached into his satchel and dropped one of the four ledgers on the ground next to the woman along with a piece of parchment. The parchment held no writing, just a picture. It was of a cross with a lion in front of it. He cocked his head up and heard the telltale sounds of apparition, on both sides of Diagon Alley. It was time to go. He ran out into the crowd and disappeared amid the throng. *** Mortimers team was on call. He and Silas led the team into the alley that had been the origin of the Unforgiveables. The caterwaul had been maddening, but the reason had been self evident. Someone had used two of the three Unforgiveables. Mortimer ran down the alley, his wand out and spotted the pitiful figure of the woman on the wet pavement. Its Beatrice! Beatrice Dursley was married to Harrys cousin. This could not have been unintentional. Silas took a quick survey and spotted the battered ledger on the ground. Look at this Mort! He held up the book and then saw the parchment. He picked up the parchment and saw the pictograph. Its the same as the tattoo the guy we have in custody has. Gentlemen, Ill kindly ask you to surrender that book. The voice came from one side of the alley, but there were footsteps at both ends. The seven man Auror team was trapped inside the small side alley. Father Michael stood near a dumpster, his wand out and pointed towards Silas and Mortimer. His eyes looked mournful, almost sad, as if this was the last action he wanted to take, but his arm was steady and firm, there was no hesitation in his stance. Mortimer stepped forward, silently motioning for his team to take up positions facing both sides of the alley. I dont know who you are, but pointing a wand like that at Aurors is a good way to get a one way ticket to Azkaban. Mortimer stopped moving and positioned his legs apart, in almost a defensive stance. He locked eyes with Michael and then grinned. Now, why dont you drop your wands and turn yourselves in? It would go a lot better for you if you did. Michael nodded, almost in admiration for Mortimers tenacity. It wasnt as if he expected the Aurors to give up. In the end, Michael knew this would be the result. In a few seconds, there would be no turning back, no redemption. In a few seconds, things would be so much more complicated. He tried one more time. We have no quarrel with you, Auror. Hand over the book and no one has to get hurt. Michaels voice was slow and sad. Mortimer nodded and felt rather than heard Silas prepare himself nearby. You know I can t do that. Youve always known that. I guess theres nothing left to do. We seem to be at an impasse. Michael nodded slightly, almost in salute. Then, the alley exploded in flurry of light and sound. Chapter 277 The Wrong Fight at the Wrong Time with the Wrong People The alley did not lend itself to an open conflict. Mortimer ducked behind a dumpster and fired off charms with rapidity towards Michaels position at the far end of the alley, while Silas faced the other direction,

his wand engaging the Templars behind them. The Aurors were caught in a crossfire, with the narrow confines of the alley inhibiting their movement. The space was barely large enough for Silas to stand with his arms wide and not scrape his fingers on either wall. Already, two of Mortimers Aurors were down, having been struck by curses. The enemies at either end of the alley were pressing the fight and there was no where to run. This isnt good. Mortimer grunted and sent another terrific blast outward. We cant mane uver. Theres no where to go. Silas had gathered Beatrices prone form into the alcove with him and continued firing. Then he looked over at Mortimer and rolled his eyes. What? Mortimer asked. Silas sighed. You are the smartest person I know, Mort, but you can be really dumb, sometimes. What do you mean? Mortimer asked. Youre always thinking in two dimensions. Silas captured Mortimers eyes with his own and then pointed upwards. Mortimer smacked his hand to his forehead and cursed. He peeked around the corner and shouted across the alley to one of his remaining Aurors. Mason! Hold the line, were going to flank them! Mason was a short, wiry black man with a peculiar sense of humor and a penchant for understatement. Are you nuts, Mort? How the heck are you flanking them? You figure out how to walk through walls? Despite the dire situation, Mortimer chuckled and jerked his thumb upward. Mason smiled and then launched a spell down the alley. Mortimer reached into his pocket and drew several plastic pellets from inside and checked Silas readiness. The larger man nodded and allowed the sides of his robe to hang down. Mortimer tossed the pellets outward, towards the spot in the alley where Michael had been standing. In the past, the Aurors would have been content to toss drams of Peruvian Darkness powder out and hope to use its inky blackness to mask their movements. The problem with the powder was that its ability to hide the local environs affected the users, as well. In essence, it blinded the Aurors as well as their intended targets. It had been Dudley Dursleys idea to create the pellets which Mortimer tossed out. Dudley had been a big fan of police dramas and action movies. Hed seen the use of something called a flash bang which exploded with a deafening and blinding flash of light, incapacitating their targets, while not impairing the user. George and Lee had taken that concept and created the whiz bangs, the pellets Mort had just thrown. The pellet arced through the air and shattered when they landed on the pavement. Instantly the air was filled with several loud and violent explosions, with cascades of light and smoke. Michael and a nearby Templar threw their arms over their faces and ducked down, thinking that the Aurors would attack directly. Michael was going to be very disappointed, for the Aurors had another surprise up their sleeves. Normally, the Aurors would carry brooms as part of their basic kit, but the losses sustained during the Moriarty crisis had forced them to re-examine whether broom riding was the best method of tactical transport in battle situations. They could be unwieldy and were difficult to maintain because of the number of spells that were required to be engaged. Personally, Mortimer never liked riding a broom. Of

course, there was no way to take Harry or Ron off their brooms. They were crazy that way, but the new tools were something that Mortimer appreciated. As the pellets flew to their destination, Mortimer and Silas both stood and spread their arms outward. Their robes spread out in the space between their arms and sides. Penna Rigidus! Mortimer and Silas whispered the remembered spell and the fabric of their robes drew tight between their arms. Years back, Silas had been with Harry at Hogwarts when theyd escaped the maws of Fu Manchus guardian lions by gliding using this charm. Now the Aurors had modified the charm somewhat. Zephyr. Silas voice was soft as he spoke the follow on charm. A warm wind blew thr ough his legs an caught the fabric of his robe and propelled him upward into the air. Silas looked over and saw Mortimer moving up between the walls of the alley. As they rose, the sounds of their whiz bangs rang in their ears. Silas moved his body and allowed the air to carry him away from Mortimer. He gripped his wand and released the wind spell. Immediately gravity did its work and Silas began to swoop downward, above the attackers in the alley. Mortimer did the same against Michaels group. *** Michael extended his wand even as the blinding flash of the pellets momentarily distracted him. The Aurors were getting desperate, but the gambit would not work. The fire from the alley had slackened. Maybe they were concentrating on the other side of the alley? That would mean that they were weaker on this side and they could attack. He slapped one of the nearby Templars on the shoulder and stood. Just in time to be blown back by a strike from above. The pellets had been meant to hide an attack, only not from the alley, but from the sky. Michael fell back and saw one of his Templars slump to the ground from the impact of the spell. A furious attack now came from the alley as the Aurors exploited their advantage. The one called Mortimer looked like a giant bat, swooping down and pummeling the Templars with curses while his remaining Aurors pushed their advantage from the ground. Another Templar fell and Michael reeled backward. He could fight. All he needed to do was be willing to hurt and possibly kill the Auror in the sky, but he wasnt ready for that. This was not a battle he sought, nor desired. The Aurors were good, not evil and there was only one volume of the ledger on the ground in the alley. Where were the others? Michael heard a faint whistle in the distance, signaling the arrival of more Ministry members to Diagon Alley. He made a quick decision and snapped his fingers. The Templars collected their fallen and incapacitated comrades and fled down Diagon Alley. For his part, Mortimer had Beatrice and the remainder of his injured Aurors to consider. He watched as the Templars withdrew and then walked to where the leather bound volume that had been the object of the fight lay at rest. He squatted down and picked up the ledger and then turned his attention to Silas who was crouched over Beatrice. How is she? Unconscious. Silas said bluntly. We need to get her to St. Mungos. Who were those guys? Mortimer shrugged his shoulders. I dont know, but I cant wait until we meet up with them again. You think we will? Silas asked as he scooped Beatrice up into his arms in preparation to apparate. Mortimer checked the ground where black scorch marks dotted the alley and then glanced down at the book in his hand. I think we can count on it. ***

