Title: Atonement

Author: Arrow Straight

Category: Harry Potter

Genre: Drama/Adventure

Characters: Harry P., Hermione G., Albus D., Minerva M.

Summary: People rally to a just man, as Umbridge finds when the DA follows Harry to arrest her and demand that the Wizengamot try her for torture. When Dumbledore seeks atonement in battle against Voldemort Harry inherits his power and his responsibilities. Harry must learn to wield those powers in a world where law and justice have powerful enemies and many must atone for injustice done.

Status: In-Progress

Rating: T

Chapters: 47

Words: 125,609

Updated: 2018-08-26

Published: 2018-02-24

Downloaded: 2018-08-30

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12848494/1

Chapter 1: Chapter 1 Practice, Interrupted

Author's Note

Albus Dumbledore is for all practical purposes the nuclear deterrent of the wizarding world, in Britain at least. This nuclear deterrent is not controlled by keys and codes. Dumbledore has a mind and a will of his own. What makes him the most powerful wizard in the world? Should he choose to use the power that he holds, what would there be to stop him? To what ends would he use it?

Chapter 1 Practice, Interrupted.

The Room of Requirement vibrated as the members of Dumbledore's Army were finishing up their practice session. It seemed to be coming from the rear wall, and it was getting more intense. The plan was, as usual, for people to slip out of the Room of Requirement in twos and threes to avoid notice.

The rear wall trembled under the impact, and cracks showed in the wall under some smashing impact. A small chunk of stone fell into the room, and light came through it, followed by a familiar and hated voice.

"Inquisitorial Squad, be ready! Bombarda!" Another spell slammed into the stone wall, and the gap widened, sending a spray of rocks and stones into the room.

The DA members turned to each other in fear and confusion. "Merlin, how'd she find us?" "We've got to get out of here."

"No." The voice of Harry Potter cut across the confused babble. "I'm done running and hiding and letting this bitch torture us. Who's with me!"

There was a short astonished silence, followed by a roar of thirty voices. "Dumbledore's Army!"

One last spell smashed a hole through the stone wall large enough to admit a single person. Dolores Umbridge strutted through the entrance, wand in hand. Her smile of sadistic satisfaction barely had time to slip as she belatedly noticed the thirty wands pointed at her. The blast of massed spellfire flung her back through the hole and up against the opposite wall.

"Charge!" Harry shouted, and led the way through the hole with Hermione hard on his heels and the rest following. Malfoy and the rest of Umbridge's toadies had their wands out but were otherwise wholly unprepared for a fight, and they were outnumbered five to one into the bargain. In seconds they were stunned, petrified and bound.

Harry strode forward to stand over Umbridge, who lay dazed and semiconscious on the floor, groping blindly for her wand. She looked up at him blearily. "Mr. Potter. You cannot do this. I am …"

"I know who you are." He said in a hard hating voice. He looked down at her over his wand for a long deadly moment.

"Bombarda!" The spell hit her wand where it lay on the floor and shattered it into flinders, leaving a crater in the stone floor where it had been.

"Harry." Hermione's voice came from where she stood over Malfoy and his cronies. "What about these?"

"Destroy their wands." He replied. In a matter of seconds the normally unthinkable was done and the wands of Malfoy and the others were reduced to splinters.

Harry returned his attention to Umbridge, whose face had slipped from dazed bewilderment to terror as she found herself disarmed and at the mercy of those she had lorded it over. "Stupefy. Petrificus Totalus. Incarcerous. Mobilicorpus."

Umbridge's bound, unconscious body rose into the air. "What do we do now?" Someone asked.

Merlin knows that's a good question. Harry thought. Hermione's right again. You don't do your homework and you wind up looking stupid in class.

Hermione, as always, was the one who had the answer. "You know, Harry, Umbridge is so very fond of telling us how powerful she is and how she works directly for the Minister of Magic. I think we should take her to the Minister and have a talk about exactly what she's been doing here."

Harry's shout of "Yeah!" was about a heartbeat ahead of the rest of the DA.

They left out the front door of the Room of Requirement with the bound bodies of Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad floating along behind them.

"How do we get there?" Harry asked.

"Blimey, Harry. That's not even hard." said Fred - or maybe George.

"She's got a private Floo in her office right to the Minister's office." added George - or maybe Fred. "Being as how she's so bloody important and all."

"Right." Harry said. No one in the DA needed any directions to Umbridge's office. They had been there far too many times. They headed down the stairs and along the corridor toward her office.

"Mr. Potter. What are you doing here?" Harry's head whipped around as he recognized the voice and saw the tall, austere form of Minerva McGonagall. Even in that moment of shock he had time to notice that she did not seem angry or upset, merely ... curious.

Hermione said "We have made a citizen's arrest of Dolores Jane Umbridge for multiple counts of torture and assault causing bodily harm, Professor McGonagall."

"Mmmm." Professor McGonagall replied. "And these others?"

"Accessories before, during and after the fact, Professor." Hermione replied without a second's hesitation.

"Torture. That is a most serious allegation, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall replied quietly, as if they were in a classroom. "Can you substantiate it?"

Hermione could have smiled if it were not for the circumstances. She could recite every word of the law in this. She had had very good reason to look it up. "The use of Blood Quills falls well within the ICW definition of torture, Professor, which is accepted in British wizarding law, even if there is no specific statute against them. If someone uses a new method of committing murder, it is still murder. I will note that the ICW specifically states that torture is the more heinous where the victims are children, of which we have ample evidence and witnesses."

"You make a compelling case, Miss Granger. The law does require that an arrested person be turned over to the proper authorities." Professor McGonagall replied.

Harry had had a minute to pick up on where Hermione was going with this. "That is precisely our intention, Professor. Since, as we have all been reminded many, many times, the prisoner is a senior member of the Ministry, we are going directly to Minister Fudge."

"Ah. Such a school outing should be accompanied by a teacher. I would be honoured if you would allow me to attend." Professor McGonagall replied, quietly.

