Chapter 900 - Ch: 25-28

Chapter 25: The Weight

Professor McGonagall narrowly eyed Professor Snape's annoyingly nearly placid features all through dinner, certain from the twitching muscle on his temple that they were a facade to cover his anger at Harry Potter. Every so often he glanced at Potter and the barest hint of sneer hovered about his lips.

For her part, McGonagall was pleased that Potter was putting on a brave face and making the best of a bad situation, what with Rita Skeeter's latest attempt to smear his reputation. At least in regards to most of the school, the attempt had failed rather spectacularly, judging by the show that Granger, Potter, and their friends were putting on for the benefit of the Slytherins.

She would be enjoying the performance almost as much as the headmaster was if she weren't so aggravated with Severus Snape's apparent skirting of Dumbledore's admonition preceding the Christmas Holidays.

McGonagall considered approaching Dumbledore again, but then decided to tackle Severus herself. Following the feast, she quickly wiped her lips with a napkin and hastened after the Potions Master, catching up with him before he exited the Great Hall.

"Severus," she called out, gesturing to the door of one of the anterooms, "a word if you please."

"If you insist, Minerva," said Snape silkily as he followed her inside.

"Well," said McGonagall sharply as soon as the door shut, muffling the rumble of the foosteps of the throng heading for their dorms, "ninety points vanished from Gryffindor yesterday afternoon around the time of Mr. Potter's double period in Potions. I don't suppose you know anything about that?"

"It had nothing to do with Potter - not directly in any case," Snape's dark eyes glittered cagily. "Granger and the rest of Potter's little... friends were disrupting the class. No doubt delighted to find themselves the centre of attention."

"Really? Is that so? ... And if I were to suggest that you had been taunting them by reading aloud from Skeeter's hit-piece, and deliberately targeting them for reprisal, what might you say to that?"

McGonagall caught the flicker of doubt in Snape's eyes and felt vindicated, knowing that her inference had struck a nerve. But the doubt was replaced immediately by a look of defiance.

"Given the, ah, one hundred and seventy points deducted from Slytherin over a harmless prank following the Second Task, surely you are not worried about losing the House Cup this year, Minerva."

"Hmm..." McGonagall's lips grew thinner and her tone even colder. "As I recall that 'harmless prank' resulted in a brawl involving seven of your students and four of mine, and a fifty points loss from Gryffindor as well. ... Be that as it may, if I hear that you have been wasting your class's time instead of teaching Potions again, the headmaster shall hear of it."

"Do what you must, Minerva," said Snape, "Now, if you don't mind, my bed awaits."

"By all means, Severus." McGonagall scowled at the backside of the Potions Master as he flounced out of the anteroom in a swirl of black robes.

~o0o~

Harry felt loads better the next day when his bandages came off - and that was good because Professor Moody seemed keen on getting back to training as soon as possible. Moody held him and Hermione back at the end of Defence Against the Dark Arts while the other students filed out of the classroom. Ron, Neville, Lavender, and Parvati looked like they wanted to stay, but one glare from Moody sent them all packing.

"Right then, Potter," Professor Moody growled, his mad eye boring into Harry, "Heard about your run-in with Snape and Karkaroff, and that you want some answers. Ye wanna know if Snape's in cahoots with Voldemort - is that about the size of it?"

"Er... Yeah," said Harry, gulping nervously at the menacing looking ex-Auror, and wondering if Moody was about to berate him for being too nosy.

"I can't tell you more'n I know, Potter," said Moody gruffly, "but I suppose ye've got a right t'know some of it. ... Yeah - Snape used t'be a Death Eater, then he switched sides for some reason that I can't figure. ... Karkaroff, I get him - I don't trust him, but I get him - he got a deal for sellin' out other Death Eaters, an' there's no way he wants to risk gettin' chucked back in Azkaban or in Nurmengard, and there's no way he wants to get back with Voldemort.

"But Dumbledore said Snape turned spy for our side a bit before the end o' things last time, an' he trusts Snape - and I'm buggered if I know why. If you ask me, Dumbledore's too trusting for his own good - believes in second chances, no matter how bad the firs' chance was. Me - I don't trust anyone with a Dark Mark - some spots just don't wash off.

"Snape may've truly come around, I don't know. But I've seen how he is around you, Potter - he's got it in for you bad! There's something still rotten to the core about him whether he really switched sides or not.

"Now, I know that ain't much comfort, me not knowin' if Snape can be trusted. In the end, all I can say is that Dumbledore trusts him completely for some ungodly reason, an' that I've got my eye on him. Me and Tonks an' everyone else - and yeah, even Dumbledore - we've all got your back, Potter.

"That doesn't mean you should let your guard down - constant vigilance is your best friend, an' if you see anything else suspicious, don't hesitate to let me know. ... Don't bother with Dumbledore though, he won't take kindly to suspicions against Snape - jus' tell me or Tonks, or McGonagall. We'll check things out and if we find there's anything to it, we'll light a fire under Dumbledore's arse - alright?"

"Er... yeah, okay," said Harry when it seemed like Moody was finished.

He still felt unsettled - it was hard not to with Moody being so uncertain about Snape himself. But at least he knew for certain that Dumbledore knew about Snape and that Dumbledore believed in Snape. That was something - not much, but something. Harry shot a glance at Hermione, who actually looked a bit more shaken if anything.

"Anyway," said Moody after giving Harry a moment to absorb things, "we'll be gettin' back to training you and Granger up startin' Friday evening, Potter. You should have all your strength back by then - should be enough time after healin' up from that nasty business at the end o' the Second Task..."

Harry was surprised when Moody suddenly broke into an ugly grin.

"Speakin' o' which, I really haven't taken the time to congratulate you yet, Potter. That was a nice bit o' work you did on the Second Task - you held your own against a sea-serpent and assassins, and as far as I'm concerned you're the one who shoulda won it after dealin' with a whole heap more than any of the other Champions had to face."

Harry gaped in astonishment at Moody. His trepidation about Snape was temporarily replaced with no small amount of gratification; he couldn't help feeling a swell of achievement to have earned such high praises from Professor Moody. Harry had to admit that he had been a bit less than happy with his performance in the Second Task. It had been a real blow to his confidence to have come so close to snuffing it, and all the "Secret Harem" business had in many ways been a welcome distraction and a bit of an ego boost.

Feeling generally better, Harry departed the Defence classroom with Hermione at his side and a note for Professor Flitwick explaining why they were late for Charms.

"Wow, I can't believe it," said Harry, grinning. "Moody actually thinks I should have won the Second Task!"

"He's not wrong," said Hermione, giving Harry a peck on the cheek, "you were amazing!"

But Harry noticed that she looked a bit distracted and disturbed.

"Er... you alright ,Hermione?"

She frowned hesitantly.

"I'm not sure," she said after a moment. "I thought we'd get something a bit more definitive about Professor Snape."

"You thought we'd get more proof that Snape was definitely on our side, didn't you?"

"Yes, actually, to be perfectly honest," Hermione sighed. "It's not that I don't trust Dumbledore's judgment - I do, though perhaps a bit less - okay, more than a bit less since I found out how rotten your aunt and uncle were to you - but Professor Moody is an ex-Auror. I know loads of people think he's paranoid, but he's had lots of good reasons to be, hasn't he?

"I would think that his instincts about these sorts of things are pretty sharp. What he said about Karkaroff made perfect sense, for example. Even though Professor Moody doesn't trust him either, he can be very certain that Karkaroff isn't a Death Eater anymore."

"So, are you saying you think Snape could actually be working for Voldemort now?"

Harry was genuinely surprised at Hermione's change of heart, especially as he himself was feeling slightly better knowing that Dumbledore trusted Snape. Not a hundred percent by any means, but his estimation had definitely swung over a bit more to that side of things than they were before.

"The problem is, without knowing Professor Snape's reasons for switching sides, we can't rule anything out. And you heard Professor Moody - it looks like Neville and Ron were right about not going straight to Dumbledore with this, and I'm really not sure what to make of that." Hermione scowled.

"If Dumbledore is absolutely certain that Snape is on his side, then why wouldn't he at least tell Professor Moody how he knows? You would think, seeing as he hired Moody and obviously knew that Moody didn't trust Snape, that he would have told Moody so that he wouldn't be wasting his time and effort keeping an eye on Snape as well."

"Unless..." Hermione's brow furrowed; she looked more agitated and disconcerted than ever. "Unless Dumbledore wants Moody to keep an eye on Snape too! ... Maybe Dumbledore isn't so sure about Snape anymore, or maybe he doesn't want to take any chances - either way, it would mean that Dumbledore doesn't trust Snape completely."

"Oh!"

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about things now. It was one thing for he himself to still be suspicious of Snape, but the idea of Dumbledore's certitude had nonetheless been somewhat reassuring; but if Hermione was more questioning too...

"Well, at least you're just as paranoid as me now. I feel loads better!" he said only half-jokingly.

Hermione huffed irritably and rolled her eyes as she trod heavily beside him, her footsteps echoing in the empty stone corridor. Harry instantly felt a bit guilty.

"Here, give me that," he said, reaching out his hand.

"What?"

"Your bookbag. I can carry it for you," said Harry earnestly.

"But it's heavy."

"That's why I want to carry it for you."

"But you've got your own," said Hermione, looking even more annoyed. "And yours is just as heavy!"

"Yes, but I've been living with the weight of everything for years," said Harry quietly. "I can handle it."

"Oh!" Hermione's brown eyes widened with understanding, the irritation fading from her features. "That's very sweet of you, Harry, but really, I'm fine."

"Please! Let me!" Harry begged. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean to tease you! ... I'm just so used to dealing with the idea that people are out to get me and not always knowing who to trust that I kind of forget about it half the time when I'm not feeling paranoid the other half of the time. ... I didn't really think about how awful it must be to have that sort of feeling if you've never really had it before."

"Well..." Hermione's eyelashes fluttered as she gave Harry a shy little smile. "...It's not quite the first time..."