Off St. Peters Square, there were minarets and towers of the various office buildings that housed the day to day activities of the Vatican. High atop one of the tallest towers, there was a flat turret that allowed watchers to use telescopes to study the heavens. It was said that Copernicus and Galileo did some of their best work from this very tower and Giuseppe Fangio wished for the easier times when those great men seemed to only care about discovery. Still, even when great works were being done in the name of God and science, Torquemada was doing his evil in Spain. The irony was not lost on Fangio as he paced the ramparts, with his hands behind his back. The night was clear and the stars were plentiful, even under the harsh glare of the city lights. He took a deep breath as he heard the echo of footsteps on the flagstone steps of the stairs. You wanted to see me, First Secretary? Despite his bulk, Valliere bowed his head towards the adjutant to the Holy Father. Ah, Archbishop, yes, lets talk. Fangio extended his arm to the tall Templar and led him out onto the platform, the lights of St. Peters Square laid out before them. Carmine, let us be frank, shall we? What is the status of the search for the Torquemada Ledgers? Valliere stopped short and stared at Fangio crossly. This is most unusual, First Secretary. By tradition, the Holy See has not asked for status reports of our activities. If anything, it offers plausible deniability, as the Americans say. Ill be blunt, Carmine. I am concerned about the reports we are receiving that the Templars have spent most of their time fighting the English Aurors, not finding the ledgers. One of your men has been captured. Fangios face was stern and he dropped any pretense of comity hed been showing before. Your activities have been far too visible and apparent. Valliere nodded. That is unfortunate. We are victims of poor timing, that is true. We are not specifically targeting the Aurors, but they have been present. Our mission is the recovery of the ledgers. I am sorry that the Aurors have been caught in the middle. Theyve been injured, Carmine. One, almost fatally, this whole operation is dangerously exposed and the blowback to the Holy See could be devastating. Fangio took several paces and then turned and stared at Valliere. The Holy Father believes that we should work with the Aurors to recover the ledgers. To that end, he believes that the Templars should be withdrawn from England and the Aurors fully apprised of the threat. The wind left Vallieres chest. He stared heatedly at Fangios back. It would be so easy to toss the small man over the side of the tower and to continue on the path of righteousness. His fists tightened and his face grew flush as once again, he observed the Church act against its own best interest. He saw red and he looked once more at Fangio, who turned and studied Vallieres reaction. You dont like the Holy Fathers response? Fangios face betrayed no disappointment or fear. He seemed more curious than anything else. Valliere allowed the anxiety and anger to pass and he exhaled slowly. His Templars were not some rogue element. They were not the Templars of old. Above everything, he was beholden to the Holy Father, wasnt he? His blood pressure fell to normal and Valliere sighed once more. No, First Secretary, I do not, but the Templars are servants of the Church. Valliere finally conceded.

Fangio smiled and then looked over at Valliere. Im curious, Archbishop. Id given you no specific instructions about the disposition of the ledgers, once you had recovered them? Would you have returned them to the Vatican library? A fresh bout of redness darkened Vallieres forehead and he chuckled. No, First Secretary. I believed the ledgers would not be safe in the library. It had been my intent, short of any specific instructions, to house them in the Templar Treasury, where the security was better. I see. Fangio nodded. I appreciate your candor and honesty, Archbishop. Your desire to preserve the Church is commendable. Thank you, First Secretary. Valliere joined Fangio by the rampart and stared out at the night sky. The point is moot. The Templars are being taken off the hun t. We have failed. Fangio smiled. Oh, I dont know, Carmine. You havent failed, just yet. What do you mean, First Secretary? The Holy Father has ordered us off the hunt. Carmine seemed confused and was even more so as a dark expression crossed Fangios face. What I said was that the Holy Father believes that we should work with the Aurors. I do not interpret that as a command. In fact, I do not believe that you should either. Fangio raised his arm up to Vallieres shoulder. I believe that you should follow your instincts and retrieve the ledgers and store them in the Templars secure vault. After all, it falls to us to protect the Mother Church, even from itself. This is a very dangerous game youre playing, First Secretary. Most men would see a wish by the Holy Father as a command. Valliere mind raced, the conflict between duty and responsibility raging through his conscious. Its not a game, Carmine. Its survival. The knowledge in those ledgers can destroy the world as we know it. The Pope is a great man, but he is a man. Our job is to ensure that his decisions are the right decisions, for the benefit of the Church and for the world. Fangio stared coldly at Valliere and the larger man felt a shudder go through his chest. Valliere had underestimated the younger man. Hed completely missed this side of the normally gregarious First Secretary. Fangio smiled, but there was little warmth in the gesture. I will not allow anyone to threaten the long term vitality of the Church. You are charged with this duty. Can you finish the task? Yes, First Secretary. No matter what the circumstances? Yes, First Secretary. No matter who gets in the way? Yes, First Secretary. Then make it happen. Yes, First Secretary. Oh, and Carmine?

Yes First Secretary? Use all means. There is no time for half measures. You must be willing to be utterly ruthless. Can you do that? There was a long moment of silence then Valliere nodded slowly. Yes, First Secretary.

Chapter 278 The Price of Redemption There was really no where to hide, no where to run. Granted, his physical location was relatively safe from discovery, but the soul shaking consequences of the past few weeks were starting to catch up with him. Glenn Livers didnt notice the change right away. Hed passed off the signs as the results of stress and anxiety mixed with days of running, yet after hed left the battle in the alley, hed taken time to lie low. He was in another of an endless series of depressing hovels that were his only refuges. His supply of ready cash was dwindling and soon, hed be forced to become more visible to his pursuers. Sleep was a long forgotten commodity as his mind was filled with a dizzying array of nightmares, the faces of his victims searing into his consciousness. He remembered waking in a cold sweat and casting aside the threadbare sheets of his pitted mattress. He rose and walked into the bathroom, and turned on the spigot. He ignored the rusty tint to the ice cold water as he doused his face in a vain effort to wipe away the pain of the dream. He caught sight of his reflection in the cracked mirror and paused. His hairline was receding, a distinct bald spot highlighted the crown of his head. His normally tan skin had become sallow and featureless and his eyes had sunken into his head. He was slowly becoming unrecognizable as the physical consequences of his choice began to manifest itself upon him. Hed long ago seen the pictures of the Dark Lord in the Daily Prophet, the snakelike features and brilliant red eyes. Was that his fate? Was that the price of his power? The overwhelming sensation of absolute bliss hed felt when using the Dark Arts had long ago faded. Even the use of the Cruciatus Curse on the Dursley woman had not brought the lingering feeling of accomplishment that hed felt when hed murdered his mentor. The duration and intensity of the feelings were ever diminishing, yet he craved whatever he could get. It was an addiction, of a sort. He had to keep using the Dark Arts to catch some semblance of the first time, yet the price, the price was exacting. It produced the image of the man in the mirror and it horrified him. He glanced backward at the three remaining ledgers sitting on a nearby table. Hed missed something. He walked back into the room and sat at the table, flicking on the only light in the room. He took the first ledger into his hands and opened it to the first page. The page contained Torquemadas introduction. Livers h ad skipped this part in his effort to get to the spells, but now, he felt compelled to read the Inquisitors words. He needed to know the whole story, before it was too late. Maybe it was already too late. *** The time at St. Mungos had made Ron restless. His injuries had nearly cost him his life, but the time had finally come for Hermione to take him home. He was still too weak for a full apparition, so he let his wife guide him out the disguised storefront to their waiting car. Ron docilely allowed Hermione to help him into the passenger seat and then waited mutedly as she secured Hugo and Rose into their seats in the back. It wasnt long before they were on the road, heading towards home. Ron stared out the window, deep in thought. His silence worried Hermione, yet she refrained from pointing it out, lest they have an argument with the kids in the car. Even with the radio blaring, the ride home seemed lonely, forlorn. Every once in a while, the old Ron would emerge, fascinated at his daughte rs mastery of some popular song playing on the radio. She was getting older before his eyes and he marveled at the change. Then a dark shadow would hover over him as his depression and sadness overwhelmed his senses. Hermione watched the progression with alarm and concern. The thing about Ron was that he wore his feelings out