"Of course." Harry replied. There was a murmur of assent from behind him. Professor McGonagall had always been respected as scrupulously fair, and she had done more than anyone else to try to stop Umbridge.

Harry was scarcely even surprised. The world had been going mad for a while, and now it had gotten there. Professor McGonagall joining an armed rebellion was just one more proof of that.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2 Search and Seizure

Chapter 2 Search and Seizure

They headed down the hallway to Umbridge's office, picking up more students along the way. Umbridge's office was not heavily protected. Who would want to go there, after all? Harry thought, sourly. A simple Alohamora let them in. The pink decor and the pictures of cats were no more appealing than they ever had been.

"Well, look what we've got here." Neville said. "A box of quills." He held up a box of the evil-looking black quills that they all knew so well.

"Smash them." Was the shout.

"No." Harry said. "I think we should set the Minister some lines." Everyone thought that a fine idea.

Hermione looked over Umbridge's obsessively neat desk and picked up a small book labelled "Punishments". She flipped through it. It was all there in Umbridge's own handwriting. The Blood Quills and many other acts of disproportionate cruelty. She put the book in her pocket. By what mad arrogance, she wondered, would this woman do these things and keep careful detailed record of them?

The container of Floo powder was right by the fireplace. Harry had time to think about how little he knew of the things that the leader of an army, even a small one, should know, then decided that he was just going to have to make it up as he went along. "All right. I'll go through and talk to Fudge's secretary and find out where he is. The rest of you can follow with the prisoners as soon as we know."

He picked up a handful of the Floo powder. "Fred. What's the code for the Minister's office?"

"Minister of Magic's private office. Mind you speak clearly, Harry. You don't want to wind up in Knockturn Alley, now." There were a few low chuckles. Harry supposed he was never going to live that first time down. He threw the Floo powder into the fireplace and spoke the code, and the next instant he was there. There was an elaborate desk with no one sitting at it. The name plate said Dolores Gollapot, Principle Administrative Assistant to the Minister.

Harry took several steps toward the desk, which saved him from being knocked over as Hermione, Fred and George, Professor McGonagall and a dozen more of the DA came through behind him, wands at the ready.

"Harry." Hermione said reprovingly. "You don't have to do this all by yourself. We are Dumbledore's Army, you know."

"Ah, right." Harry said, embarrassed.

"Fred, George, Luna, cover the door." Hermione said, briskly. "Deal with anyone who comes in."

The evident owner of the desk came out of the inner office at the sound of voices, and immediately took on a look of outrage. "Excuse me. This is the private office for the Minister, and you do *not* have an appointment."

Professor McGonagall was the first to answer. "Miss Gollapot, we have most urgent business with the Minister and we do not give a fig for his schedule. Where is he?"

Gollapot drew herself up and said "The Minister is not available."

Professor McGonagall took two long strides forward and put her wand in the face of the other woman. "You will tell us where the Minister is this very moment or it will go very hard with you."

Gollapot's face went from starchy to terrified in a moment. Harry thought he had seen Professor McGonagall be intimidating. Now he knew what she was really capable of.

"Wizengamot sitting. He's ... he's just down the hall in the chamber." She stuttered.

"Go sit at your desk." Professor McGonagall replied. "Stay there." The woman bolted back to her desk and sat behind it, shivering like a kicked dog.

Chapter 3: Chapter 3 Before The High Court

Author's Note:

Thanks to Cassandra30 for pointing out the issue with the wands being destroyed.

Chapter 3 Before The High Court

They streamed out into the corridor with the prisoners floating behind them. The corridor ended in a set of wooden double doors. There were two men standing in front of the doors. They were ceremonial guards by their ornate uniforms and highly decorated poleaxe weapons. They were clearly totally unprepared for this eruption of a ragtag group in school robes into their dull daily routine.

The next thing those guards noticed was that every one of the wizards coming at them had his wand out and looked ready to use it at the drop of a politician's quibble. One of them shifted his weapon from one hand to another and reached for his wand. Half a dozen voices barked "Stupefy" and he crumpled to the ground.

"Open the door." Harry ordered, his wand in the guard's face. The guard's face was a kaleidoscope of emotions as he recognized the Boy-Who-Lived and registered the mood of iron determination in the order. He stood aside and the doors slammed open.

The Wizengamot members looked up in annoyance and astonishment as the group of school children stormed into the chamber, interrupting the second reading of the Bill to Amend the Potions Safety Act.

The bound unconscious bodies of Umbridge and the others slid to a stop in front of the seat of Cornelius Fudge.

"What is the meaning of this!" Fudge blustered.

"We want to to know why you sent a torturer to Hogwarts." Harry's voice rang through the chamber.

"That is utterly proposterous." Fudge said. "I would never … "

"You did." Harry cut him off. "We have arrested her and brought her here to face justice. We have evidence and witnesses to her wrongdoing."

"You have no right to be here. You will leave this Chamber immediately and release Under Secretary Umbridge immediately and return her wand." Fudge said, trying not to sound nervous and not succeeding too well.

"Dumbledore's Army, wands ready!" Harry snarled.

The stomp of boots and shoes rang loud through the tense silence of the chamber as the DA moved with practiced precision into teams that could hammer any part of the Chamber with spellfire. Their expressions over the leveled wands in their hands said that the spells on their lips would be loosed at the least hint of provocation. Some of the hardier members of the Wizengamot reconsidered the thought of going for their wands as they realized the shambles the Chamber could be turned into at a single sudden move.

What else Harry might have said was drowned out by by a sharp crack. Everyone in the Chamber turned to look. The tall imposing figure of Albus Dumbledore stood in the centre of the Wizengamot Chamber.

His voice rang through the Chamber. "Members of the Wizengamot. Our children have brought an abuser and a torturer to you. They cry out to you for justice. They bear the scars of their ordeal and they stand ready to testify to what they have gone through. Will you hear them?''