"Yeah, I know," Harry nodded and smiled back sheepishly. "You were right about Sirius sending me the Firebolt even though he turned out not to be a maniac killer, and I know how worried you were for me... and you've been putting up with all the rubbish that comes with being my friend since First Year. But still... it's not really the same, is it?"

"No, it's not," Hermione admitted ruefully, lifting the bookbag from her shoulder. "Being worried for you certainly isn't new, but not being sure about who I can trust is! ... In First Year, after your first quidditch match, I was so sure Snape was trying to do you in, and then after First Year I was so sure that he wasn't.

"There was never really any uncertainty in-between. ... I'm sorry too, Harry. Even though I've always been horribly worried for you, you're always so brave about things that I still sometimes forget how dreadful it must be from your perspective - never really knowing what's going on - always trying to figure things out for yourself. It's more than anyone your age should have to bear.

"Honestly, I don't know how you manage it - the uncertainty about Snape after it turned out to be Quirrell - not knowing who the Heir of Slytherin was - finding out about Peter Pettigrew after he'd been under your nose the entire time - Barty Crouch Junior - always wondering if another teacher is possessed or another one of Voldemort's minions - never being quite sure if you can trust Dumbledore..."

"It's not like that, Hermione," Harry interjected quickly. "I do trust Dumbledore! I always did! It's just... he waited a bit longer to tell me things than I'd have liked him to - I wish he'd told me everything at the end of First Year when I first asked him. ... But yeah - I wish I knew what's up with Snape, and all the other stuff you just said gets to me sometimes too."

"That's just it, Harry" said Hermione, "what you said - it just hit a nerve! ... You were right - I am more 'paranoid' now. ... Like I said - I'm not so sure how much to trust Dumbledore's judgment about Snape anymore, especially given his lack of judgment regarding your relatives.

"Yes - I still trust Dumbledore by and large - especially as he's done so much to look after you since we found out Crouch Junior - but I can't be sure now that he's always the best judge of character when it comes to determining which awful people deserve second chances."

"Yeah, well... No argument from me on that score," Harry sighed, reaching out his hand to take Hermione's bookbag. "Now come on, hand it over."

"My hero!" Hermione smiled at Harry as he slung her bag over his shoulder along with his own, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She took his arm, noting that Harry was remarkably light on his feet despite the weight on his shoulders as they traipsed through the nearly empty stone corridors to Charms.

~o0o~

It was after classes, during the little party celebrating Ron's birthday at one end of the common room, when a tan and white barn owl appeared outside one of the windows nearest to their table. The owl was flapping its wings mightily as it struggled to maintain position in the cruel wind whipping around the castle.

"Oh, the poor little thing," said Lavender as she reached over and opened the window.

The grateful barn owl hopped on the table past Lavender and Parvati, narrowly avoiding stepping in Ron's birthday cake, and tried to straighten out a few of its wonky feathers. Then it peered around the table looking for the recipient of the small parcel it was carrying.

"Something for me?" said Ron hopefully, his eyes lighting up.

"Er... It might be for me, actually," said Harry, turning a bit pink; the barn owl looked familiar to him.

"Oh," said Ron, looking vaguely disappointed.

Sure enough, as soon as the owl spotted Harry it hopped across the table and held out its talon. Harry undid the little parcel tied to its claw and gave it a slice of birthday cake. The owl greedily gobbled the cake getting crumbs everywhere while Harry eyed the package from "Snuffles," not sure if he should open it at the table. Harry had almost forgotten that Sirius had promised to send him a package as it had been several weeks now since the fireside chat.

"Who's it from, Harry?" asked Neville.

"Oh, er..."

Harry quickly tried to think of something to tell everyone; even though Minister Fudge and the head of the DMLE had rescinded the arrest warrant for Sirius, they were still holding off on issuing an exoneration of all charges against him until they had a bit more evidence than Barty Crouch Junior's confession to prove that Pettigrew was still alive and working for Voldemort.

"...from an old friend of my mum and dad's," was the best that Harry could come up with on the spot.

"Oh!" Ron's eyes widened in sudden understanding, all disappointment vanishing. "You shoug'openit'arry," he mumbled through a mouthful of birthday cake.

"You sure?" Harry shot Ron an apologetic look. "I can stay a bit and open it later."

"'S'okay, Harry!" Ron hastily swallowed the rest of the cake in his mouth and nodded. "Really! I'm fine - I'll see you at dinner."

"If you've got any room for dinner left," said Ginny with a grin. "That's your third piece of cake, Ron."

"Thanks Ron," said Harry, feeling relieved and glancing around the table at everyone. "Er... see you guys later then."

"Enjoy the rest of your birthday, Ron," said Hermione as she pushed her chair out to join Harry. She smirked a bit at Ron who was already going for a fourth piece of cake.

Once back in his own quarters, sitting on the little sofa in the sitting room by the crackling fire with Hermione, Harry began to carefully undo the thick wrapping paper to reveal wads of crumpled tissue. Curiouser than ever, he began ripping at the tissue and was surprised to see a small mirror.

"Huh!" Harry scratched his head as he peered into it, seeing his own green eyes and feeling a bit puzzled. "I thought this was supposed to be a way to get in touch with Sirius. What am I supposed to do with this?"

Hermione bit her lip, pensively furrowing her brows.

"Try saying Sirius's name," she suggested after thinking a moment.

"Oh, er, alright!" Harry felt a bit silly speaking to a mirror and tried pretending it was a walkie-talkie. "Er... Sirius, you there? ... Come in, over."

Nothing! Not even static! Harry glanced at Hermione for help.

Hermione shrugged. "If Sirius has one too, he may not be right by his at the moment. Try again, and if there's still no answer, you can try again in a little bit. You could also try leaving a message."

"Like a telephone answering machine?" said Harry skeptically, thinking of the device that Uncle Vernon had attached to the phone in his home office for work calls.

"Why not?" said Hermione. "It's a magic mirror for communication, right? But you can't expect someone to be at the other end all the time - it would be a bit odd if it didn't have that feature if you ask me."

Harry made a little "Hmm" face and nodded.

"Yeah - you're right, Hermione! That would be weird if it didn't. ... Okay, here goes again." Harry cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "Hey, Sirius, it's me, Harry! ... Dunno if you can hear me or not - and I dunno if this thing takes messages - but, er... if it does - call me?"

Harry sort of cringed at the end, feeling stupider than ever, and he was about to put the mirror down and try to forget about it for an hour when he heard what sounded like a scrabbling sound. To his astonishment, the reflection in the mirror flickered and he briefly saw what looked like dark wood paneling before Sirius's beaming face appeared.

"Sirius!" Harry nearly shouted, grinning. "It worked! Brilliant!"

"Yeah, it's something isn't it," said Sirius. "I'm sorry I didn't send it sooner - I thought I knew where it was - turfed out my whole room looking for it, but I still couldn't find it. So I've been cleaning up the basement and the attic the last couple of weeks, and finally I found it in my old school trunk under a pile of boxes in the attic."

"Is that Harry?" asked another familiar voice from the other side of the mirror.

"It's him alright - he finally got it," said Sirius, looking off to the side.

"Lupin?" gasped Harry. "Professor Lupin's with you too?"

The face which appeared just behind Sirius's shoulder answered Harry's question.

"I can't say I'm doing much professoring these days, Harry," said Lupin wryly. "Remus will do, if that's okay with you."

"Er... yeah, great! No problem... Remus!" Harry couldn't believe it, and the excitement he felt at seeing Sirius again doubled to see Lupin as well. "So, what are you doing at Sirius's place?"

"Helping him clean it up," Remus replied, his moustache twitching mirthfully "It's filthy here."

"That's putting it kindly," said Sirius, chuckling. "Anyway, is that Hermione I see with you, Harry?"

Harry felt Hermione's curls spilling over his shoulder as she leaned in to peer into the mirror too.

"Hi Sirius! Hi Prof... I mean Remus!" she squeaked, giving them a little wave.

"What about the others?" asked Sirius, a roguish look in his eyes. "Where's the rest of the harem?"

Hermione let out a little "Eep!" and she and Harry both blushed like ripe tomatoes.

Remus whacked Sirius's shoulder. "Sirius! You said you wouldn't tease them!"

"Sorry!" Sirius grinned. "I couldn't resist! ... Anyway, I'm just thrilled to see you looking the picture of health, Harry! You didn't half give us both a fright when we heard how badly you'd been injured during the Second Task! ... So spill - you have to tell us all about it - what've we missed? Don't spare any details."

Harry began to talk; Hermione curled an arm around his middle and snuggled closer to him, piping up every now and then and filling in little gaps in the information. They told Sirius and Remus everything they could think of: the Second Task, Goblin Assassins, theories about Bagman, Skeeter and the Harem stuff, and even Snape and Karkaroff and what Moody had to say about it.

And as Harry let it all out - all of his worries and his fears, and all of the good and silly bits too - he felt a huge weight lifting from his shoulders.

Chapter 26: London Calling

"So," Ron began when he caught up with Harry and Hermione the next day after classes; he was by himself for a change, with no Neville in tow for a reason which became readily apparent, "what'd Si -" he glanced around to make sure no one was nearby. "Er... Sirius," he whispered, "Is it alright if I ask you what he sent?"

"Oh, yeah, of course," said Harry quietly. "And by the way - I never got around to telling you - just call him Snuffles."

"Snuffles?" said Ron, looking highly amused. "Yeah - okay then. So, what'd he send you?"

"I'll show you," said Harry, "but not here."

A few minutes later, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were outside, strolling along the pebbly shore of the lake. The day was sunny with very few clouds in the sky and ducks drifted by on the shimmering surface of the water. Harry reached into his robes and showed Ron the mirror.

"What's that for?" asked Ron, sniggering, "Putting on makeup?"

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. Harry grinned.

"Nah! It's a communication mirror - Snuffles has one too. I can talk to him on it anytime I like now. I talked to him last night - him and Remus..."

"Remus? You mean Professor Lupin?"