on his collar for all to see. The events in St. Ives had shaken Ron. True, no one had been more relieved at Carters survival than Ron, but the fact remained that Ron blamed himself for Carters near death and there was nothing that had been able to shake him from his funk. After a few hours of driving, they pulled into the long drive of their home and bustled from the car. The kids ran willy nilly into the house, released from the enforced boredom of their drive. Ron reveled in the controlled bedlam siblings could bring. The shouts and the crash of brother and sister communing together was like a salve to his soul. He stood in the foyer of their home, at the foot of the stairs and closed his eyes, listening to Rose and Hugo carry on. You havent talked to me about it, you know. Hermiones voice penetrated the mask of complacency the normal home life had created. His eyes started open and he took in the sight of his wife standing by the front door. She stood with her weight on one leg, while the toe of the other tapped impatiently. Her expression was a mixture of worry and frustration with a pinch of anger connecting the two. Her loose bramble of chestnut hair flared artfully about her shoulders and her russet eyes flashed black as the conflicting emotions roiled through her body. I know, mione, there wasnt anything to talk about, really. Ron mumbled a reply, knowing that it wouldnt satisfy his bride. It didnt. Nothing to talk about? Ronald Bilius Weasley, youre a real git, you know that? Ron rolled his eyes and started getting really concerned. She almost never used his middle name. Years of marriage had taught him a vital lesson. When youre in a hole, the first thing to do was to stop digging. He didnt respond to her question. You almost die on a routine mission, one of your Aurors is seriously injured and you havent spoken to me about it almost a week. Whats going on Ron? Her tone softened somewhat and he flushed from the attention. He paused a moment, collecting his thoughts. Leonora came to see me, when we thought Carter was dead. She came with Sean Manchester. He shuddered briefly and then related the circumstances of his near death. Hermiones response was more muted than he expected. Ill have her thrown in Azkaban for life! Ron held up his hands in supplication. Thats not the problem, Hermione. I dont blame her. I truly dont. Hermione stopped in mid-rant and looked at her husband curiously. What is the problem, Ron? He sighed. The problem is that I wanted her to kill me. I wanted her to take her revenge. It is my fault that Carter got hurt. I put him in a position to fail. The last vestiges of his composure deserted him. I wanted her to end it. The shock on Hermiones face was palpable. The issue was deeper than she imagined. It was one thing to feel guilt over events like this, but it was entirely different to feel suicidal. The enormity of her husbands depression shook her to the core. Tears streaked down Rons face. The pressure of years of stress and responsibility had finally gotten to him. Ron Weasley cracked. I cant stop feeling sad, Hermione. I dont know what to do. How do I mak e up for the things that have happened? Its not just Carter, its everything. Ive fooled myself for all these years. I dont understand how Ive managed to make it so far. I dont know what to do. He collapsed to his knees and buried his

head in hands. For her part, the normally strong willed and opinionated Hermione Weasley slumped down on the floor and pulled her husband into her arms, at a complete and utter loss for words. *** Michael stood in the makeshift office and stared stonily at some object on the wall opposite where he stood. The tall, brooding figure of Carmine Valliere paced the room while the diminutive First Secretary sat pensively in a chair in the corner. You allowed the Aurors to outflank you? Vallieres deep baritone echoed off the stone walls. I am not pleased with this turn of events, Michael. Forgive me, Archbishop, but continuing the fight would have led to an escalation in the conflict between the Church and the Aurors. Are you saying that we should have killed to possess the book? Michaels words were carefully delivered and he calmly awaited the response. Your instructions were explicit, Father Michael. You were to regain possession of the books at any cost, including the lives of the Aurors. Did you not understand those orders? Carmine continued his pacing, like a caged lion. I believed that we were to go after Livers and the books, and if the Aurors attempted to intercede, we were to act. We are not at war with the English Ministry of Magic, are we ? Carmine was forced to perform a double take. Never before had Michael dared to take such a tone with him. The Aurors are of no consequence in this mission, Michael. Now they have one of the volumes. Carmine strode behind the large desk and shared a quick glance with Fangio. Valliere took a deep breath and fixed eyes with Michael. Do we have any inkling as to the whereabouts of Livers? Michael sighed heavily. No, Archbishop. The trail has gone cold. He has, to this point, refrained from using any dark magic that we can trace. Carmine slammed his hands down on the desk. Then we are no closer to retrieving the ledgers than before. Carmine shook in frustration. He closed his eyes only to be interrupted by a small cough. He turned and looked at Fangio. Forgive me, Archbishop, that is not entirely true. Fangio bowed his head apologetically. It would appear that we know the location of at least one of the ledgers. For a brief instant, the implications of Fangios statement showed on Vallieres face, but he quickly suppressed his surprise and shock. Instead, the tall man turned and faced his deputy. The First Secretary has a point. Valliere stared at Michael, whose normally impenetrable visage cracked from the words he was hearing. But, Archbishop, that would meansurely, you cant mean Valliere took a deep breath and raised his shoulders up to their full breadth and height. Prepare your men to recover one of the lost ledgers. Attacking the Ministry of Magic would be foolish and counterproductive, but it does not mean we cannot exercise some sort of leverage. Valliere reached down to the desk and opened a Manila folder lying there. He pulled out a small, glossy photograph and flipped it down on the surface of the desk. This is your target. This will be our leverage.