The members of the Wizengamot looked up at him in shock that quickly became even greater alarm. Politicians all, they knew how to read people. The power that Dumbledore commanded glowed around him. Magic crackled along his silver hair. His normal smile was absent, and they realized that he was in a terrible state of guilt and grief, the sort of mood that sent Captains down with their ships.

Fudge looked up at him slyly. "I do believe that this alleged wrongdoing occurred while you were still Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Dumbledore's eyes fixed on him. "There is blame beyond my own here, to be sure, but I will relieve my mind of this matter. So it did, which you would only know if your trusted Senior Under Secretary, acting on your authority and under your direction, had kept you apprised of her actions, the which she certainly did. My own share of the blame is the greatest by far. I was no fit Headmaster for Hogwarts. A doddering old fool neglected his duty to protect the children who had been entrusted to his care. It is far too late for me to atone for that failure, but I can see to it that there shall be no more of it."

"What say you?" he demanded in a voice like thunder. The realization ran through the Chamber that the most powerful wizard in the world was in a white fury that made him capable of anything and he had absolutely nothing to lose.

Harlan Greengrass, Speaker of the Wizengamot, was among the first to recover from having the placid routine of a Sitting shattered like a wineglass under a Bombarda spell. It was blatantly obvious to him that any attempt to use force, or threaten it, would be suicidal folly that would turn the Chamber into a battlefield. He was all too well aware that there were people in this Chamber whose arrogance made them capable of just such disastrous stupidity.

Justice was not within his power, but due process was and it would have to do. The best he could manage would be a trial process that would withstand the inevitable accusations that it had been conducted at wandpoint.

The Speaker of the Wizengamot gathered his courage and stood. "Most serious allegations have been made against a senior member of the Ministry. It is therefore moved that the Wizengamot sit as the High Court of Magical Britain to hear these charges."

"All those in favour?" A forest of hands went up.

"Opposed?" There were none. "Motion carries. It is so ordered. Trial will commence immediately. Minister Fudge, since the prisoner at the bar is your close associate, you are requested to recuse yourself in this trial."

Fudge had been sitting in his chair, staring straight ahead like a man in a nightmare. He made an inarticulate sound and shambled to a seat in the gallery, moving like an old, old man.

"Let the record show that the Minister has recused himself in this trial." The Speaker continued.

The Speaker turned toward Harry and the DA. "Mr. Potter. I will ask, as the Judge of this Court, that you and your friends observe this trial from the visitor's gallery."

Harry looked back at him for a long moment, but it was a fair enough request, and made as such.

"Dumbledore's Army, sheathe wands!" He commanded. The wands of the DA were lowered, and all of them sheathed them, some more reluctantly than others, but all of them obeyed. The tension level in the room reduced somewhat, but the attention of the DA members remained focused on the Wizengamot.

"Dumbledore's Army, fall in on the visitor's gallery, by teams." Harry commanded. Each team turned, in order, and strode toward the gallery, seating themselves together. While that was going on, the Judge looked over at Dumbledore, then visibly decided that the Chief Warlock of Britain could stand or sit as and where he pleased.

The precise obedience of the DA to Harry's order did nothing to reduce the Speaker's apprehension. Dumbledore's Army was a military unit in truth, a weapon that answered to one man's will. That man owed this assembly no good will or allegiance at all.

Dumbledore returned the look coldly, then strode across the floor to stand next to Harry where he sat at the end of the Visitor's Gallery.

"Professor ..." Harry said, a little uncertainly.

Dumbledore smiled briefly. "Well done, Harry. Very well done. We teach our students, and there comes a time when they teach us."

"It wasn't your fault, Professor." Harry said.

"I was Headmaster, Harry. This happened on my watch. There are no excuses. Today I will see an end of this. Today all debts will be paid." His voice was even but unyielding.

"Counsel for the Prosecution." The Judge intoned.

Amelia Bones stood up. "If it is acceptable to Mr. Potter and his friends, I would be honoured to serve as Counsel for the Prosecution."

Harry Iooked over at Susan Bones, who nodded at once. "Aunt Amelia was fighting to get an investigation. Fudge was ready to fire her."

Harry stood up and said "Thank you, Madam Bones." in as dignified a manner as he could.

Amelia Bones stood and came down the steps to stand next to Harry and the others. "Mr. Potter. Thank you. I should have stopped her long before this. Now, we need to prep for the trial."

Hermione waved at the group of people behind her. "Eyewitnesses we have in plenty, Madam Bones."

"So I see." She said. "That is a great deal of my work done for me. Physical evidence would be a help, as well."

Neville brought out the box of quills. "Will these help?"

Madam Bones looked into the box and recoiled. "Merlin's beard! I had heard rumours, but … " She visibly collected herself. "Where did you find these?"

"On her desk." Neville replied. "I brought them here with me."

"Excellent. There's a bloody knife, and chain of evidence with it. Let her try to explain that away." Madam Bones said with satisfaction.

"This might help a little, too, Madam Bones." Hermione said. She handed over the book she had found on Umbridge's desk. Madam Bones took the book and read through some of the pages. Shock and horror chased each other across her face.

"If that woman got Kissed every day for a year that would be lenient." She said, in a tone of cold loathing.

She looked back at Hermione. "If I can't win this straight up I don't deserve to call myself a lawyer. Thank you, Miss Granger."

As they turned their attention back to the trial, Harry noticed that "lawyer to a torturer" didn't seem to be a very popular job. The Speaker had had to appoint someone to act as Defence Counsel.

"Mr. Potter." The Speaker said politely. "Could you release the prisoners so that they may consult with counsel?"

"Release them." Harry ordered. Ron and Hermione began casting spells to un-petrify, revive and untie the prisoners while he continued to watch the Wizangamot benches.

As soon as she was revived, Umbridge screeched "My wand! Where's my wand?"

The Speaker looked over at Harry and asked "Mr. Potter. Do you have the prisoners' wands?"

"No, Your Honour." Harry replied firmly. "The prisoners resisted arrest and their wands were destroyed in the fighting."