"Yeah, he's hanging out with Snuffles," said Harry. "He told me to call him Remus seeing as he's not a professor anymore. Anyway, Hermione and I, we talked to them a bit last night. I told them everything that's been going on lately. ... Sirius doesn't trust Snape either..." Harry had already forgotten his own admonition. "...Oh, that reminds me, I talked to Professor Moody too yesterday.

"Moody said that Snape really was a Death Eater who switched sides and works for Dumbledore now. He thinks Dumbledore's barking for hiring Snape but said that Dumbledore totally trusts him for some reason. Sirius pretty much said the same thing as Moody. ... He told us that Snape hung out with a gang of Slytherins in school that all ended up as Death Eaters - so he thinks Dumbledore's crazy for hiring him too.

"But Remus said that if Dumbledore trusts him, then he must have a good reason to, and now I dunno what to think, really. ... I mean, I keep going back and forth - Sirius and Remus and Moody all said that Dumbledore totally trusts Snape - but Sirius and Moody don't really trust Snape - and Remus reckons that if Dumbledore trusts him then we should too..."

"But I'm not sure that Dumbledore does trust Snape completely," Hermione interjected, "or if he does, then I'm not sure whether we can trust Dumbledore's judgment about Snape."

"What? You? ... Harry, have you checked Hermione for polyjuice potion?" Ron sniggered, and Hermione gave him a withering look.

"Bloody hell! You really mean it," said Ron, gaping at her.

"Yeah, she does," said Harry seriously. "That's why I'm even more confused than ever now..."

~o0o~

Kingsley Shacklebolt and John Dawlish eyed the run-down establishment on the outskirts of Cardiff warily, paying little heed as the rain grew heavier and the wind picked up. Passing muggles noticed the two men in trench-coats, no doubt wondering if the men were considering purchasing and renovating the long shuttered antique shop with boarded up windows.

Dawlish and Shacklebolt drew closer to the building, splashing through the puddles on the pavement, and out of the range of muggle eyes, which slid past the Aurors as if they weren't there the moment they passed through the concealment and repelling charms which warded against nosy muggles.

The true nature of the building readily became apparent, though it didn't look in much better shape from within the wards. Dawlish looked up at the grimy sign swinging in the wind.

"The Red-Handed Fist," Dawlish muttered, "Think we'll have any better luck than we did at Bullwhip and Cleaver?"

"If we're lucky," said Shacklebolt dryly; Dawlish snorted and shook his head.

"Hey, at least we've got a name now," Shacklebolt added. "That's more than we had before."

When Shacklebolt and Dawlish entered the dimly lit goblin pub, a number of heads swiveled, some of them scruffy looking wizards and witches. The goblins seemed far less disturbed than the humans, many of whom quickly averted their eyes and shrank in their seats, trying to make themselves look smaller.

Shacklebolt and Dawlish ignored the wizards and witches, and ambled over to the bar, which was short and had a very scratched and stained surface. The goateed goblin bartender eyed the Aurors suspiciously.

"Whaddya want?" growled the bartender. "Couple'a' ales?"

"Actually, I was hoping you might direct us to Ugrot Jenkins," said Shacklebolt politely as he retrieved a hefty leather pouch from his trench-coat. "You may know him better as 'Ugly-face' Jenkins. I can make it worth your while." Shacklebolt shook the pouch and it jangled.

The bartender's bushy eyebrows lifted, and his surly expression changed to one of unabashed avarice.

"That'll cost you more'n' a bit," he said. "Jenkins ain't one t'cross unless it pays good."

Shacklebolt smiled and tipped about a third of the pouch onto the bar-top. The pile of gold galleons glittered in the recessed lighting behind the bar, which was a bit brighter than the lighting in the rest of the tavern.

"Yeah - alright then," said the bartender, quickly sweeping the galleons into his waistcoat pocket. "'E's that one over there." The bartender jerked his head towards the rear of the pub.

"Which one?" asked Dawlish, frowning.

"Are you daft? The one with the ugly face o' course."

Dawlish and Shacklebolt peered into shadowy reaches of the tavern where a dozen or more goblins were sitting at round tables or in dark booths. The bartender rolled his eyes.

"The tall one with the squashed nose and short ears - the one 'oo looks human."

Shacklebolt spotted the goblin who looked about a foot taller than the others and chuckled.

"Of course!" he said, "Thank you!"

"Don't mention it," grunted the bartender.

Dawlish and Shacklebolt made their way past a group of rowdy goblins playing cards with two wizards, a goblin couple snogging, their hands all over each other, another goblin sobbing into his ale at the counter, and what appeared to be a goblin prostitute haggling over price with a potential client.

They reached the rear of the pub unaccosted and made a beeline for the booth where Ugrot "Ugly-Face" Jenkins appeared to be counting a pile of galleons left behind by the disgruntled looking goblin who had just departed.

"Ugrot Jenkins?" said Dawlish.

"Depends 'oo's askin'?"

"I'm Shacklebolt, and this is Dawlish. We're Aurors..."

"Of course yer Aurors," Ugrot snorted. "I ain't blind. Whaddya want with me?"

"Ludo Bagman..." Dawlish began.

Ugrot's eyes widened. He snatched his bag of galleons from the table and darted from the booth, ducking down under Dawlish's grabbing arms and dashing for the back-door of the pub. Infuriated at having let him slip past, Dawlish lurched after him, only to be halted by Shacklebolt.

"No need to make a scene," he said.

Dawlish scowled and followed Shacklebolt, who was casually strolling to the back-door. The grey light of the rainy afternoon was almost blindingly bright as they both emerged from the darkness into the alley behind the pub.

"Gerrof! Gerrof me!" snarled Ugrot, who was struggling in the clutches of a smirking woman with short soggy brown hair and wearing a trench-coat which looked just like Shacklebolt's and Dawlish's. "You'll be hearin' from the Goblin Nation about this - I know people..."

"Doubtful," said the very wet woman, "the National Inquiry Unit would be more than happy to let the Auror Office take the blame for removing a thorn in the side of legitimate bookmakers."

"Nicely done, Abbie," said Shacklebolt, grinning.

"Yeah, well, I was trained by Mad Eye," said Auror Abbie Brixton smugly, "I know a thing or two about takin' down a suspect without using a wand."

"I ain't done nuthin' wrong! Lemme go!" Ugrot was beginning to sound more desperate than angry now. "I got a sack full of galleons here - you can have the lot!"

"We're not interested in your money," said Shacklebolt, his voice calm. "And we're not that interested in you either, to tell you the truth. We're more interested in learning a bit more about Bagman's dealings - finding out whether he's just been doing business with small fry like you, or engaging with larger operations - say, one of the syndicates."

"That's more'n' my life is worth t'tell you lot," said Ugrot fearfully.

Shacklebolt retrieved the heavy money pouch from the pocket of his trench-coat once more and shook it.

"There's about seventy-five galleons left in here," he said. "It's not much compared to your life, admittedly - but if you're interested..."

"I'll take it!" Ugrot blurted out, his eyes gleaming. "I dunno which syndicate they work for, but when I couldn't cover Bagman's side bets at the World Cup, he hooked up with a bunch a blokes 'oo usually operate out of The Silver Sword on weekends. The boss's name is Morag Gorhammer."

"Thank you," said Shacklebolt, tossing the hefty pouch of galleons as Brixton released Ugrot's arms, "You've been very helpful, and nobody will hear about this little exchange from us."

"Yeah, yeah!" said Ugrot unconcernedly as he shoved the pouch into one of the pockets of his vest. "Now if you don't mind..."

"By all means, Mr. Jenkins." Brixton smiled pleasantly, releasing the goblin.

Ugrot hesitated a moment. Then he tugged his concealing talisman necklace from under his collar, darted down the alley towards one of the Cardiff streets, and disappeared around the corner of a brick building.

~o0o~

Later that evening, Lavender, Parvati, and Neville were quickly brought up to speed by Harry, Hermione, and Ron, minus the information about Sirius and Remus for the time being. At some point, Harry wanted to let them in on that too, but he reckoned that it was probably better to wait until it looked like Sirius was getting closer to being exonerated.

Lavender, who hadn't been at the gathering by the lake the other day, was as shocked as Parvati and Neville had been at first to learn that Snape had once been - or might possibly still be - a Death Eater.

In the following weeks, Harry and Hermione settled back into what was almost a normal existence at Hogwarts. Snape kept shooting them nasty, vicious looks during Potions, but otherwise he seemed to be laying off.

Malfoy was giving them both equally dirty looks as well and scowling jealously whenever he saw them hanging out with Fleur, or Parvati and Lavender, or Ginny and Luna, or all of them together at once. The girls who had been hopefully offering themselves up as candidates to join the "Secret Harem" gradually dwindled. Nonetheless, Harry still didn't have much opportunity to relax.

Despite the Third Task still being months away, he found himself busier than he had ever been before: struggling to at least catch up to where one would normally be in Beginning Runes and Arithmency at this time of the school year, and continuing Legilimency and Occlumency lessons. Not to mention that Moody was running him and Hermione ragged, training them in tactics and spells, and practicing muggle fighting techniques was more bruising than ever.

Thankfully, Dora was insistent that they take some time off and Moody begrudgingly backed down from his plans to drill them all weekend as well. Dora herself had plans for a date with Fleur but was loath to leave Harry and Hermione without a secret escort at Hogwarts.

And thus, despite there not being another official Hogsmeade day until the following month, Dora roped Harry and Hermione into joining her and Fleur for a double date with the permission of Dumbledore. Harry was a bit reticent at first, concerned as he was about running into Rita Skeeter again.

"No worries, Harry," Dora told him, "I was thinkin' it'd be more fun to do some muggle stuff for a change anyway. When was the last time you went out on the town in London?"

Harry gaped at Dora in surprise. "Er... Never, actually. The only place I've ever been in London is King's Cross."

"Oh, right!" Dora scowled. "I forgot about that. Those bloody relatives of yours never took you anywhere fun."

"How are we going to get there?" asked Hermione, "By floo?"