Michael swallowed and looked at both of the high ranking priests in turn, then he stared down at the picture and nodded. It made sense, but somehow, even in the faded black and white picture he was inspecting, it seemed like the bright green eyes of his intended victim bore right through him. *** Livers sat upright, the nightmares disrupting his sleep for the umpteenth time, only this time they were more vivid, more acute, now that he knew the price. Torquemada had not been a good man. Hed been a brutal, sadistic tyrant, yet his prose in the introduction for the ledgers had been sweet and sage. Hed warned that the price to perform the dark arts was steep. The outward manifestations of the practice were a direct reflection of the sundering of the soul. That was what all that power cost. Voldemort had been willing to pay the price, and Livers was sure that the Dark Lord had not been haunted by guilt over his victims. Livers rose and grabbed a drink of water. Unfortunately, guilt was all Livers had. He stared at the books. There had to be a way to redeem himself. Serving a penance in prison seemed a small price to pay for relieving the burden on his soul. Livers walked to the table and placed the three remaining ledgers in his bag. He would turn the books in, but not to the Vatican. Hed already seen how ruthless they could be. He would hand the books over to the Aurors. The Ministry of Magic had a highly secure Department of Mysteries. That was the place for this knowledge, not in the hands of an obvious weakling like himself. He dressed quickly and pulled the collar of his coat over his neck. He pulled the strap of his satchel over his shoulder and walked out the door. He was tired of running. It was time to stop. Most of all, he was tired of being deceived. The Dark Arts were not the end all be all. There was no way to separate the theory from the evil. The Dark Arts were one and the same with evil. They offered great power, with a tremendous price. What price was Livers soul? He would make things right and pay his debt. Hopefully, it was not too late to make amends. Hopefully, his path from the abyss was not yet cold. No matter what, he had to try. Chapter 279 The Wages of Virtue Harry took immediate notice of the empty chair where Ron should have been. The Aurors and the Hit Teams had gathered in the main conference room to review the current crisis and plot their next steps. The room was round, much like Courtroom Number Ten, with seats on tiers rising to the walls. There was a stage in the center of the room with a lectern sitting on a long table where the leadership normally sat. The various representatives of the different agencies involved in the current case were seated around the table. At one end, John Dawlish, the current Minister of Magic, quietly had his head together with Percy Weasley, who was representing the various factions of the Wizengamot. Next to Percy sat Hermione, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Harrys immediate boss. Hermiones expression was blank and Harry noticed that shed not said anything about Rons absence. Rounding out the people sitting on the center platform were Harry himself and Raimundo Baret to, representing Gringotts Bank. The room was rapidly filling with the rest of the Ministry staff involved in the investigation. All of his team leaders and their teams were present, with the exception of Ron and Carter Sigismund, of course. Eric Williamson and Mortimer Gafney sat together. Mortimer seemed no worse for wear after his close call in Diagon Alley. Sean Manchester was present as well, although, his expression seemed grim and less engaged, even after Dennis tried to elicit a greeting from the man. There were others in the room, as well, and Harry slowly acknowledged them as his gaze swept the gallery. He stopped on the face of a man he had not expected to see. Seated in the last row, near the entry doors was Draco Malfoy. Hed walked in with an expensive wool overcoat draped over his arm and an expensive wool suit in the latest style hanging loosely on his tall, rail thin frame. There was decidedly more color in Dracos skin, but one would never consider his tone dark or healthy. His hair was still neatly combed backward, although his widows peak seemed to be a little higher since the last time Harry had seen him. The most noticeable difference

was that Draco had allowed his blonde locks to grow long and he sported a pony tail that hung down to below his shoulders. When hed walked in, Harry had momentarily confused Draco for his father, Lucius. Draco shared a nod with Harry and waited patiently for the meeting to begin. Harry finally resigned himself to the fact that Ron would not be attending and stood, causing the loud murmuring in the room to quiet down. He strode purposefully to the lectern and held his hands up to grab the attention of the audience. Ladies and gentlemen, I think we can get started. Per the Minister and his staff, we have decided to elevate the current situation to a Category 3 event. Harry paused as his words were absorbed. One of the things that Dawlish had instituted was a classification system for critical issues impacting the Ministry. The system had automated triggers based on the level of severity. There were six levels, each with a degree of involvement for the various departments within the Ministry. Category 3 was a level that required the law enforcement department to engage all levels of government based on an event with serious repercussions for the general population. Category 2 was for events around international crises, like war or famine while Category 1 was reserved for events that had dire consequences and was informally referred to as the Dark Lord option. Lets go over what we have. Harry raised his wand to the domed ceiling of the room. There was a low hanging, simple chandelier suspended by a single silver linked chain. A burst of bright light emanated from the large crystal in the center of the chandelier and formed itself into an ethereal image suspended in the center of the room. The picture solidified into the smoky picture of Glenn Livers. Harry nodded up to the picture. This is Glenn Livers, the so-called instigator of this issue. What do we have on him, Eric? Williamson raised his wand, and the floating holographic image changed into a Hogwarts era photo of a younger Livers. Not much, hes really not distinguished himself. He was at Hogwarts around the s ame time as Snape and the Order from the first Voldemort War. Harry ignored the quiet stares from the room as most recognized that his parents were part of Livers generation. Williamson flicked his wrist and an image of an older Livers appeared, with no real way of determining where it was taken and when. Hes been in and out of the tax rolls, mostly, we assume, because hes been back and forth to the Continent for jobs. Sometime a few years ago, he took a job at the Vatican Library where had access to these Torquemada Ledgers. Apparently, he murdered the head librarian with a Killing Curse and stole the books, which is where we are now. We have reason to believe that he is in country, right now and is helping to manipulate events. Williamson nodded his head and took his seat. Harry raised his wand and the image above changed an image of the recovered ledger from the alley fight of the previous day. When the picture formed, he looked over to a quadrant of his room where Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Headmaster of Hogwarts rose. The Ledger seems to be authentic, but the volume that was left is probably the least critical of the total set. Kingsley swept his arms up and the book in the air began to animate, opening and flipping through its pages until it stopped at a passage. Its the collected wisdom of the Dark Arts. This volume talks about benign spells being used to inflict pain, like using an aguamenti spell to fill a room to drown its occupant. I have to believe that the spells and potions in the other volumes are even more troubling. This is a how to manual on how to be a Dark Arts master. We should not underestimate the danger these books pose. Harry nodded as the former Minister of Magic sat down. Thanks, Kingsley. Harry t urned and a more sober demeanor crossed his face. This brings us to the last element of the situation. Im speaking

specifically of the interested third party in recovering the books. He waved his wand and the image of the captured Templar flashed up in the air. Weve had two rather violent run-ins with this group. Harry waved his hand over at Mortimer who stood. The wizards weve run into are called Knights Templar. They appear to be some sort of covert arm of the Church. They are self-contained and are very powerful. They dont seem to have any compunction of fighting anyone they need to in order to achieve their goals. Excuse me, Harry, but are we saying that this whole thing was instigated by the Catholic Church? Dawlishs obvious concern with a wide ranging struggle with one of the worlds largest religions was readily apparent in his question. Harry shook his head. No, Minister, that is not way I read it. I believe they want to recover the ledgers. As Kingsley clearly shows, these books are dangerous. The problem, in my estimation, is that the Templars are not directly answerable to the Vatican. Theyve been given a charge to recover the ledgers, regardless of who gets in the way. Weve seen how far they are willing to go. Sean Manchester spoke up in the forum and his comment was met with more than a few nods of agreement. I dont disagree with you, there, Sean. The one recovered ledger will be secured in the Department of Mysteries. The question is, what should be our focus, Livers, the ledgers or the Templars? Harry glanced around as the group contemplated their next course of action. Finally, Dawlish spoke up. The ledgers pose the greatest risk and Livers has the ledgers. Once they are secured, Im sure we can convince the Vatican that the threat has been dealt with. Harry wasnt so sure, but he kept his doubts to himself. Harry nodded to the Minister, who, after all, set policy. Right, then our goal will be the ledgers by focusing on capturing Livers. Harry turned back towards Williamson. Eric? The man has no family, no history for us to track back. His boyhood home was demolished over twenty years ago and he hasnt lived in England for years. Frankly, Harry, I dont know how to track him down. Williamson shrugged his shoulders in frustration. A deep, tinny voice echoed from the back of the chamber. I know how to find Livers. Harry stared outward and saw the smug smile on Malfoys face. Draco stood and tidily rearranged the pleat on his ti e. In fact, if youre quite done with this circus of yours, Potter, we can go down to your office and discuss his whereabouts like civilized men. Malfoy gave a jaunty, sarcastic salute and turned on his heel and exited the room, leaving an open mouthed, stunned Harry Potter to stare out after him. *** The small chamber was bereft of any furnishings save for a small oak kneeler resting against the harsh, cold stone walls. Father Michael ignored the numbness in his legs and bent his head further into his hands as he prayed. Hed been in repose for several hours. Templars, being both priests and wizards, often sat in seclusion for hours at a time to reflect and meditate on their duty. Often, the only thing they carried with them was a small, nondescript black book that contained their prayers and their oath of duty. Michael knew the prayers by heart, as he did the oath, but for the past two hours, hed read and reread the oath, trying to make some sense of his orders and his obligations under them. Valliere and Fangio had been careful to not fully articulate that their instructions were the will of the Holy Father and the Church. In fact, all the evidence indicated that the only true wish of the Pope was that the ledgers be secured.