"This is an outrage!" Umbridge squalled. "I demand..."

"Silence!" The Speaker said coldly. "Madam Umbridge, you are held for trial before the High Court on very serious charges. If you are ever again a free woman with the right to bear a wand, you can buy one. Counsel for the Defence, advise your client."

Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and the others of the Inquisatorial Squad were looking totally bewildered, shading into fear as they began to realize what was happening. Their safe secure little world of privilege and immunity had suddenly exploded. Snape was nowhere to be seen, and Umbridge was now a prisoner. The DA was watching from the Visitor's Gallery while they were prisoners, and no one was doing anything about it.

They looked up at Dumbledore, and their alarm increased if that were possible. His expression of loathing and disgust said that he could smash them like bugs, and they were now uneasily aware that he could do just that.

They were pulled into a circle with the Counsel for the Defence, and Harry couldn't hear what was said but could make out a tone of increasing panic among Malfoy and his cronies. Meantime, Madam Bones was flipping through the book that Hermione had given her and making notes on a piece of parchment.

When she finished and looked up the Speaker said, "Madam Bones, Counsel for the Prosecution will state the charges against the accused."

"Your Honour. The prisoner Umbridge is charged with 347 counts of assault causing bodily harm amounting to torture, and 255 charges of child abuse. Further investigation may well substantiate further charges, but the Prosecution considers these to be well substantiated and sufficient to proceed with. The prisoners Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Yaxley, Nott and Harbottle are charged with 43, 22, 55, 16, 33 and 27 counts respectively of accessory to these assaults, in that they seized and delivered persons to the prisoner Umbridge in the full knowledge of what would befall them at her hands."

Harry could not help but savour the frozen look of panic on Malfoy's face. You got your extra credit, Draco. Enjoy it.

The Counsel for the Defence was a weedy little man with a nasal voice. "Your Honour. Have these prisoners been read their Auror caution?"

Madam Bones looked over at Harry and Hermione, who shook their heads. "They were all unconscious." Harry said defensively.

Madam Bones smiled. "Not to worry, Harry." She raised her voice and replied, "No, Your Honour. The prisoners had resisted arrest and therefore were rendered unconscious and bound. Moreover, this was a citizen's arrest. The obligation of persons making a citizen's arrest is to deliver the persons arrested forthwith to the proper authorities, which obligation has been fulfilled. The proper authorities are in this case the High Court. It is therefore the obligation of the Court to read the caution to the prisoners."

"Your Honour, I protest!"

"Mr. Undergard, save it for the trial. Clerk of the Court, read the caution to the prisoners."

While one of the functionaries of the Wizengamot, now the High Court, did so Harry leaned over and said quietly to Madam Bones "Are they going to get off because we didn't do that?"

"No, Harry. This isn't an American muggle crime film. You aren't Aurors and the law doesn't expect you to be trained like them. Undergard is just throwing out whatever he can to show that he's doing his job. If it's any consolation, what he's got is a lawyer's worst nightmare. If any of them had half a brain, they'd plead guilty and ask for mercy. If they did that Malfoy and his cronies might actually get a break. Undergard could argue that they were under duress, perhaps get them a lighter sentence."

He leaned back, less worried.

The Speaker - the Judge - called them to order and the trial began. The prisoners all entered pleas of Not Guilty. Undergard's expression said he wasn't happy with that. Recalling what Madam Bones had said, Harry wasn't very surprised that no one in that lot had half a brain.

Undergard tried, for what little it got him. He tried to get Malfoy and the rest tried as being under age. Madam Bones brought up a collection of precedents that Harry had never heard of to show that they had been appointed to positions of authority and were therefore adults when so acting.

He tried to argue that Harry and the DA had used excessive force. Madam Bones had the use of force guidelines for Aurors read into the record and pointed out that Harry and the DA were well within them.

He tried to argue that the physical evidence should be thrown out. Madam Bones brought Neville and Hermione up to testify to where they had found the quills and the book.

He brought up the destruction of the wands of Umbridge and the others.

"Your Honour." He said in his nasal tone. "I find it suspicuously convenient that my clients' wands, and the evidence they contained, were destroyed by the persons making this so-called arrest. Were they concerned that that evidence might show wrongdoing on their part?"

Madam Bones was on her feet in a flash. "Objection!"

"State your objection, Madam Bones." The Judge replied.

"In the first place, those wands were were destroyed in the heat of a fight. There is no evidence of intent to destroy evidence. In the second place, I will point out that the prisoner Umbridge's wand would almost certainly contain evidence of how she blasted her way through a thick stone wall with reckless disregard for the safety of the children she knew to be on the other side. Hardly exculpatory."

"Objection sustained." The Judge said. "Move on, Mr. Undergard."

His argument that Umbridge's office had been private was blown away by evidence that lots of people had had access. Then he reversed himself and tried to argue that they could have been planted. Madam Bones cast diagnostic spells to show that Umbridge had signed her work when she had made them.

He tried to argue that the Blood Quills weren't instruments of torture. Madam Bones took one of the quills and wrote "This is Torture" on it, holding up her hand so that the members of the court could see the bloody letters form and heal on her hand. Then she had Colin Creevy up to testify that the scars on his hand came from hundreds of lines. He described what had happened and then broke down in tears on the stand and was excused.

Then she turned around and held up the Blood Quill for all to see. "Any member of this court who is not convinced that this is an instrument of torture is invited to come up and try it out personally."

She got no takers, and even Undergard shut up. Then Madam Bones rested, and it was Undergard's turn to present the case for the defence. Harry was no lawyer, but even he could see that his arguments were as thin as a ghost's robes. He rested, and Harry could see a look of relief on his face.

The judge called for the vote, and the High Court convicted them all. The few holdouts were stone hard blood purists who had the nerve or the arrogance to vote against in spite of all the evidence under Dumbledore's hard silent stare.