"Actually, I was thinkin' about staying off the grid and takin' you two along by side-along Apparition. I figured it'd be better not to pop up in Diagon Alley and avoid being seen in the wizard world altogether."

"What about the Trace?" Hermione asked, looking a bit anxious. "Harry may be emancipated, but I'm not."

"Not a problem," said Dora. "Technically I'm an Active Field Auror, remember?" she gave them a little wink, "...and we won't be needing our wands for anything in London... much."

"Er... What about money?" asked Harry, seeing a snag in Dora's plans to avoid Diagon Alley. "I'll need to stop by Gringotts and change some galleons into muggle money."

"I've got plenty of muggle money to cover expenses," Dora retorted with a little smirk, having anticipated Harry's query. "And I'm not taking no for an answer," she quickly added as Harry opened his mouth to object.

~o0o~

Saturday in London was perhaps the best day that Harry had ever had as a "muggle." He set off early in the morning with Hermione, Dora, and Fleur, down the path leading to the cast-iron gates. Once beyond the boundaries of Hogwarts, Fleur and Dora each took hold of one of the younger couple and vanished with two loud cracks.

The moment they reappeared in a small square somewhere in London with a marble statue of Merlin in the middle of a patch of grass, Harry and Hermione both doubled over and promptly threw up.

"Blimey!" Harry grumbled as he recovered, "That was like being squeezed through a tube of toothpaste - my head felt like it was going to explode."

"Yeah - takes a bit of getting used to," Dora agreed with a chuckle. "It's pretty 'orrible. I prefer a broom myself."

"Oui!" Fleur tittered as she straightened out her skirt, "Ees not so bien. But ees better for when wearing a dress."

Hermione glanced across the square when she heard several cars drive by and spotted some muggles on the pavement on the other side of the nearby road.

"Is this square invisible?" she asked, looking slightly puzzled. "Or is it like the hidden platform at King's Cross?"

"Actually, it's bit more like Diagon Alley," said Dora. "This is one of a few apparition spots in London, for use in daylight hours for wizards who want to visit the muggle world without making a stop in the Alley. It's just got some concealing and muggle repelling charms so that no one will notice us comin' and going."

Harry looked behind him when he stepped off the grass onto the pavement and was astonished to see the statue and the lawn shimmer, then the square vanished altogether. In its place was a walled off empty lot with a for-sale sign tacked onto the plywood boards. Nobody seemed to have noticed them apparently emerging from the wall.

"That's brilliant!" said Harry. "I love magic!"

"The things magic can do still surprises me too sometimes," said Hermione, taking his arm.

A short bus ride on a bright red double-decker took them to Kensington Palace where they joined the first tour group of the day. As they followed the tour guide through the palace, Hermione beamed at Harry's awed expression.

"Wow!" he murmured, gawking at the enormous paintings with ornate gilded frames and the intricate murals on the ceiling. "I thought Hogwarts was pretty cool - I mean, it is, but this is really amazing."

"Mum and Dad brought me here a few times," Hermione said wistfully, "It really is quite opulent."

"Zis ees much like Beauxbatons," said Fleur, who looked very impressed as she peered at the glittering crystal chandeliers above.

Once the tour was over, they strolled through the Kensington Gardens with its immaculate lawns and rows of flowers, all colours of the rainbow, and past fountains and statues, and around ponds with lily pads and graceful, haughty looking swans gliding across the rippling surface. By the time they'd had their fill of the beauteous surroundings, it was getting on for lunchtime and Harry was famished as they had skipped breakfast for their early start.

Another short bus ride took the foursome to Trafalgar Square where they had a look at the statue of Admiral Nelson perched atop his tall column and the flocks of pigeons strutting boldly across the square at the base.

"Blimey!" Harry muttered, as he squinted upward, "You can barely see him up there. What's the point?"

"It does seem a bit silly," Hermione laughed, and then she gave Harry a look, feeling a bit bewildered and sad.

"So you've really never seen this - not on the television or in the newspapers?" slipped out of Hermione's mouth; she kicked herself mentally, wishing she could take it back the moment she said it.

"Er... I probably have, actually. I just never paid it much attention I suppose," Harry admitted, flushing slightly. "I probably saw it now and then whenever Uncle Vernon was watching the news - and probably in primary school too. I know I read about it during history lessons, but we went by it pretty quick."

Harry felt a bit better when they found a fish and chip shop nearby and took it to eat in St. James's Park. Sitting on a bench by a pond surrounded by weeping willows and hopeful looking ducks, he spied Buckingham Palace in the near distance. At least Harry recognised that.

He thought about the only other landmarks of London that he remembered from school and news-clips - Big Ben and London Bridge - he couldn't quite picture the Tower of London and he felt a flash of anger towards the Dursleys. Harry savagely squashed the feeling, not wanting to ruin his day with Hermione. Thankfully he had a big pile of fish and chips and a can of coke.

Hermione smiled as she watched Harry's expression change while he dug into his fish and chips with gusto, glad that she hadn't spoiled Harry's day out too much.

Happily for Harry, the next stop after lunch was a trip to the Tower of London. The cawing Ravens were the first things which caught Harry's attention. He grinned for much of tour, reminded of Hogwarts as he and Hermione traipsed alongside Dora and Fleur across the stone battlements and through the stone corridors, past gleaming suits of armour.

Up winding stone staircases they went to see the rooms where some of the most famous prisoners had been kept. Harry felt a bit sick when the tour guide mentioned princes Edward and Richard, twelve and nine years old respectively, who were believed by many to have been murdered by their uncle.

"I remember this bit from primary school," he whispered to Hermione, who looked a bit green around the gills herself.

Even though she had learned about it in school too, and had been on the tour herself with her parents when she was younger, Hermione still found the tale appalling.

Harry was most surprised by the bit of the tour which brought them to the Crown Jewels.

"Blimey! I can't believe they keep them here. I would've thought they'd be kept somewhere a bit safer."

The grizzled tour guide heard Harry and chuckled, "Yeh'd be mad ter try and rob 'em," reminding Harry strongly of Hagrid's warning the day he'd entered Gringotts for the first time.

"Got the most up ter date security measures on 'em," the guide carried on, "an' even if yeh managed ter snatch 'em, the guards'd be on yeh, lickety-split!"

"...Yeh might even find yerself locked up in the Tower," he concluded with another chuckle, giving the tour group a wink.

"Zat was mos' informative," said Fleur, taking Dora's arm and giving her a peck on the cheek when the tour was finished. "I deed not know so much about Britain before today. In Beauxbatons, we learn vairy leetle of non-magical history of France and Britain. Many thanks, Dora."

Dora turned a bit pink and grinned.

The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering through Fortnum and Mason and London's oldest bookshop which was right next door, much to Hermione's delight. Hermione beamed radiantly at Harry as she led him by the hand up and down the stairs, and through all the aisles.

"It's got everything you can think of," she gushed, "It's much better than W.H. Smith."

Hermione was so excited to be giving Harry a tour of her favourite bookshop that she practically dragged him down a narrow aisle of tall bookshelves and snogged him silly at the far end by a window overlooking Piccadilly. When they came up for air, Harry and Hermione both blushed furiously, spotting an elegantly dressed and coiffed woman smirking at them from the other end of the aisle.

"At least you two picked the most appropriate place in the shop," the woman remarked in a clipped, very posh sounding accent. Then she plucked a paperback novel with a lurid cover featuring a half-dressed man and woman from the bookshelf and marched back toward the staircase.

"You chose this aisle on purpose, didn't you?" said Harry, grinning when he realised that they were in the Romance section.

"Maybe!" Hermione squeaked, still pink with embarrassment.

Harry raised his eyebrows questioningly, still grinning at her.

"Okay, fine!" she admitted, glaring at him. "You got me! Are you happy now?"

"Yeah - I am actually!"

Harry put his arms around her waist and drew her closer, his grin softening. Hermione bit her lip, her heart racing again as she looked into his sparkling green orbs. Their lips met again for another kiss, this one more languid and drawn out.

Hermione let out a contented sigh when it was over, her arms still curled around Harry, her bushy head nestled against his chest, a smile on her face. For a few minutes longer they held each other and gazed out of the window at the streets of London before deciding it was time to go and find Dora and Fleur.

They made their way back down the staircase and looked around the shop. When Harry and Hermione found their companions, they were both surprised to see Fleur tittering as she and Dora flicked through the pages of a graphic novel.

"You're into comics too?" Harry asked, looking somewhat bemused.

"Oui!" said Fleur, "Mos' especially when zey are by French artiste - though ees actually French Belgian..."

"Oh!" said Hermione, her eyes lighting up when she realised what it was they were reading. "Is that a Tintin book, then?"

"Yeah!" Dora grinned. "'They're brilliant! I expect you'd like them too, Harry."

"Er..." said Harry uncertainly.

"Yes, he would," said Hermione, grabbing several of the graphic novels from the shelf next to Dora and Fleur, and then looking in her purse for her own muggle money which she kept in reserve during the school year, just in case.

"You don't have to do that, Hermione," said Harry quickly, "I probably won't have a chance to pay you back until the summer."

"It's alright, Harry," Hermione chirped. "I know you've got money in Gringotts, but this is just a present. You'll love them - I promise!"

"Alright then," said Harry, knowing better than to object as he rubbed at his itching scar. "Thanks Hermione."

Following the bookshop, Harry and Hermione both expected they would be returning to Hogwarts, but Dora had other ideas. She purchased a Guardian from the newsstand, and soon found an Indian restaurant nearby. She flicked through the pages while they waited for their dinner.

"Here we go," she muttered, just as the waitress returned with samosas and bowls of curry and rice. "Right then, what sorta film do you guys wanna see?"

There was a bit of back and forth about the movies while they ate dinner. The food was very different from what Harry was used to eating at Hogwarts and the Dursleys, but he decided that he liked it. By the time everyone had finished, a film had been chosen: an American science fiction movie still running in a cinema not too far away.

"Ze actor - he ees Belgian also, like Hergé," Fleur told Harry while Dora purchased the tickets. "I 'ave seen heem before in movie when visiting non-magical cousins. He ees fightair - he fights like you an' 'Ermione are being trained to fight by Dora and zat Professor with ze funny eye - he ees a very pretty man."