Michael looked up to the ceiling and offered a mumbled prayer of thanks. Hed heard that the young Auror hed thought been killed in their initial encounter in St. Ives had, in fact, survived the encounter. The priest had not felt right about the progress of the mission to date. The Aurors, though not men of God, were not evil men. Indeed, they were good men with honest hearts. He peered down and reread the oath. Knights Templar pledged submission to the Church for the sole purpose of preserving the faith. The Church encompassed many things, including the faith, the hierarchy of bishops and the Holy Father. So what constituted his true duty? He did not think ill of the Archbishop or the First Secretary, and by all manner of thought, both men were discharging their own duty to the best of their ability, yet Michaels conscience was tearing at him physically. His mind reflected back on notions of duty and honor and the last time hed failed his personal duty to follow the precepts of the Church. *** It had been a warm, April day in 1942, and Michael was a young novice monk, recently inducted into the Order. Hed been born in southern France and welcomed the thought that membership would mean posting to Avignon, which was very close to his boyhood home of Nice. He was working as a substitute cleric in a small parish church located in one of the numerous tiny hamlets that dotted the countryside. He was sweeping the sacristy when the twin oak doors squeaked open on their hinges and the young family walked inside. The father herded his wife and two young children inside the church. They all had looks of hunted terror in their eyes and Michael dropped the broom in a nearby row of pews and walked to the family. Can I help you? Michael asked. The father looked around and then glanced pleadingly at the young priest. The order has come down from the Nazi High Governor that all Jews are to be rounded up for relocation, Father. We have heard that the Church will hide us from certain death. Despite his youth, Michael was not ignorant of what the Nazis had been doing with their relocations. The Templars had concrete evidence of their camps and atrocities. Michael locked eyes with the mans frail daughter and smiled warmly. Come in, come in. Michael ushered the family back to his office. He pulled back a small catch behind his desk and opened a hidden trap door that led to an ancient wine cellar. He guided the family down and called to them from the top of the steps. It will not be comfortable, but it will hide you. I must see what I can do to see if we can spirit you somewhere safe. The father nodded gratefully, and the hunted look left his eyes. Michael rushed to the back of the church and apparated to the small pub in Avignon that was the Templars headquarters. He looked around for his mentor and heard that he was with the Archbishop in the Church office in the Vatican consulate down the street. Michael adjusted his collar and rapidly made his way to the consulate and was soon ushered into the presence of not only the senior knight assigned to train him, but also the Archbishop who led the Templars and the Vaticans consular officer for southern France. Despite the rarified heights of power he was in, Michael relayed his dilemma in earnest, fully expecting help from these experienced and holy men. His mentor was immediately charged to action, recommending ways to get the family and others like them to safety, using the hidden Church network of tunnels and hiding places. The Archbishop remained silent and the shook his head, his gaze moving to the senior Vatican official.

The jowls of the heavyset priest shook as he spoke. We can not take sides in this conflict. There are thousands of church members under the yoke of the Nazis. Helping these people will only bring the wrath of the Nazis down on the Vatican. I am sorry, my son. Michaels face grew bright red. Father, our duty is to protect the innocent! The Archbishop, the head of the Templars, turned and faced his young knight. His expression told Michael that he agreed with the young priest, but his words were something completely different. Our duty is to preserve the Church and to submit to her orders, Father Michael. The Archbishop would brook no argument. Michael stood, stunned by the response. But Archbishop, they are innocent! They are Gods children! The consular officer shook his head. God will have to look after them, for we can not. The Archbishop watched Michael closely. He saw the set of his jaw and knew that youth would bring impetuosity. Return to the Templar headquarters and wait for me, Michael. Speak to no one. Michael knew he should have done something, knew he should have tried to get the family out. Instead, he bowed his head and turned to leave. As he reached the door, he heard the consular pick up the phone on his desk. Yes, General Bruener? Yes, this is Father Pierre at the Consulate. Yes, General, theres been a break in at one of our churches. I believe a family of Jews is hiding th ere General. Youll look into it? Thank you General. Yes, the Church believes in maintaining cordial relations with the Reich *** The little girls eyes haunted Michael, in his dreams, still to this day. He gripped the prayer book and then placed it in his pocket. He pulled out the small photograph Valliere had given him. Notions of right and wrong, morality and ethics filtered through his head. He had a choice to make. Michael was a righteous man of God. He did his duty. The problem, as he saw it, was what exactly was his duty? The ledgers were representative of great evil and had to be dealt with, but the Aurors were innocent. What was the greater good? The room echoed in silence as the answer continued to elude him. Chapter 280 Bond of the Slytherins Draco, I really dont have time for games. What kind of scam are you running? Harry followed Malfoy into the office and watched as his sometime nemesis, sometime ally plopped down in a chair and tossed his feet up on Harrys desk. Malfoy was smiling, enjoying Harrys irritation and he spread his arms wide as he shrugged his shoulders. Potter, Im a busy man. I dont have time for scams. Malfoys glib expression disappeared and he leaned forward. I know where Livers is. He went to school with my father and he was a Slytherin. Great. Tell me where he is and well pick him up. Harry snapped.

A snide smirk crossed Malfoys face and he rose from his seat. It doesnt work that way, Potter. Livers has some conditions that he wants to impose. Hes afraid for his life. He wants you to come get him, no one else. This is ridiculous, Malfoy. Just tell me where he is. Harry crossed his arms and stared at Draco. Draco smiled. You know I cant do that, Potter. Hes invoked the House oath. Harry nodded. Upon completion of their sorting, each student takes what is known as a House Oath which binds members of the House to assist other members in times of need. The oath was hardly a suicide pact, Harry thought, and it expressly prohibited the invoker from making his House mate break the law and Harry said so to Draco. Normally, youd be right, Potter, but Livers invoked the Bond of Slytherin. The puzzled look on Harrys face caused Draco to sigh deeply. With an embarrassed laugh, Malfoy sat back in his seat. Look, when the Dark Lord was at Hogwarts, he saw Slytherin as the only house to belong to. He wanted it to be better than the other houses and to do things in a more exceptional way. When the concept of the House oath was explained to him, he instituted the Bond of Slytherin oath, which bound the members to a truer oath, one that rivaled a Fidelius Charm. Harry gave Draco a shocked look. They dont do it anymore. When Slughorn and Nott found out what was going on, they put a stop to it, but everyone who was a Slytherin between the time the Dark Lord was there through my class has taken the oath, which includes Livers. Harrys hand slowly eased to within reach of his wand. What exactly does the Bond of Slytherin require of you, Draco? Harrys sudden suspicion was not lost on Malfoy, who made a conscious effort to keep his hands visible and out of his robes. Its not what you think, Potter. Were not bound to take up each others causes. The Dark Lord was too paranoid to go that far, but it does lift the prohibition on violating the law to help your classmate. He came to me late last night and invoked the oath. I am bound to relay his request, only, but I cannot reveal where he is until the request is offered. Harry eased his stance and relaxed. For the moment, he understood Dracos position. Very well, what does he want? He wants to turn himself in, but does not want to be turned into the Templars or the Church. The items he has are very controversial and he wants to make sure that the Ministry of Magic holds on to them. He doesnt trust the Vatican. Draco crossed his arms and studied the thoughtful expression on Harrys face. Harry, for his part, didnt trust the Vatican either. Livers request made some sense. He wants me to come alone and hope that he wants to turn himself in? You wouldnt be alone. I would mediate. Hes in my hands, after all. Draco smiled sardonically. That makes me feel so much better, Draco. Harrys voice dripped with sarcasm. Dracos smile grew wider. Listen, Potter, Im may be a lot of things, but I will not have you belittle my people. I have him sequestered on one of my ships. You will be safe enough. Harry studied Draco and shook his head, a slow glimmer of understanding coming over him. Youre saying I wont need to bring my people with me?