The court settled for giving them the minimum sentences to be served consecutively. Malfoy and his toadies got six months on each count, consecutively. Umbridge got five years apiece on each charge, consecutively. Harry didn't even bother to do the arithmancy. Umbridge would die in Azkaban. It would be a long time before her goons were free.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4 Capitas & Exigent

Chapter 4 Capitas and Exigent

Author's Note: Thanks to Snow Leopard Pasha for spotting a chronological error in this chapter.
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"Is there any other business before this court?" The Speaker asked, clearly wanting to wind this up.

"Yes, there is." Dumbledore said in that same thunderous voice. "The Warlock petitions for writs of Capitas and Exigent against thirty seven persons, collectively known as the Death Eaters."

Silence fell in the Chamber, broken after a pause by Fudge's weak, spiteful voice. "You are no longer Chief Warlock."

Dumbledore turned to look at Fudge as a man might when deciding whether it was worth the effort to crush a bug underfoot. A crown of golden fire shimmered into existence over his head and the aura of magic around him intensified.

"Silence, worm." He said coldly. "Too long have I tolerated your lies already."

Fudge huddled back into his seat like a frightened child and said nothing.

"I thought Fudge had fired him." Harry said.

Madam Bones shook her head. "It's a lot more complex than that, Harry. To remove a Chief Warlock from office is not within the power of the Wizengamot or the Minister. I don't know if it's even possible."

She turned to Minerva McGonagall. "Minerva, do you know about that?"

"Not much, Amelia." McGonagall said quietly. "The Crown you saw is the Crown of the Warlock. It is what makes him the most powerful wizard in the world. The Crown came to Albus before my time. Albus never talked about that. I think it came to him during Grindelwald's War, but I don't know for certain. This is the first time he has ever displayed it in public. This I do know. The story that it was just one more title, of no great significance, was one that Dumbledore put about deliberately."

"Fudge lied." Harry said flatly. "No bloody surprise there."

"Merlin protect us all." Madam Bones whispered as a thought struck her.

"What is this, Ma'am?" Harry asked. He understood none of what he had just heard, but from Madam Bones's expression it was deathly important.

She looked back at him. "No, you wouldn't know. This is very old law, Harry, long since repealed in the muggle world. He wants the Court to declare them outlaws. The last time this happened was in Grindelwald's War. You know that Dumbledore fought Grindelwald and killed him. Before he did that he had the High Court declare Grindelwald an outlaw. Once they did that, anyone was allowed to kill him out of hand. Only Dumbledore could actually do it."

"An outlaw." Hermione said. "You mean like the Robin Hood stories?"

A flicker of grim smile crossed Madam Bones' face. "Let's just say that those stories were tidied up by those who retold them in after years."

She paused, and recited from memory. "Outlaw and wolfs head, the enemies general of all men, to be hunted down and dealt with as wolves are, none to knowingly or willingly give them shelter or succor on pain of sharing their fate."

"Dealt with as wolves are?" Harry asked.

"In the Middle Ages people feared and hated wolves. They killed them wherever they found them." Madam Bones replied. "To this day there is a great fear of werewolves. Only in the last few decades were werewolves even recognized as human. Before that, they were outlaws automatically. Dumbledore pushed that through the Wizengamot after Grindelwald's War."

Hermione was the quickest of all of them, as usual. "That means that he's going to go out and fight them."

"That's what I think, Hermione." She replied.

"Madam Bones." Harry said shakily. "Voldemort came back from the dead once. I know that. I saw him, I fought him. How do you kill a man who can't die?"

She looked back at him gravely. "I don't know, Harry. We can only hope that Dumbledore does."

Starting with Tom Riddle, Dumbledore detailed the crimes of the Death Eaters one by one. For many of them he could, and did, produce images of tortured and mangled bodies, homes destroyed, Death Eaters boasting of their deeds and threatening what they would do when they came to rule the magical world.

When he came to the end of the catalogue of their crimes, he stood silent and raked his gaze across the Chamber.

The Speaker called for the vote, and it passed except for the same few dissenters. "Know all men by these present, that from this day and hour the Death Eaters are proclaimed outlaw and wolf's head, hostis humani generis, throughout the Magical world, to be hunted down and killed where found. Any who willingly or knowingly give them shelter or succour shall share their fate."

Dumbledor's face now wore an expression of iron resolution. "Thank you, ladies and gentleman of the Wizengamot. Justice has been done here today, as overdue as it may be." He caught McGonagall's eye and made a beckoning gesture.

The Speaker stood, and the rap of his wand on his desk echoed through the Chamber. "The High Court of Magical Britain stands adjourned."

McGonagall walked across the floor of the Chamber to stand beside Albus as she had done so many, many times before. "What is it, Albus? What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

"My duty, Minerva. Here." Albus pulled an ornate ring from his finger and gave it to her. "This holds knowledge and memories that you will need. Guard it well, but do not fall into my mistake. Too much secrecy is as bad as too little. Knowledge not used is impotent."

"What can I do to help, Albus?" She asked, her disquiet increasing at this wholly unexpected behaviour from him. This side of Dumbledore's complex character she had never seen in all her years with him.

"Be as good a friend to Harry as you were to me, little as I was worthy of your loyalty. Even if I am completely successful this day, Harry will have heavy burdens to bear. He will have need of your help and counsel. Tell him all that he asks or that you think he needs to know. The time for secrets and lies is over." Dumbledore said gravely.

"I can gather the Order." She said quickly.

He shook his head. "No, Minerva. This I must do alone. Watch over Harry. See him back to Hogwarts. There he will be as safe as he can be, within its defences and surrounded by his friends."

"Goodbye, Minerva. Try to remember me kindly." He said, caressed her cheek as he had not done for many years, stepped back and vanished with the crack of Apparation.

Minerva slipped the ring on to her finger. At once she could see that there was indeed much knowledge there, but accessing it would be no simple task. Dumbledore, no doubt, could find what he needed, but she was not him. The thought lay heavy on her that she was not going to see her friend again.