"The actor ees pretty, I mean, not ze professor," she added with a tinkling laugh.

Harry enjoyed the movie very much, and surprisingly, despite all of the action and Martial Arts scenes, he found it extremely thought provoking as well.

Hermione's warnings in third year about being careful not to be seen when they were using the Time-Turner seemed more apt than ever. Time-travel was clearly not something to be taken lightly - just the smallest change could make things go horribly wrong.

Harry's scar prickled, and a slight shiver ran up his spine. He hoped that Voldemort never thought of using Time-Turners.

Chapter 27: La Petite Mort

The daytrip to London with Dora and Fleur had been a welcome respite, and Harry and Hermione both felt much more relaxed. Upon their return to the castle, Hermione decided to take the opportunity for another tryst with Harry, as they really hadn't had a proper chance since before the Second Task.

Harry had been more than amenable to the idea of Hermione staying the night again, and they retired to his quarters. While he cleaned his teeth and changed into his pyjamas Hermione bit her lip and peered again at the vial of potion which Madam Pomfrey had given her.

She almost didn't hear Harry returning from the bathroom and hurriedly shoved the vial into her bag, snatching her hand back and trying to look as nonchalant as possible, her heart thudding in her ears.

"Er… everything alright, Hermione?" asked Harry, a puzzled expression on his face.

Hermione's eyes widened, her cheeks growing hotter.

"What? Oh, er… just fine," she squeaked.

Harry hesitated a moment, but thankfully seemed to take her at her word. Hermione grabbed her bag and quickly made her way to the bathroom. When she returned, wearing her nightie and teeth cleaned, Harry was lying in bed chuckling and reading one of the graphic novels she had bought him.

"You were right, Hermione," he said, looking up at her, "These are brilliant! Captain Haddock and Professor Calculus are hilarious. … And Thomson and Thompson sort of remind me of twin Fudges with bushy moustaches…"

Hermione climbed into bed and curled up next to Harry, her anxiety melting away. She kissed him on the cheek and sighed happily, and read the Tintin book along with him, not surprised that Harry had picked Destination Moon to read first.

When they had finished reading the graphic novel, Harry gave Hermione a soft green look with those pretty eyes of his, setting her heart aflutter. She wasn't sure who started the kiss, but their lips connected, her hands pressed against his back, one of his tangled in her messy curls and cradling her head.

Hermione felt all floaty, and gradually faded into oblivion.

~o0o~

Hermione woke up the next morning, her arm across Harry's chest, her bushy head resting on his shoulder, feeling at once both happy that Harry was perfectly willing to let her move things along at her own pace, and determined not to let the next opportunity slip away. She wasn't quite certain why she was so nervous about picking back up where they had left off after that shower together days before the Second Task.

She had thought it had something to do with all that silly "Secret Harem" stuff making her feel self-conscious at first, but it was clearly more than that.

The gears in Hermione's head started whirring as she worked through it while she listened to Harry's gentle breathing. Ever since Madam Pomfrey had given her the potion Hermione had been holding back. As she thought more about it things began falling into place.

On the one hand, having the potion opened up the exciting prospect of not having to worry if things inadvertently progressed to the next level while she and Harry were messing around, but on the other, taking the potion as a precaution seemed like a commitment to something Hermione wasn't sure she was ready for yet. She was determined to have a bit more randy fun with Harry next weekend and she was tempted to just forget about the vial instead of working herself into a dither, but intellectually she knew that it was better to be safe than sorry just in case things did indeed go "too far" while they were both getting hot and heavy.

Bother it! She was just going to have to be a Gryffindor about things and that was that… Hermione felt lips pressing against the top of her bushy head.

"Everything okay?"

"What? … Oh, er, yes," squeaked Hermione; she tilted her head up, wondering how long he had been awake. "Just thinking. Good Morning, Harry."

"'Morning, Hermione." He gave her a smile with that soft green look in his eyes again, then kissed her forehead.

Hermione's toes curled; she looked at Harry, her eyelashes fluttering shyly, feeling safe in his arms. They cuddled for a bit more, but then Harry began to extricate himself.

"Sorry, Hermione. Gotta use the loo… have a shower."

"Of course," she said, feeling slightly guilty as he clambered to his feet when her eyes caught the tent in his pyjama bottoms.

"Wait," she called out when he was half-way to the bathroom door, "I'll join you."

Harry hesitated a moment.

"Only if you really want to. You don't have to," he said when the moment passed.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Hermione was on her feet, trotting over to Harry's side. She took his hand and kissed him on the cheek.

"I want to," she said, beaming radiantly at him.

Hermione waited a moment for Harry to use the toilet then entered after she heard it flush. She tugged off her nightie and grinned. Moments later they were both naked and in the shower, the steam rising around them.

First things first, she thought as the hot water rained down on her and Harry, and she reached out to take him in hand.

Grinning, Harry responded in kind. Hermione felt a bit giddy as they showered each other with their affections a bit more vigorously. The next thing she knew, a surge of euphoria swept through her. Gasping, she fell forward dizzily against Harry's chest.

They both held each other in the dazed afterglow under the hot spray of water, enjoying the moment. Then, both of them grinning, Hermione and Harry soaped each other all over, and by the time they had finished rinsing they had brought each other to completion once more.

~o0o~

Neville and Ron, both of whom were intently focused on their eggs and bacon, looked up when they heard giggles and spotted Harry and Hermione arriving late for breakfast.

Students often rolled in late for breakfast on Sunday mornings, so that wasn't surprising in and of itself. Something did seem a bit different about them though, Ron thought. For one thing, they both looked more at ease than they had in ages, but that only made sense given their date in London yesterday. So why were Ginny and Luna, and Lavender and Parvati all giggling?

Ron shared a look with Neville, who looked equally bewildered.

Neville shrugged.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he said quietly.

Ron eyed the giggling girls again and shook his head.

"Mental!" he muttered, stuffing an entire piece of jammy toast into his mouth.

A light seemed to go off in Neville's head; he leaned in closer to Ron and whispered in his ear.

"Maybe Harry and Hermione—you know—maybe they, er... 'did it'last night. … Seamus told me that girls have a sixth sense for that sort of thing."

Ron's eyes boggled, and he choked on his toast. He coughed and wheezed. Alarmed, Neville smacked Ron on his back and Ron coughed up a piece of toast.

"Thanks, Nev," said Ron hoarsely, taking a deep swig of water.

"Are you alright, Ron?" asked Hermione; she and Harry both shot him looks of concern.

"Oh… er, yeah!" said Ron, unable to look either of them in the eye, his ears reddening, "Just—you know—swallowed the wrong way."

"That's what you get for trying to eat a whole piece of toast at once," Neville chimed in to reinforce Ron's fib.

Fortunately, Harry and Hermione seemed to accept that story and Neville and Ron returned to their breakfasts, both of them looking a bit red in the face.

~o0o~

It was early Tuesday morning and Madam Amelia Bones had just sat down and taken her first sip of tea when her curly-haired secretary poked her head through the door.

"There's Dumbledore and a French Auror here to see you, Ma'am."

Madam Bones quickly unscrewed her monocle and put her brand-new half-moon spectacles on instead.

"Send them in, send them in."

"Yes Ma'am."

A French witch followed Dumbledore into Madam Bones's office. The witch had high cheek bones, her sleek black hair was tied back, and she was wearing an elegantly cut pastel-blue trench-coat bearing the emblem of the French Auror office. Her glacier blue eyes were as piercing as Dumbledore's.

"Would you like some tea?" Madam Bones offered politely.

"Ah, yes, thank you, Amelia," said Dumbledore.

"Merci, please," said the French Auror, "Zat would be vairy nice."

"If I may," said Dumbledore while Madam Bones poured two cups of tea, "allow me to introduce Inspector Charlotte Duerre."

"Indeed, Albus. A pleasure to meet you, Inspector Duerre." Madam Bones passed the French Auror a steaming teacup.

"Ze pleasure ees mine," returned Inspector Duerre graciously, taking a sip of the tea.

"I presume the French investigation of the Sea-Serpent and the Water-Sprites is complete, then," said Madam Bones after taking a sip of her own, hoping it would ease the knot of tension forming in the pit of her stomach.

"Quite so, Amelia," said Dumbledore, his twinkles fading, which only served to increase Madam Bones's unease. "I am afraid that things are just as I feared."

"This ees ze full report," said Inspector Duerre, placing a file-folder on Amelia's desk. "In brief, I say zis—the Sea-Serpent, and ze Watair-Sprites, they show clear signs of tampering. Our forensic analysis revealed zat ze Confundus Charme and ze Targeting Charme were used on all creatures. … Ze Targeting Charmes were of course attuned to 'Arry Pottair. Wizout the wands of ze casters, we cannot be certain who cast zem of course. But zat ees not within our purview."

"No, it wouldn't be," Madam Bones sighed, setting her teacup on her saucer and massaging her forehead. "That would be mine—and unfortunately, there are very few who had both the access and the motivation to target Mr. Potter."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore gravely. "Though, it is highly doubtful that Percy Weasley—for all his closeness to the Senior Undersecretary—is the responsible party. That leaves Bagman himself, and whoever assisted him in stocking the lake with the sprites and the serpent. However…"

"…it is most likely that he was either instructed by Dolores, or Lucius Malfoy, or both, to carry out the actions," said Madam Bones. "But for the time being there is no proof. … If we can definitively tie Ludo to illegal goblin bookmakers, though, then we shall at least have something with which to pressure him into providing testimony as to whom ordered him to target Mr. Potter."

"And how is that avenue of investigation coming along?" asked Dumbledore, stroking his long silvery beard pensively. "Have you heard yet from Kingsley?"

"He and his team do have a lead," Madam Bones replied, hoping that it would pan out. "With a bit of luck, we should know more after next weekend."

"Good!" Dumbledore nodded. "The sooner we can determine who is most responsible and make an arrest, the sooner we can focus on what is arguably the graver threat."