Of course not, Livers is in good hands. After all, hes being watched over by a very experienced captain. Draco rose and this time allowed a bright, toothy smile to escape his lips. Hes on the Discooperire. *** Father Michael, may I have a word with you? Michael turned his gaze from the window and nodded to the young prelate who stood in the door. What is it, Daniel? Michael motioned the young priest to a nearby chair, one of the few furnishings in the safe house. Daniel had joined the Templars over a year ago and as the deputy, it fell on Michael to act as trainer and guide to the new members. While Archbishop Valliere was the nominal and figurative head of the organization, Michael was its heart, overseeing its day to day operations and managing its membership. Daniel toyed with his hands nervously and stared down at his lap. It gesture seemed woefully out of place, considering the fact that the young knight was well over six foot six inches tall and an imposing physical presence. Forgive me, Father Michael, but I am experiencing a trial of conscience. Daniel looked up at the standing older priest. I do not want to seem like I am questioning things, Father. The Knights Templar do not recruit automatons, Daniel. We are free thinking men of God with free will. Speak your mind. Michael said the words strongly, but feared what he would hear. Daniel took a deep breath and nodded. I do not know if what we are doing is right. These Aurors are not evil people, Father. Why arent we working with them? Why are we in a position to threaten them and in this manner? It feels unseemly. The Archbishop and First Secretary seem convinced of the righteousness of their orders. You do not? Michael was careful to remain neutral, lest his own doubts become apparent to the young priest. What if they are mistaken? What if they are wrong? Daniel asked, his voice sh aking, the sheer concept of questioning the authority of such august men was disconcerting. Michael stared sternly at Daniel and hoped his own gaze did not betray his thoughts. What would make you say such a thing, Daniel? The tall man hesitated and then whispered. Theyre men, arent they? Men can make mistakes. Michael stopped short and then leaned into Daniels ear. Do not concern yourself. God will not allow the innocent to suffer. Let your heart rest assured. Now, go back to your post and wait for orders. Daniel rose and shook Michaels hand. Thank you, Father. He turned and left the room. Michael took up station at the window and stared out. He was gazing at a sprawling piece of property with a large house and barn in the center. He couldnt help but wonder how many of his other knights had the same misgivings as Daniel. How many, he wondered, were as conflicted as that young man? Better yet, how many were as conflicted as Michael was himself? God will not allow the innocent to suffer. *** The Discooperire rode gently alongside the pier, its masts reaching high into the sky as sailors bustled about its main deck. Harry felt a surge of warmth cascade through his chest as he made his way up the

gangplank. He hadnt been aboard her in years, but the gentle swaying beneath his feet felt comfortable. A deep baritone voice echoed through the air as a massive, man with close cropped blonde hair and piercing blue eyes sauntered to meet him and Draco at the quarterdeck. Harry stretched out his hand to the man in greeting. Hello, Gavin, I hear youre first mate now. Gavin Lockley engulfed Harry with his hand, unintentionally squeezing it hard, driving a wince from Harrys brow. Lockley quickly released his grip and shrugged. With Captain Innes taking over the Aurora, Captain Baretto asked me to step in. How do you like it? Harry asked. Lockley smiled. Its not so bad and every once in a while, the Captain lets me bash some heads together, just like the old days. Lockleys face grew serious. Youre here to visit our passenger? Harry nodded and Lockley led him through a door to the deck below. Harry stopped for a moment. This isnt the way to the guest cabins. Lockley snickered. No, it isnt. Its been a while for you, Im sure, but this is the passage to the brig. Harry paused and looked back at Draco who shrugged. The fool used the Bond of Slytherin on me, after all the trouble hes caused. Nothing in the bond says I have to make him comfortable. Despite his misgivings, Harry chuckled. People, Harry included, always seemed to underestimate Draco Malfoy. He was no ones lackey. The wandered down into the bowels of the ship until they reached a small compartment with a metal caged door and a small desk. Sitting at the desk was a tall, olive skinned woman with red, full lips and a daringly open white blouse. Next to her was a slight, thin woman with pale white skin and dark black hair. The womans lips were dark, almost black and she wor e loose fitting fatigue pants and seemingly oversized work boots with a dark black jacket over a loose fitting t-shirt. It seemed a stiff wind would knock her over and her eyes seemed sad, yet aware of everything in the room. Ah, Signor Harry! Its so good to see you! Captain Adelina Baretto stood and embraced Harry, bringing his head uncomfortably close to her chest. How is Teddy holding up? Harry gratefully let out a breath as Baretto released him and he shook his head. Not well. I hear both Graciela and Victoire have taken to cursing him. This year will not be a good one for him. (***I PROMISE, A NEW POSTING FOR TEDDY LUPIN AND THE LEGACY OF THE MARAUDERS IS COMING SOON. YOULL FIND OUT HOW MUCH TROUBLE TEDDY IS IN THERE.) Dios mio! If there is one thing that those girls can agree on, its that they are not happy with Teddy! There was a smile on the Captains face, but her eyes betrayed a small note of concern. She turned to the diminutive woman nearby. Signor Harry, this is my Mistress at Arms, Annabelle Boxall. The woman stood and extended her hand. She turned her head down, and smiled shyly. My friends call me Bella. Harry couldnt help but stare. Bella seemed too timid to be a Mistress at Arms, in the tradition of Gwen Lockley and her brother Gavin, yet Harry knew better than to accept the woman at face value. Baretto

was a considerable judge of character and talent and she would not give someone the position if they couldnt handle the responsibility. The Mistress at Arms of the Discooperire was traditionally the most vicious fighter on the ship and obviously, there was more to Bella than met the eye. Bella moved and opened the cell door and moved aside as Harry and Draco entered. Glenn Livers sat on one of the bunks, his arms cradling three leather bound books. Livers rose as Harry entered. Draco put his hands in his pockets and sneered. Livers, this is Harry Potter. My debt under the Bond of Slytherin is fulfilled. If I ever see you again, I will not be so accommodating. There was a measure of steel in Dracos voice and Harry shuddered involuntarily. Livers simply nodded and turned his eye towards Harry. I wish to surrender myself and the Torquemada Ledgers to the Ministry of Magic, Mr. Potter. Livers carefully stretched the books out to Harry. I know I have to pay a debt for my crimes, but I cannot abide the Dark Arts any longer. Draco muttered under his breath. Weakling. Enough, Draco. Harry retorted and reached out and collected the volumes. He turned to Livers. I accept these on behalf of the Ministry. You have my word that you will answer for your crimes before the Wizengamot. I wonder, though, if youve fully thought this out, Mr. Livers. Azkaban can hardly be considered a consolation prize. Livers nodded. If youve seen what the Vatican can do, Mr. Potter, youd pray for Azkaban as well. Harry nodded and glanced over at Baretto. The Captain nodded. Mr. Lockley and Ms. Boxall will escort you and Mr. Livers back to the Ministry, Signor Harry. *** This place is so quaint. Archbishop Valliere and First Secretary Fangio had joined Michael at the window. What kind of name is Godrics Hollow, anyway? Fangio stared out at the estate across the way. Michael gestured over to the house. Its named after one of the founders of Hogwarts, Godric Gryffindor. Its where Harry Potters parents lived and died. A knight walked into the room and handed Valliere a small piece of paper. The tall man read the script and then pursed his lips. When the knight left, he turned and faced the other two men. Livers has surrendered himself to the Ministry. Hes turned over the remaining volumes. This had better work, Archbishop, Im not comfortable with the ledgers being in thei r Department of Mysteries. Fangio eyed the tall man carefully. You are not a wizard, First Secretary. Harry Potter is a living icon for the wizards and witches of this country. He will provide the leverage we need to get the books. Valliere stared out the window and smiled. Ah, we have some activity across the way. A powerful BMW sedan pulled down the drive of the large estate and pulled to a stop in front of the door. The cars engine was turned off and a pretty red headed woman with an lithe, athletic figure exited the drivers door while the rear doors opened and three kids of various ages leapt out excitedly. The woman seemed in firm control, while the two boys and one girl collected their bags and walked up the stoop. There was a loud crack of thunder and a stooped, gnome-like elf met the arrivals at the front stoop.