Hail and farewell, Albus. She thought heavily. She turned to look back at the Visitor's Gallery. The DA still sat there, their stony silence now lightened by low-voiced conversations. Harry still sat where he had, not speaking and looking over at her.

Minerva crossed the Chamber again to stand by his side. Duty, friendship, obligation to make amends for her part in all that had befallen him all took her back there, with a vow to do better by him.

She watched him as she walked, seeing how he sat apart from the rest of the DA, with only Hermione beside him and taking no part in the conversations among the DA members. The weight of command. That, too, had been laid on his shoulders.

As she came to stand beside him, Harry asked, "Where did Professor Dumbledore go, Professor?"

"He didn't say, Harry. He said that he had something to do, and he had to do it alone." She replied quietly. She had thought to leave it at that, but Albus was right. Harry was a boy no longer, and truth had been kept from him too long.

"I don't think we are going to see him again, Harry. He asked me to be a friend to you, to help you as I could. I would have done that even if he had not asked me. The time for secrets is over. We should go back to Hogwarts. I don't know what's going to happen, but you will be as safe there as you can be anywhere." She said, quietly. She was careful to make it advice, not attempt to give him an order. She had forfeited that right.

Fudge had revived a little with the adjournment of the High Court, mostly, in Harry's opinion, because he wasn't on the docket. There will be another day, Minister Fudge. Harry thought.

"Mr. Speaker." One of the members stood. "I move a vote of no confidence in the Ministry of Cornelius Fudge."

The look of shock on Fudge's face said to Harry that this was important to Fudge. He leaned back toward Madam Bones. "What is that about?"

She smiled. "It's a motion to fire Fudge. If you'll excuse me, Harry, I have to go back to my seat and vote."

"Give him one for us, ma'am." Harry replied, and watched Amelia Bones go back to her seat.

Harry turned to Minerva. "I think we'll wait on that a little, Professor."

He swept a look of cold distrust across the benches of the Wizengamot. "I think things will go on better here if those people know that they are being watched."

Minerva bit her lip on the temptation to argue with him, not least because he was right. There would already be second thoughts on the part of some in those benches, fear of retribution from the Death Eaters, calculation of what political advantage might be gained from the change in the balance of power.

She had little doubt of which way that vote would go. The motion had been proposed by one of Fudge's strongest supporters, and there was no doubt that many others would be willing to throw Fudge to the dragons to create a scapegoat for their own failings. As she watched, the Speaker chose from one of half a dozen members who had their hands raised to second the motion.

Greengrass stood, and intoned, "A Vote of No Confidence in the Ministry of Cornelius Fudge has been moved and seconded. All other business of the Wizengamot is tabled until further notice. The vote will be by recorded vote of all the Members. Clerk of the Chamber, call the roll of the Members."

Harry leaned over and said, "What's that about, Professor?"

"A normal vote is by show of hands. There's no record kept of who voted which way, just whether the motion passed or not. For a crucial vote, like this one, there is a record kept of how each Member voted. Everyone knows where each Member stood and how they voted." She replied.

Harry thought about that, and nodded. "Hermione, I think you should take notes on this."

"Already am, Harry." She said cheerfully. She had a Quick Quill and a parchment notebook out on the small desktop that folded out from the arm of the seat.

A glance over at the nearer benches told Minerva that the conversation between Harry and Hermione had not gone unnoticed by the occupants of those benches.

The Clerk of the Chamber stood up with a roll of parchment in his hand. "Bones, Amelia, Member for Lower Cartage."

"Aye." She replied, firmly, in a voice that carried to the whole Chamber.

The Clerk checked her response on the roll, then read out the other names one after another. The vote carried with only three dissenters.

The Speaker rose again. "The Vote of No Confidence in the Ministry of Cornelius Fudge has passed. He is therefore removed from his office. By the Custom of the Wizengamot, the Speaker of the Wizengamot shall assume the duties of the Minister of Magic. Let the record show that I have taken up this responsibility."

He paused, waiting for the Clerk of the Chamber to finish writing. "Minister for Public Safety."

"Acting Minister." was the formal reply from Amelia Bones.

"You are directed to open and conduct expeditiously an investigation into the conduct of Cornelius Fudge during the period of his Ministry, to determine if there has been criminal wrong-doing on his part or the part of his associates. You will report directly to me. He is to be held under house arrest pending the outcome of that investigation."

"Yes, Acting Minister." Was her immediate reply, the formal tone not masking her tone of savage satisfaction.

"Chair of the Ethics Committee." Greengrass said, as soon as the Clerk's quill stopped scratching.

"Yes, Acting Minister." Her tone was far less enthusiastic than Amelia Bones'.

"You will convene your Committee and conduct an inquiry into the conduct of Cornelius Fudge during the period of his Ministry, to determine whether and if so in what fashion he may have contravened the Custom of the Wizengamot. You will make regular reports to the Members of this Chamber."

He paused and looked around the Chamber. "There being no further business, this sitting of the Wizengamot is adjourned."

Harry watched as the Members of the Wizengamot rose from their seats and headed for the exits. He looked up at McGonagall. "Now we can go home, Professor."

Chapter 5: Chapter 5 Imprisonment

Chapter 5 Imprisonment

Dolores Jane Umbridge looked out over the benches of the Wizengamot with disbelief and growing anger. She knew those faces, every single one of them, and she knew a lot more about them and their families. She knew secrets that could set family against family, disgrace powerful people, cost them money, power, freedom. Some of those secrets were true, more were not. All had been effective weapons in her climb to power. Fudge had been utterly dependent on her to keep his coalition in line.

Anger surged through her. How dare they! She knew who had voted to convict, and she would ruin them all. Dolores Jane Umbridge would walk free again, more powerful than before. All would fear her after she had made examples of those who had voted to imprison her.