~o0o~

By the time Friday rolled around, Hermione's anticipation was high. No longer feeling as awkward and self-conscious about things, she took Harry's arm as they made their way to his quarters after dinner. Nonetheless, her cheeks did grow a bit warmer when Fleur and Dora said goodnight, giving them both canny looks.

This time, while Harry was changing and cleaning his teeth, without a second thought Hermione downed the entire contents of the crystal vial which had been in her bag for nearly three weeks. Now, whatever happened between her and Harry, she was completely prepared.

Hermione changed and cleaned her teeth after Harry, feeling more confident than ever. When she returned to Harry's bedroom, Hermione was certain she would find him reading The Seven Crystal Balls, as he had read the sequel to Destination Moon last Sunday.

Instead, to her surprise, she found Harry sitting on the bed, engrossed as he pored over a heavy, ancient looking tome. Her eyes widened as she drew nearer. The cracked leather binding and yellowed parchment looked unnervingly familiar. Harry glanced up suddenly at her, looking like a fox caught in headlights, and slammed the book shut.

Great! That was the last thing she needed, Hermione fumed—a panicked Harry now that she was all ready for whatever may come of things.

"Er… What are you reading, Harry?" she asked as evenly as possible, hoping that she was wrong.

"Nothing," Harry said quickly, his cheeks turning into ripe cherries. "I mean… er, it's just one of the old books on the bookshelf. It's kind of boring really…"

Now that she was close enough, Hermione's eyes could make out the embossed title and she inwardly groaned to have her suspicions confirmed: Charmes for the Boudoir of the Moste Beauteous.

Maybe the situation could still be salvaged though. If Harry was feeling even half as aroused by reading that one certain chapter as she had been, she might be able coax him out of his anxiety. This would take a very cautious strategy.

"You know," Hermione began, with what she hoped was a sultry look in her eye—the look she had seen Fleur give Dora more than once, "that looks like the book in which I found the spell to charm your mirror, and I didn't think it was boring at all. There was one chapter in particular which I found to be very interesting—exciting even."

"Th-there was?" Harry gulped.

"There was! I was hoping that eventually we could put some of it to good use together."

"Really?"

That tone was good—more confident. The expression on Harry's face was good too—less guilty looking.

"Really," said Hermione, sitting on the end of Harry's bed.

"You don't mind that I was looking at, er… pictures of other girls, erm… doing things?"

"Do you mind that I was looking at the pictures of other girls doing things?" asked Hermione, fluttering her eyelashes innocently and biting her lower lip.

"Er… not really, no." Harry looked as if he was trying to work out whether that was really the same thing or not.

"Well, I don't really mind either," she said, then added quickly, "as long as it makes you think of me."

When Harry gave her a lopsided grin and said, "Always," Hermione let out an inward sigh of relief and crawled up beside him.

"Then we don't really need all this on, do we?"

She began to undo the buttons of Harry's pyjama top and let it fall open, exposing his chest and abdomen, then she pulled her nightie over her head and chucked it to the end of the bed. Hermione helped Harry out of his shirt completely, leaving on his pyjama bottoms, and straddled his waist with nothing on but her knickers.

Hermione jiggled a bit and grinned at the goofy expression on Harry's face as he eyeballed her. His hands seemed to reach out of their own accord and she leaned over to kiss him heatedly. The rising passion stirred them both and soon they were entwined, arms around one another, skin against skin, nuzzling each other's necks, fingers running through messy brown curls and unruly black hair.

Emboldened, Harry's lips traveled further than they ever had before, and Hermione let out a little moan in response. They moved together feverishly as their mutual ministrations intensified.

Hermione was already dazed by the cascading crescendo of ecstasy rushing through her veins when Harry groaned beneath her. He slackened, and Hermione slumped atop him, both of them sweaty and panting as one, fading into a foggy afterglow of bliss.

~o0o~

Certain that Harry and Hermione were bonking now, Ron's libido was in full force. One by one, Ron peered at his half of the stack of photos that he and Neville had been collecting after checking Harry's fan-mail for "booby-traps" the last couple of weeks, grateful that Harry had shown him how to use the Silencing Charm on his curtains at night.

His heart racing as he ogled the pictures of naked and scantily clad girls, Ron's imagination ran wild and he reached his hand under the covers to sort himself out…

~o0o~

A thin layer of cloud passed across the full moon as the wind whistled under the eaves of the deteriorating ivy-covered manor at the top of the hill. Only the faintest glimmer of light in an upstairs window offered any indication that the abandoned, once-stately home might be inhabited.

Had anyone been brave enough to venture through the overgrown grounds during the dark of night, then to creep silently up the stairs after passing over the threshold, they would have witnessed a paunchy balding man with beady bloodshot eyes and a pointy nose groveling before a tattered armchair, eerie shadows cast by the sputtering candles in the dusty room full of cobwebs. They might have noticed an enormous snake shrouded in darkness as it lay curled near the open door. And they would have heard the voice, thin and icy as it professed to the man with rat-like features.

"I tire of waiting, Wormtail—biding my time in the house of he who denied me—waiting to no purpose."

Wormtail swallowed nervously as he prostrated himself before his master, hoping that the Dark Lord's disappointment at not having the one he truly wanted would be assuaged enough by the prospect of soon being restored.

"The fools who believe I am dead shall suffer my immeasurable wrath," the Dark Lord hissed, "And I can no longer tolerate this residence, this reminder of imperfection, while waiting for something which will never happen—waiting for the blood of Potter when there are none to retrieve him for me by stealth—or waiting for his death at the hand of another when by rights Potter's life belongs to me.

"You were right, Wormtail..."

Wormtail's eyes grew a little bigger, his trepidation easing at the barest hint of praise.

"…And if I must forgo Potter's blood, then no purpose is served by taking the Bone of the Father... You did well to find me a young Pureblood in Potter's stead... Bring forth the boy, Wormtail, that the ritual might begin—midnight fast approaches."

"Y-yes, Master... of course."

Thrilled at his good fortune, delighted that everything was going as planned, Wormtail scurried across the room and lifted what looked like a small bundle being guarded near the doorway by Nagini. His eyes glinting in the flickering candlelight, breath quickening with excitement, Wormtail placed the small petrified boy upon the makeshift altar. The Dark Lord's oozing homunculus leaned forward in the threadbare armchair, his slit-like nostrils flaring in anticipation.

As he picked up a long silver dagger with the hand which was missing a finger, a savage joy curled the corners of Wormtail's lips; he was thankful beyond measure that this particular ritual did not require the Flesh of the Servant. His voice nearly shaking with demented glee, Wormtail began to utter the incantation for the alternate ritual.

"One life for another, taken by force... Consumed by the Shadow, your flesh and your blood shall replace what was lost... Devoured by the Spirit, you shall resurrect Him."

The ceremonial blade in Wormtail's hand flashed as it came down, and a blood-curdling shriek echoed throughout the decaying manor.

Chapter 28: Lord of the Ring

Hermione slid off Harry and bolted upright on her knees, her face white with fear when Harry started thrashing wildly and moaning. His messy hair was damp, his forehead was covered with beads of cold sweat, and his eyes were still shut. He was obviously having one of his nightmare visions again. This one looked much worse than last time.

She shook him vigorously.

"Harry!" she yelled. "Wake up!"

Hermione shook him again, tears running down her cheeks.

"Wake up, Harry! Please!"

She tried kissing Harry. But even that didn't seem to be working this time, and Hermione began to panic.

Not knowing what else to do, Hermione clambered back on top of Harry's shaking body and wrapped herself tightly around him, feeling his cold, clammy skin against her own. She pressed herself against him, and peppered his face with kisses, hoping that she could bring him out of it by forcefully asserting her presence.

It seemed like it might be working. His eyelids were flickering, and she could just make out between his ragged gasps and hisses something which sounded very much like, "… 'rmione." In a last-ditch effort to bring Harry round, still squirming against his writhing torso, she slipped one of her hands under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

It was no doubt a highly unorthodox method of revival, but it worked. Harry's eyes snapped open, his face contorted and pale. Hermione scrambled off him immediately to give him a chance to breathe—just in the nick of time.

Harry heaved once, his cheeks puffing out, and leaned over the side of the bed. He violently heaved again, vomiting on the floor; he couldn't seem to stop throwing up, retching even after he had clearly emptied the contents of his stomach.

Hermione didn't want to leave his side, but at this point she knew she needed help. Sobbing, she darted out of his quarters into the drafty stone corridor without bothering to waste time finding a robe and banged loudly on Dora's door.

It opened moments later, revealing a bleary eyed pink haired figure in a fuzzy nightgown.

"Hermione what…?" Dora's eyes popped when she saw Hermione's state—practically naked except for her knickers, damp disheveled hair, and tears streaming from her cheeks.

"It's Harry! He's really ill," she cried. "He can't stop throwing up."

"Blimey!" Dora muttered; she scurried quickly to Harry's quarters with Hermione, a bewildered looking Fleur following behind them.

The three witches found Harry still dry-heaving, and Hermione let out some more sobs.

"Finite Vomite," Dora incanted, flourishing her wand.

Harry's retching ended, and he slumped on his bed, panting heavily. Even in her distraught state, Hermione managed to mentally file that spell away for future use.

Fleur murmured, "Evanesco," waving her wand at the floor, and the pile of sick vanished.

Feeling less panicky now, Hermione conjured up a glass of water and sat on the bed next to Harry. He took the glass gratefully and gulped it down.

"Not so fast," said Hermione, "You don't want to make yourself throw up again."

"I can still taste it…" he said, looking revolted and anguished, then gulped down more water.

"What the hell happened?" asked Dora.

"Somezing 'e ate per'aps?" asked Fleur.

Harry just kept drinking water, averting his eyes and looking disturbed and ashamed.

"I think Harry had another one of those nightmare visions—this one was really bad," said Hermione. "It was awful! I couldn't wake him up until—" Hermione caught herself and turned pink.