Is that a house-elf? Fangio asked curiously. Yes, First Secretary. That one is named Kreacher. Valliere straightened up. It would appear that the Potter family has returned home.

Chapter 281 Limits Harry stood in the viewing area, peering through the one-way glass at the pathetic figure of Glenn Livers in the interrogation room. Hermione and Dawlish stood with him, while an older wizard with a long, silvery white beard and bright, light green robes was peering through one of the Torquemada Ledgers. Every so often, the man would nod his head and grunt in agreement with something he was reading. Harry turned to Dawlish and waved a hand. What do you think, John? The Minister of Magic stroked his chin and shared a pensive glance with Hermione. Theres no doubt he has to pay for his crimes. We can definitely get him for murder, attempted murder and practicing the Dark Arts, including the use of a Cruciatus Curse on a witch. The real question are those. Dawlish looked over at the other man in the room and pointed to the books. Hermione walked over and patted the wizard on the shoulder. Well? The wizard seemed to start at her touch and then smiled a pologetically. Im sorry dear, what did you say? Hermione rolled her eyes. I was asking Professor Coffey, what is your preliminary assessment of the ledgers? Professor Donald Coffey had a nervous habit of chewing on the ends of his beard when deep in thought. He was Canadian, having spent close to six decades as an academic researching the Dark Arts at the Toronto Academy of Sorcery. Hed been hired a few years back to be the main archivist for the Department of Mysteries, overseeing the security and the overarching research for the items housed within. He spoke in a nasally, rapid fire method, that took some effort to understand. His dark, violet eyes were bright with excitement and he waved his hands excitedly over the books. These are definitely a treasure trove, thats for sure. There are Dark Arts spells in here that Ive never seen. He rubbed his hands together. There are four spells alone that claim to revive the dead. Harry stared at him with a concerned look and the fidgety wizard waved his hands in front of him. I know, I know, theres no magic that can actually bring anyone back from the dead, Harry. Im sure that all of these spells make for a very disagreeable result, but it is comprehensive in the amount of information. Harry shook his head. It may have a lot of the Dark Arts spells, but not all of them. What do you mean, Harry? Dawlish asked. A master of the Dark Arts or any accomplished wizard with a predilection for the Dark Arts can create their own spells. His mind went back to the Half Blood Prince. Snape had created several nasty potions and spells like sectumsempra.

Thats true, Harry. Youre right, of course, but these books go to the heart of the Dark Arts. It knows the nature. Someone properly motivated could, in essence, be taught to create their own versions of spells or new spells altogether. Thats the most dangerous part. Coffeys voice dropped. Whys that? Hermione asked. Harry frowned. Because, if youve made up your own spell, its that much harder to create a counterspell. Harry looked over at Dawlish. Weve got to retain these books. They mustnt get out. Dawlish nodded and then turned towards Hermione. I agree, what about Livers? Hermiones jaw was rigid. She crossed her arms and stared daggers through the glass at the man in manacles. Hes going to have to pay his debt to society. Hes going to Azkaban. *** The rain slowly stopped, making for wet, dreary conditions as Harry guided the car through the winding roads around Godrics Hollow. He knew that he could easily apparate from the Ministry to his home, but he liked the idea of a commute for a couple of reasons. First, it wouldnt do for his muggle neighbors to not see him leave for work on a consistent basis. They may start asking questions or consider him some sort of shut in. Secondly, he loved driving the car. The steady thrum of the powerful engine helped clear his head. Today, the sun was just over the horizon and a deep overcast sky made the sky dark and gloomy. Hed kept the top on, and the myopic view out the front windscreen didnt dampen his enthusiasm. The ledgers troubled Harry, but the unspoken issue he had was what would the Vatican do about the Ministrys decision to retain custody of the volumes? The actions of the Templars had spoken volumes to Harry. They had been willing to do anything, regardless of the consequences, so it only followed that they would not be happy with the outcome of events in the Ministry. Harry grimaced and shook his head. Still, the Ministry now had Livers and the ledgers, so it was a matter for the diplomats. Harry tapped the brakes and turned down the drive that led to his home. He guided the car towards the open barn. He pulled into the large, redesigned structure and stopped in his space. He grasped his bag and threw open the door, stepping out. Shutting the door, he stared out towards the main house. The lights were on and despite the darkness from the rain and clouds, the home exuded a warmth that made all of his concerns go away. It was good to be home. *** Hes home, Archbishop. Were moving. Michael said tersely. Why not wait until he gets inside? Carmine asked pensively. Isnt it harder to try snare him in the open? Michael shook his head. It would put the wife and children in danger and we do not make war on women and children, Archbishop. Carmines eyebrows arched sharply at the retort, but he remained silent. Instead, he followed the team of Templars out the door. Fangio remained behind and watched the scene unfold. *** Harry checked the security of the car and began walking towards the main house. The tell tale sound of multiple apparitions echoed outside. Harry stopped in his tracks and glanced around. Soon enough, he spotted eight men dressed in blousy black trousers and work boots and dark shirts standing in a loose semicircle outside the barn. In the center was the man whod been the leader of the Templars hed heard described by Mortimer.