Harry watched as two Aurors took Umbridge away from the Wizengamot Chamber. He had wondered often about her sanity, and what he saw now did not improve his opinion of that. She had screeched her name and her office - her former office, now - twice before one of the Aurors drew his wand and cast Silencio. They continued dragging her out of the Chamber through one of the side doors.

Harry watched her go, and shook his head. He had expected to feel something, vengeful satisfaction perhaps. At most, there was cautious relief. There was more to this than one sadistic madwoman. Umbridge had been a tool to do someone's dirty work. Had it been Fudge's hand that had wielded her, or another's? He dismissed contemptuously any thought of trusting her word.

He raised his voice so that all could hear him. "Dumbledore's Army, by teams, proceed back to Hogwarts. We're going home."

Dolores Jane Umbridge sat in a plain steel chair in a room that was equally Spartan, shackled to it. She had passed through what only a few hours ago would have been an unimaginable ordeal of humiliation. She had been stripped of all her clothing and searched with total disregard for her modesty or dignity. Her hair had been cut short and spells cast to ensure that she had no contraband, curses or lice on her person. Her clothing now consisted of a smock and trousers of coarse cloth, with broad stripes across them to advertise her status as a convicted prisoner.

The door opened and a man came through it. It was Jimmoth Undergard, her legal representative. At last, there was a note of sanity in this nightmare.

"Mr. Undergard." She said, imperiously. "You need to get me released, immediately. This is a travesty of justice. The Minister will sign the order, I am sure."

"Prisoner Umbridge, this is our last meeting. You are formally notified that my appointment as your legal counsel is over. I would advise you, if you wish to file an appeal, to retain other counsel. I will not be acting for you. As to the Minister signing that order or any other on your behalf, Cornelius Fudge is no longer Minister for Magic. He has been removed from his post and is under investigation." Undergard said in his nasal voice.

Umbridge simply gaped at him in disbelief. "That's impossible. He's the Minister!"

"He was the Minister." Undergard replied evenly. "He lost a vote of No Confidence."

Umbridge recovered swiftly. She had rebounded from political disaster before. She clenched her fists and changed tactics. "I know things. Get someone in here and I'll tell you what a lot of people have done. You'll release me then, all right."

Undergard said, "Very well." and left.

The next person to enter the room was the familiar and hated figure of Amelia Bones. She took the chair on the other side of the table. "Prisoner Umbridge. I am informed that you wish to make a statement."

"Yes." Umbridge almost shouted.

"Do you wish to have counsel present while you make this statement?" She asked, coolly.

"Fat lot of good that idiot Undergard did me." Umbridge snarled contemptuously.

"That is a no, then." Bones said in that same cool voice. "Do you wish to represent yourself?"

"Yes, dammit. Get this done, Bones."

"Very well." Bones replied. "Do you agree that your statement shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. You must reply, 'I agree' or 'I do not agree'."

"I agree." Umbridge said impatiently.

Bones raised her voice. "Prisoner Umbridge wishes to make a statement. Please make the necessary preparations."

Shortly, three people entered the room. One was evidently a secretary, carrying a big roll of parchment and quills and ink. The second was evidently a Healer, wearing the robes of his calling. The third was a grey-haired woman dressed in nondescript robes. The secretary set up her parchment and quills at the end of the table, pulling up another chair from the corner of the room. The other two remained standing.

"Mind Healer Beauchamps, please examine Prisoner Umbridge to determine if she is under Imperius or any other form of mental coercion." Bones said.

Umbridge sat fuming while the woman in the nondescript robes fussed around, looked in her eyes and cast diagnostic spells.

"Prisoner Umbridge is not under Imperius or any other form of mental coercion. She does not practice Occlumency." She said, formally.

Bones nodded, then turned to the other Healer. "Healer Jessop, please report on the physical condition of Prisoner Umbridge."

Jessop cast diagnostic spells in his turn, and reported, "The prisoner is in good health, though overweight and sedentary, and rather choleric."

"Excellent." Bones replied. "Administer the Veritaserum."

"What!" Umbridge shouted. "You can't do that!"

"Yes, I can, since you have, acting as your own counsel, agreed to it." Bones replied, satisfaction in her voice.

Umbridge's opening her mouth to continue her tirade was her undoing. Healer Jessop twisted her head back with one smooth motion and poured the contents of a vial down her throat.

A cool, clear feeling of peace swept through Umbridge, melting away the anger and hatred like snow on a spring day. Jessop looked into her eyes and reported, "Veritaserum is in effect."

Bones leaned back in her chair. "Now, Prisoner Umbridge, you will tell me of every crime you ever committed since you were seventeen years of age. Begin."

"When I was seventeen and a half I ..." She began, hardly hearing the tiny voice inside the back of her mind screaming at her to be silent.

Umbridge had been talking for hours with only occasional sips of water to keep her from going hoarse. Finally the well of her memory ran dry.

She swallowed the contents of the vial that was put to her lips. As the potion counteracted the Veritaserum she realised what she had done. The stack of parchment in front of the secretary stood as high as a strong man's fist.

Bones sat in the chair before her as she had all these hours. "Now, I suppose that you think the truth will set you free." She shook her head. "Were it not that you will die in Azkaban already there is enough there to ensure that many times over."

"We had a deal." Umbridge said defiantly.

"Who represents herself has a fool for a client." Bones said dismissively. "You certainly have been that, Dolores. Even if you had had the wit to ask for a reduction of your sentence, what good would that have done? Five times your lifetime instead of ten times your lifetime, perhaps? Immunity was never going to be on the table, but you didn't even think to try to bargain for it."

Amelia shook her head. "You never cared for the law, did you, Dolores? It was for the others, the little people who weren't Dolores Umbridge. Here's a bit of late news. The law is for everyone. People need reminding of that. I'm not going to quote any rubbish cliché about a new day dawning, because we're far from that. It's been a better day than I thought it was going to be, though. Maybe I'll have more days like this. I have a bit of hope. More than I've had in a long time."

Bones stood and picked up the stack of parchment from in front of the secretary. "Well, the good news is that you'll have company in Azkaban. Say hello to the Dementors for me."