"Dumbledore…" Harry gasped between gulps of water, still looking like he wanted to throw up some more, "…Gotta talk to Dumbledore."

"We gotta get you to the hospital wing first," said Dora. "Fleur, maybe you could get Dumbledore, tell 'im to meet us there? You know where 'is office is?"

"Oui, chérie, of course."

Hermione looked around wildly, spotting her dressing gown which she quickly wrapped around herself, and knotted the belt, then she picked up Harry's.

"Come on, Harry!" she said, grabbing at his hand and pulling him to his feet. "You can drink more water in the hospital wing."

"Gotta get this taste out of my mouth…"

Exasperated, Hermione refilled his water glass with the Aguamenti charm as she dragged him out of his door and through the corridors to the hospital wing, following on Dora's heels.

Madam Pomfrey's sleep-heavy eyes shot wide open when she saw Harry looking so ill.

"In the bed, now, Mr. Potter," she said crisply, taking the glass of water from his hands.

"I need that," Harry protested, looking extremely distressed as he clambered on top of the hospital bed, "Please!"

"In a minute, Mr. Potter, if I deem it appropriate."

"But—"

Anxiously, Hermione sat down beside Harry and took his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze, telling him, "It'll be alright, Harry. Madam Pomfrey will sort you out."

She heard footsteps and turned to see Dumbledore—in a woolly nightgown—entering the hospital wing with Fleur.

"Professor Dumbledore," gasped Harry, his eyes turning into saucers, "You've got to hurry—" He gasped again, struggling to catch his breath. "—before he's gone..."

"Slow down, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly, "Slow down and tell me what it is that you saw from the beginning."

"Voldemort," said Harry; Madam Pomfrey winced but continued performing her diagnostic charms, "I saw Voldemort and Wormtail and… and…" Harry heaved and threw up some of the water over himself.

Madam Pomfrey quickly waved her wand before Harry could heave again. Harry tried tell Dumbledore what happened once more, his face contorted with revulsion and dread.

"There was a little boy—maybe eight or nine—they had him—they… Wormtail, Peter Pettigrew—he said some sort of spell and killed the boy with a knife. It was horrible—there was blood everywhere! Wormtail—he… he…"

When Harry couldn't bring himself to say it, Hermione's jaw dropped in horror, suddenly realizing what he had been on about.

"Harry said he could still taste it," she said shrilly, turning to face Dumbledore, "I think Peter Pettigrew must have given Voldemort some of the boy's blood to drink."

Harry nodded vigorously, then winced and clutched at his scar.

"Worse…" he just barely managed to choke out.

Dumbledore looked pained and rubbed at his crinkling forehead, sighing.

"Harry," he said gently, "Did Pettigrew cut the boy's heart out and feed it to Voldemort?"

Harry nodded again, then winced and clutched his scar again, and Hermione squeaked as his grip on her hand tightened.

"I was… it was like I was eating it," said Harry, "I can't stop tasting it—feeling it in my stomach."

"And Voldemort—he is restored, is he not?"

"Yeah, he is," said Harry, looking exceedingly grateful that Dumbledore seemed to understand and was talking him through it.

"You said I had to hurry—'before he's gone.' Did you see where he is, then?"

"Yeah," said Harry, starting to nod, then catching himself, "It was more like I… like he was just thinking about it though. I didn't actually see it. He's at his dad's house—in some place called Little Hangleton—it's a manor. He was sick of living there and wanted to leave before calling his old supporters. I don't know how long he'll be there—he made it sound like they were going to leave tonight."

"Then you are quite correct, Harry," said Dumbledore, "I must make haste if I am to have a hope of catching him. But before I depart, I must ask you—do you believe that he sensed your presence in his mind?"

Harry shook his head, then groaned in pain; apparently shaking his head made his scar hurt just as badly as nodding at the moment.

"I don't think so," he said. "That dream control training we've been doing really helped. While he and Wormtail talked, before… before it happened, I was able to see and feel everything that Voldemort did—I could even see what he was thinking with the legilimency—but I managed to keep my occlumency up, so I'm pretty sure that he didn't notice me, except…"

Harry paused for a moment, looking thoughtful and slightly sick again.

"There might have been a moment as he… er, ate… erm, it… and began to change. I sort of lost control a bit."

"Quite understandable," said Dumbledore reassuringly. "I doubt that even I could have maintained control under such horrific circumstances."

Harry looked surprised and a bit pleased with himself.

"He didn't seem to think it was me though," he continued. "He thought it had something to do with the change—like maybe he was sensing the boy's soul or something."

"Very good," said Dumbledore, peering at Harry with a look of satisfaction and pride on his face. "You have done very well indeed, Harry. Now, I'd best be off—it would appear that I have an appointment to keep with an old student of mine."

As Professor Dumbledore departed the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey took charge again, handing Hermione three vials of potion. Hermione didn't need to be told what to do.

"Down the hatch, Harry!"

Without argument, Harry allowed Hermione to tip the pain potion and calming draught into his mouth. Hermione peered at the second vial of calming draught uncertainly, wondering if she was supposed to give Harry that one too.

"That one is for you, Miss Granger," said Madam Pomfrey kindly. "You look like you need it."

Hermione turned a bit pink, suddenly realising that she must look a complete wreck, and downed the contents of the vial without a word.

"Right then," said Madam Pomfrey, returning to her more businesslike demeanor, "Now, let's get you two into some clean nightclothes—I'm sure Mr. Potter doesn't want to wear that wet dressing-gown, and I expect you would much prefer to wear something which affords you a bit more modesty while you're in the hospital wing."

"Oh no!" Hermione moaned, noticing the gapped opening of her dressing-gown for the first time; the knotted belt had come undone.

Blushing furiously, she quickly tugged the two sides together, covering her exposed figure.

"How long?" she asked Madam Pomfrey, Dora, and Fleur, "Dumbledore—did he see?"

Dora and Fleur both turned a bit pink themselves and shot Hermione apologetic looks.

"Sorry, Hermione," said Dora, "If it's any comfort, I'm pretty sure Dumbledore was just focused on Harry."

"Indeed!" said Madam Pomfrey, her features softening again as she waved her wand at the bed next to Harry's, "Now go on, dear, there's a clean nightgown—you can change behind the curtain.

~o0o~

Finally, after all the panic and fuss, it was over. Both of them in clean, dry nightclothes, Hermione had left her own hospital bed and was cuddled up with Harry in his. Dora and Fleur were in their own beds, guarding the door of the infirmary.

Hermione could feel Harry absentmindedly stroking her hair and thought she should feel more comforted. But even after the calming draughts, Hermione could still feel Harry's tension.

"It was supposed to be me," Harry muttered, breaking the silence; he almost sounded like he was speaking to himself. "It was supposed to be me—because Voldemort couldn't have me, a little boy is dead."

Hermione sat upright and glared at Harry, right into his green eyes, her chest heaving, her nostrils flaring with emotion.

"Harry Potter—don't you dare blame yourself! Do you hear me? … Stop it, right now! … What do you think Voldemort was going to do once he'd killed you? … Do you think he was going to stop killing people? … Of course not!

"He's going to keep on killing people until he's got everything he wants, and then he's going to kill people just for fun! But because you're alive, we've actually got a chance of stopping him."

"But—the little boy…" Harry faltered, anguish in his eyes, "…you don't understand…"

"Harry, I can't imagine how horrible it must have been for you—but that doesn't mean I don't understand. That wasn't you—alright? … You didn't drink the little boy's blood—You didn't eat his heart—that was Voldemort! …Not you!

"I'm sorry the little boy is dead—just as sorry as you are, Harry—but it's not going to do you any good if you keep blaming yourself for something you didn't do! Got it?"

Harry nodded, only wincing slightly.

"Okay!" he said in a small voice. "I'll try not to."

Hermione's features softened, and she smiled sadly at him.

"I'll be here to remind you, Harry. I'm not going anywhere—that's a promise!"

~o0o~

"So, this is it, eh?" growled Alastor Moody as he peered at the moonlit village at the bottom of the dark hill, "The village where Voldemort came from?"

"Ah, technically, no," said Dumbledore. "I found young Tom Riddle in a muggle orphanage in London, where his mother had died after giving birth to him. … That is why tracking down his roots has proved so difficult over the years. All I had to go on was his last name, and there are no Riddles in the wizard world, but quite a few in the muggle world in a nation which is today over sixty million strong."

"You don't say!" Moody retorted dryly.

A cracking report issued and a short-haired woman in a trench-coat appeared behind them, silhouetted against the full moon.

"No Kingsley?"

"Nice t'see you too, Mad-Eye!" the shadowy woman chuckled. "Shacklebolt an' Dawlish couldn't get away. They're stakin' out some goblins."

"Course they are," Moody muttered. "At least they sent someone competent."

The woman chuckled again. "It's me and Mulligan tonight—he's already canvassing the other side of the village. The chief is on alert, ready to send a whole squad if we need 'em."

"Very good, Auror Brixton," said Dumbledore, sounding satisfied. "If, as I suspect, Voldemort is already departed, the four of us should suffice."

Mad Eye snorted. "'Suffice' my arse—you make it sound like you couldn't take on Voldemort and one pipsqueak minion all by your lonesome!"

Dumbledore said nothing in response, but even in darkness and shadow, his twinkling eyes were caught in the same moonlight which shone from the silvery lining of his beard.

"Well then," said Dumbledore after the pause, his glittering gaze scanning the woods and hills surrounding the village, "that, on the hill over there, appears to be the only residence which would qualify as a manor."

There were three loud cracks and the wizards vanished.

~o0o~

"So, this is Riddle Manor," Dumbledore murmured to himself after looking through half of the dusty downstairs rooms, "I wonder…"

"Wonder what?" Moody grunted as he lurched from a dark entryway, his wooden leg clunking on the cracked tile floor of the foyer.

Dumbledore was saved from having to answer the question by a shout from upstairs.

"Bloody 'ell!" Brixton called down, her voice sounding shaken, "I found where they were at—it's ghastly!"