Mr. Potter, Im afraid youre going to have to come with us. Michael said sternly. Harry shrugged his satchel off his shoulder and let it fall to the ground. Im sorry, do I know you? Harry asked quietly, allowing his arms to fall loosely by his side. You know who we are, Mr. Potter. From everything weve read about you, nothing ever indicated that you were an ignorant man. Michael said, feeling a rising sense of anxiety in his chest. Now come along quietly. We dont want to cause any undue alarm to your family. Much to Michaels surprise, Harry laughed, his viridian eyes twinkling behind the thin frames of his glasses. You certainly dont fit the normal peace -loving image of priests we were led to believe. Ever so slightly, Harrys knees flexed and a wry smile crossed his face. You know, if you know all this information about me, you know that I do not know how to do anything quietly. Michael nodded his head slightly. He knew that about Harry as well. Things moved in slow motion. Despite the years of training and the knowledge of their prey, the Templars werent prepared for the slight flick of Harrys wrist, the snap of the spring loaded catch on his arm that propelled his wand into his ready hand and the flash of light and fire as the first spell was a blinding explosion on the ground in front of Harry. It was only after Harry had vaulted backward, back into the barn before any of them remembered to extend their own wands and the battle was joined. *** Ginny was sitting at the kitchen table going through the mail. Kreacher was busily bustling through the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner while the kids were upstairs, doing what kids do, only with a lot more noise. She rifled through bills and flyers and the occasional letter from various Quidditch organizations. Ginny sat back in her chair and sighed. She worked hard to maintain the athletic tone of her body and she acknowledged that it was getting harder and harder after all these years and three children. Still, as she ran her hands through her crimson hair, Harry still looked at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world and she made it a point to keep it that way. She smiled inwardly as the rumble of Harrys car droned through the front yard. The waft of delicious smells emanating from the kitchen caused her stomach to growl. A quick glance at the clock told her that her husband was home at a reasonable hour. Usually, when some crisis was brewing, Harry worked late. This could only mean that things had been resolved. She stood and went to the front of the large staircase. Okay, Potter children! Your father is home. Get down here and set the table! One thing the kids did not do was wait for their mother to tell them to do something twice. There was a thunder of three sets of feet as the careened down the stairs and ran into the dining room with quick pecks on the cheek from Ginny. She stood and watched them work. Lily, the youngest, and the only girl, stopped putting placemats on the table and turned to her mother. I thought you said Daddy was home. She said quietly. Ginny frowned. It had been a few minutes. She glanced at her watch and the her eye fell on the large grandfather clock in the living room. The brass hand with Harrys name wasnt on the Home tab. Ginnys eyes widened as she saw the hand resting atop the Mortal Peril tab. She ran to the window and looked out towards the barn. Then she reached for wand in the back pocket of her jeans and shouted for Kreacher. *** Harry dove for the far corner of the barn, landing behind a stack of hay bales. Oppugno! Harry sent one of the large bales flying towards a group of attackers that were standing near his car and then turned his

wand towards the wooden wall behind him. Reducto! The wall exploded in a blast of splinters and Harry ran through the opening and out into the yard. He was outnumbered by a sizeable number of expert wizards. He needed room to maneuver and he needed to draw them away from the house. He prayed that Ginny heard the battle and knew to get the kids out of danger. He ducked as a charm blazed by his cheek and returned fire blindly, hoping to force his attackers to cower. He ran behind the back of the barn and spotted the shadows of pursuers ahead . Glisseo! Harry pointed to the wet grass near the corner of the barn and watched with satisfaction as two Templars slid out into the open as they lost their footing. Exposed, Harry struck first. Petrificus Totalus! The two Templars bodies grew rigid. Harry leapt over them and continued out into the open pasture beyond, knowing it was only a matter of seconds before he was spotted. Shouts behind him confirmed his suspicions and he began to zig zag across the gently sloping hills to present a harder target. Charms began impacting around him and were getting closer and closer. He sprinted towards a large, drooping tree at the top of the highest hill. He dove head first behind the thick trunk of the tree and brought his wand up, hurling spells outward. He took a quick glance. Hed taken down two of the Templars, but the remaining six were drawing up on him at the bottom of the hill. This was as good as he was going to get. He had them in the open and now he had to try to make the best of it. Quickly, he stretched out his arm. Pango! One of the floating clouds coalesced into the shape of a hammer and hardened. The head tripped down and landed on top of one of the Templars, knocking him out. Harry drew back as a blast struck the tree, sending bits of bark and wood into his arm. He grimaced and rolled to the other side of the tree. Expulso! He aimed the spell at a fence post. The thick wood exploded, sending one of the Templars flying. Harry fought hard, but slowly realized that h is opponents numbers were allowing them to circle behind him. Soon, he would be surrounded and hed have limited options. Come on, Mr. Potter, dont make this any more difficult. All we want are the ledgers. They are the property of the Church. Carmines voice echoed across the pasture. Harry smiled. Property of the Church, or property of the Templars? They are one and the same. Valliere responded indignantly. I dont think so. We know something of what the Dark Arts can bring to the world. I think well safeguard them ourselves. Harry sent a curse towards an approaching wizard and the man went flying. Valliere stared up the hill. Enough of this. He grumbled. The former football player rose and tensed his shoulders. He leaned forward and changed into an animagus form that fit his prior playing career. Soon, a large, gray rhinoceros was marching through the meadow and towards the tree. Harry saw the approaching figure and desperately sent charms flying, but they carome d off the animals tough hide. Harry tried to move out of the way and the front horn of the rhino grazed his leg while its shoulder slammed into Harrys chest, sending the air rushing out. Valliere continued his momentum and stopped a few meters away. Harry gasped for breath as Carmine reverted to human form. He was joined by Michael and the three remaining Templars. Harry crawled to the base of the tree and rested his back on its hardened trunk. His wand was lying on the ground out of his reach and the wound in his leg throbbed from the loss of blood. Harry fought down panic as the five Templars approached him warily. Valliere kicked at Harrys wand and pushed it farther away.

You really shouldnt have given us such a hard time, Mr. Potter. I hope the Ministry of Magic isnt as recalcitrant to return the ledgers, for your sake. Harry stared up at the tall archbishop and smiled. Behind his back, his hand was feeling the rough bark of the tree. His fingers came upon a small knot at the base and Harry grinned. He had one more card to play. He pushed his finger into the center of the knot and the placid trees thick boughs immediately came to life in a violent spasm of limbs and leaves. On the day Harry had purchased this plot of land, hed taken Teddy out to the property and theyd gone out to the crest of this hill. Teddy and Harry had been looking for a suitable way to remember Remus Lupin, Teddys father and it had been Teddy whod thought up the idea of planting a Whomping Willow in this place. Theyd searched far and wide and it had been Neville whod come up with taking a sapling from the original tree at Hogwarts and using magic, had coaxed the tree to grow rapidly to maturity. Harry smiled to himself as he saw one of the Templars propelled into the air by one of the trees limbs. Harry low crawled along the ground to where his wand lay. He grasped it and continued make his way down the hill. Michael saw Harry moving down the hill and dodged past another branch and jumped out of range of the sweeping tree. He ran towards Harry and raised his wand. Dont move, Mr. Potter. I dont want to have to curse you. Michael growled. Harry froze and rolled onto his back, facing the tip of Michaels wand. He waited for the flash of li ght that indicated the Templars spell and was stunned when a blast struck Michael, propelling him backward. Harry looked behind him and saw a rush of hair as Ginny roared up astride her broom. He stretched out his hand as she hovered above him and she helped him mount the broom in front of her. She spun the broom around and sped away from the area. Valliere escaped the reach of the willow and spotted Ginnys escape. He raised his wand to shoot the couple down. No! Michaels voice was matched by the grip of his hand on the Archbishops wrist. Hes getting away. Carmine grumbled and shook Michaels hand from its grip. He extended his wand. You might harm the woman. Michael struggled to stand, holding his side from Ginnys attack. Valliere stared at Michael. Nothing is more important than the mission. Her safety is secondary. He turned his wand upward and aimed at Ginnys receding figure. Expelliarmus! The blast knocked Vallieres wand from his hand and sent the larger man flying ba ckward towards the waiting arms of the Whomping Willow. Like a beater with a clean shot at a bludger, the tree swung its thickest limb, striking the man in mid-air and sent him arcing dozens of meters in the air where he landed with a thud. Michael limped to where Valliere lay. The Archbishop was moving slowly, but was obviously incapacitated. Valliere stared up at Michael, surprise and anger in his eyes. Michaels shoulders slumped and he allowed his wand hand to fall to his side. The mission is not as important as our conscience. Its time for this foolishness to end. I will not compromise my duty any longer. Michael turned and watched as the Potters disappeared from sight, safe from their reach. He nodded and smiled then fell to the ground, overcome by pain and weariness. He looked at the innocent looking tree and contemplated his future. For the first time, in a long time, that future looked brighter, free of guilt and free to do the right thing. In his minds eye, he saw the image of a little girl from the south of France smiling at him and nodding her head.