Dumbledore hurried up the splintering stairs, Moody clomping up behind him. The headmaster of Hogwarts peered into the room currently lit only by his and Abigail Brixton's wands, but he could still smell smoke and candlewax, indicating that Voldemort and Pettigrew had not long departed.

Ghastly was, if anything, an understatement. Dumbledore wrinkled his nose in disgust and disappointment. As poor Harry had indicated, blood was everywhere, and the boy's corpse, desecrated, was unbearable to look at.

"Bloody blazes!" growled Moody, who had just entered behind Dumbledore. "That's the worst I've seen since the last war!"

"It is indeed," sighed Dumbledore, "In any case, as distasteful as this may be, a bit more light is required to examine the scene properly."

Dumbledore aimed his wand at the chandelier above, and bulbs long dead flared to life. The tableau—a vision of horror in the half-lit darkness—was no less gruesome in a room full of light. Where once had been black and shades of grey, were now scarlet streaks and puddles around the makeshift altar upon which the boy's body lay, surrounded by half-melted candles.

Tearing his eyes away, feeling rather ill, Dumbledore turned his gaze upon the rest of the cobwebbed, dusty sitting room. There was some blood spatter on the peeling wallpaper, but that was not what he was looking at.

What had caught his attention was some of the detritus left behind by the room's most recent inhabitants. Apparently, Pettigrew had taken to eating takeout from muggle restaurants—no doubt to avoid being discovered in the wizard world.

Dumbledore began rooting through the rubbish in the corner of the room, finding what he was looking for, empty cans and bottles of muggle fizzy drinks.

"Auror Brixton, if you would please collect up these drink containers and take them back the D.M.L.E. I believe an examination will reveal Pettigrew's essence—his saliva to be precise—and thus his presence at the scene of this crime. I presume the D.M.L.E. still has Pettigrew's finger in the Evidence Storage Vault?"

"As far as I know, yeah," said Brixton. "We should be able to get a match."

"Excellent! Once that has been determined, Madam Bones and Minister Fudge should have everything they need to issue a Decree of Exoneration for Sirius Black."

"I'll see to it, sir."

Dumbledore nodded and was about to voice his gratitude when an ethereal, silvery fox emerged from the tattered curtains covering the windows. The ghostly fox lit upon the floor, and an echoey human voice emanated from its mouth.

"Auror Reynard Mulligan here," the voice said unnecessarily, "I've got something over on the east side of the village, about a half-mile out along the road into town—a run-down shack. Looks like a wizard family used t'live here—I'm detecting fairly high levels of residual Dark magic. … Also, looks like the place belonged to the Gaunt family, judging by the crest on the doorframe above the threshold."

The misty, etheric fox faded into nothingness and Dumbledore raised his bushy white eyebrows at Moody and Brixton.

"The Gaunt family," said Dumbledore, "Now that is interesting. A dead family line if I'm not mistaken."

"Probably where Riddle's mum came from," said Mad Eye gruffly.

"I'm not so sure the family line is completely dead," Brixton chimed in, looking pensive. "I think there's a Gaunt in Azkaban—dunno if 'e's still alive though. I can check the records when I get back to the Ministry."

"Very good!" said Dumbledore, "I would like to interview him if he is indeed still among the living. In any case, if you would please continue cataloguing the crime-scene, Alastor and I shall visit the Gaunt cottage."

"And we'll send Mulligan back t'help you clean up this disaster," Moody muttered.

~o0o~

The full moon was still high, surrounded by twinkling stars against the black canopy of night, shining down upon the two wizards on the road. Only the chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl broke the silence.

From the crumbling country lane full of potholes, in the darkness, it was difficult to make out the hovel shrouded in the black shadows under the copse of gnarled, ancient oak-trees. If it weren't for the flicker of wand-light through the broken window, Dumbledore might not have spotted it.

As it was, Moody spied it first with his swiveling "Mad Eye."

"Must be the place," he grunted, jerking his head towards the shack.

Dumbledore nodded and lit his wand. Together, he and Moody left the road and strode up the weedy, overgrown cobblestone pathway towards the wretched hovel.

As they drew closer, it became easier to see in their wand-light. The small cottage was in worse condition than the Shrieking Shack. Nettles and moss crawled up its rotting walls; the sagging roof was full of holes and looked near collapse. The door was nearly falling off its hinges, and nothing was left in the windows but a few shards of grimy glass.

Dumbledore's trepidation grew as they approached the door. He could palpably sense the Dark magic; the hovel almost seemed to be shrouded by an invisible cloud of evil. The door creaked and rattled as he pushed it open.

"There you are," said Auror Mulligan, "I was about to send out another Patronus message."

"Just bein' cautious," Moody growled. "You can never be too vigilant."

Mulligan shook his head and chuckled. "Course not! Anyway, there's not much to see here, but I reckoned it might have a connection to Voldemort."

"I do believe you are correct, Auror Mulligan," said Dumbledore as he stepped through the doorway.

Splintery floorboards groaned under his feet. Slowly, carefully, Moody entered behind him, wand at the ready, his whizzing eyeball taking in everything.

Dumbledore too glanced around with great interest as spiders scurried into the corners of the hut, his eyes taking in the dust of ages layered thickly on the spindly wooden table and the bowing shelves.

"Fascinating," he said quietly.

"If by fascinating you mean a miserable wreck, then sure," Moody grumbled. "Dunno what sorta useful evidence you expect to find here, Albus."

"Ah, my old friend, anything which would give us insight into Voldemort's past is useful," said Dumbledore almost absentmindedly while reaching out with his finely attuned senses.

Unlike less advanced wizards, Dumbledore could differentiate the subtle distinctions between magics without the use of a wand. There was something here—something he had hoped not to find but had expected to find. It had been unlikely that he would have detected its presence in the manor of the father whom Tom Riddle Junior had surely hated with a vengeance, but here—as wretched as the shack was—here was far more likely.

"How many of those damned things did Riddle make?" Dumbledore muttered under his breath.

"Alastor," Dumbledore pointed towards a cracked plank in the floor near the corner of the room by a broken chair. "I do believe you will find something under that floorboard."

"I see it," muttered Moody, as his spinning eye halted on the plank.

Moody pried loose the cracked floorboard, finding a small leather pouch hidden beneath. He brought it out into the moonlight and kneeled next to the path. Everyone crouched down beside him as he opened the pouch and carefully shook it over a cobblestone.

A gold ring inset with an engraved black gemstone tumbled out and clattered onto the rocky slab, glittering in the wand-light of the three wizards.

"Morgana's Sagging Tits!" sputtered Moody, his real eye bulging as he peered at the engraving on the stone, "Albus, you don't suppose...?"

Dumbledore nodded, his own eyes widening. Mulligan looked bewildered.

"Peverell's ring," croaked the Headmaster. "Yes, Alastor, that engraving is indeed the Peverell insignia—the 'coat of arms' as some refer to it—one of the 'Deathly Hallows'... This would appear to be the one belonging to Cadmus. If a Peverell married into the Gaunt bloodline, it is quite probable then that Lord Voldemort is a descendant of Cadmus Peverell. Which would mean that Harry Potter is very likely distantly related, as he is a descendant of Ignotus Peverell."

"You don't say," said Moody, sounding surprised. "Poor kid—the last thing he needs is findin' out he's related to that monster."

"It is of little consequence, truly," said Dumbledore distantly as he stroked his long silvery beard. "The relationship is very distant, after all. One would have to go back many hundreds of years to meet their common ancestors."

"True enough!" Moody agreed, still staring at the long-sought artifact.

Alastor's voice seemed to fade as Dumbledore found himself being pulled towards the Ring. The yearning for peace in his soul—the Ring seemed to be calling out to him. Entranced—lost in his own little world—his hand reached out for the Ring almost of its own accord.

Moody sharply swatted Dumbledore's hand away.

"Are you Bloody Mad?" Moody snapped loudly, making Mulligan jump, "That thing is probably cursed, Albus."

The headmaster's eyes cleared; he was aghast at what he had almost unwittingly done.

"Yes... yes," Dumbledore said shakily. "Of course it is! You're quite right Alastor! Thank you!"

Dumbledore reached within his robes, knowing that he had found one of Voldemort's horcruxes, and pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from its scabbard.

"What the hell?" Moody peered at Dumbledore is if he thought the headmaster mad. "What'd you bring that for?"

"Just in case," Dumbledore replied mysteriously.

"What? You think that sword's gonna break the curse?" said Moody skeptically.

"Quite!" said Dumbledore vaguely.

He motioned for Moody and Mulligan to stand back and lofted the Sword of Gryffindor above his head. The glinting blade of the sword flashed in the moonlight as it swung down and struck the Ring.

The Ring shuddered violently; a shrieking cacophony rent the cold night air, whipping the wizards' robes and the long weedy grasses surrounding them in a tempestuous gale.

Billowing dark smoke poured from the Ring and the gemstone cracked—black death venomously oozed onto the cobblestone. After a few moments passed, the screaming Ring stopped shaking and the whirling column of smoke dissipated. It was finished.

~o0o~

"GAAAAAH! Aaaaaargh!"

Harry's eyes snapped open and he nearly fell out of his bed, his scar on fire, searing as if being branded with a hot poker.

"Oh no! Oh no!" Hermione squealed in a panic, waking right up, "Is it happening again?"

"Gaaaah! No!" Harry gasped, holding his throbbing forehead. "Just pain—not sick this time—no vision—" he managed to say between gasps.

"Blimey! What's goin' on?" asked Dora, who was at Harry's bedside in an instant when she heard the commotion.

"I'm not sure," said Hermione, "He says it just hurts really badly, but there wasn't any nightmare this time."

Harry's breathing and groaning slowed.

"Bloody hell!" Harry swore, rubbing at his forehead as Hermione handed him a pain potion. "It hurt about as bad as it did earlier tonight. But it was more like—I dunno—I suppose the last time I felt that horrible without having a bloody nightmare was in second year when Tom Riddle came out of the Diary, and when I stabbed the Diary with a Basilisk fang."