"Stupefy!" was the last thing Umbridge heard.

Dolores Umbridge woke slowly, feeling the rough texture of the clothing she was wearing and the prickle of the straw mattress she was lying on. Her leg felt icy where it touched something rough and cold. She opened her eyes to see the rough black stone of the cramped room that held her.

She swung her legs off the narrow bunk bed and sat up. The room - no, the cell - was a box of black stone that held little except the bunk she sat on and the toilet in the corner. Slowly she got up and went over to the heavy steel door.

She wrenched at the steel bars, but the door was as immovable as the stone wall it was anchored to. She wrenched at the bars harder and then beat on them as her desperation grew. Suddenly a wave of cold despair swept over her and she crumpled up in a heap at the base of the door, her hands leaving bloodstains on the cold iron door. Even after the Dementor swept on down the corridor her despair remained.

Cornelius Fudge sat stunned into immobility. One moment the Sitting of the Wizengamot had been going as planned, the next Potter and his Children's Crusade had erupted into the chamber.

Slowly his mind began to work. This had to have been Dumbledore's work, masterminded by him. Potter was his puppet, that was all. There was far more political acumen here than any schoolboy could possibly have. It had been cleverly done, and he had not seen it coming for all his many years in the political arena.

They had not struck at him but at his right hand. The Senior Under Secretary was a vital part of any political organization. She was the means by which policy was put into action. Dolores had been very effective. Her influence in the Wizengamot and her network in the Ministry had been vital to keeping the threat of Dumbledore's Voldemort conspiracy at bay.

It had been a bold stroke to send her to Hogwarts, but her argument that there was the centre of Dumbledore's pernicious influence had been a convincing one. Dumbledore had been clever. The children of the most influential families in Britain went to Hogwarts. Instead of trying to convince them directly, poison the credulous minds of their children.

The first orders of the new Acting Minister piled shock upon shock. Greengrass had been a neutral, harmless and in fact useful in the day to day routine of the Wizengamot. What he was ordering was open political warfare that would split the Wizengamot like a Diffindo. Had he been a secret ally of Dumbledore's all along? Or had he been biding his time to make his own bid for the Ministry?

Getting the Vote overturned would be hard, but he could argue that there had been undue influence, certainly a very polite and understated version of Potter and his goons being there in the Visitor's Gallery. Never mind that his own ally had moved that vote.

He looked over at Darkwater. Chair of the Ethics Committee was a powerful position, and the investigation that Greengrass had ordered could be troublesome, if it were not that Dolores had something on her. He had been careful to not ask what.

Her head turned slowly to return his look, and he suddenly realized that Dolores was not here, and she was not going to be here, and Darkwater knew that. He saw other faces turn to look at him with the same realization on them. All of them were hardening into hatred. He could see his coalition, his painfully built political support, his power crumbling into ruin as he watched.

A hand fell on his shoulder and he looked up to see the square jaw and stern face of one of the Ministry Aurors. "I'll 'ave your wand, Sir, and you need to come with me."

Fudge complied automatically and was marched out of the Chamber that he had entered so confidently a short time ago, wandless, powerless, and disgraced.

Chapter 6: Chapter 6 Imprisoned

Chapter 6 Summoned

Lord Voldemort sat in his inner sanctum considering his path to power. His plans were made and they were near to fruition. The long game against Dumbledore was near its end. The advantage was his. Dumbledore could not move until he had found his Horcruxes, and the old man was yet far from solving that riddle.

A competent Minister of Magic might have rallied the people of the Magical world against him, but Fudge was an idiot who could barely hang on to his office, far less do anything effective with the power of that office. That was good fortune rather than good planning, but he had made the most of it.

His hand went down and he stroked his hand along Nagini's smooth head. "Soon, Nagini."

He savoured the thought of the power that would soon be his, with all of the wizarding world bowing to him. Soon, too, the muggles would be brought to heel beneath him and his followers as was the right of pure blood wizards. There was much work to do be done, but he had centuries in which to do it.

Suddenly, the Dark Mark on his arm burned like a white hot brand. A thunderous voice resounded in his ears, a voice that he knew very well. "Tom Riddle, you are summoned."

Voldemort had just time to realize that the magic that allowed him to summon his followers at his whim could also be used to summon him if a sufficiently brilliant and powerful wizard, like Albus Dumbledore, found a way to use it for that. The familiar sensation of Apparation went through him.

He landed on his feet with Nagini beside him. By the instinct of many years he flung around himself the most powerful protections that he knew. Barely had he finished doing that when his back arched and he screamed with the agony of having a part of his soul destroyed. Nagini was dead, utterly destroyed, and a part of his soul with it. By instinct he had looked only to himself, forgetting to protect his familiar. Even in that white hot agony he maintained his shields, but for a handful of seconds he was unable to think or plan or cast spells to destroy his enemy.

He tried to Apparate out, to no avail. That error cost him another second and the ability to speak and thus to cast most spells. It was not the normal Silencio but one he had no defence against. With time he could counter it, but he had lost the initiative of the battle and he had no time. In the next second he found himself at the centre of a globe of water and forced to hold his breath.

An Incendio spell of terrific power smashed against his outer shield and it broke. Tom Riddle could cast a five fold shield, as few other wizards in the world could, but on this day it was not enough. A whip of lightning shattered the shield beneath that. Voldemort diverted all his remaining power toward strengthening those inner shields.

It was not enough, but Voldemort knew where he could get more. In accepting the Dark Mark, his followers had placed their lives and their magic in his hands even more than they knew. His ruthless will surged through that link and ripped away their magic and their very lives to feed the fury of this battle. Twenty-seven men and women fell where they were, gone from living people to dead husks in an instant.

Riddle thought quickly. The sacrifice of his followers had bought him a few more seconds before his last shield went down. Dumbledore's spells had a furious power behind them such as he had never seen before. Such power came at a price. There was a weak point there if he could find it and exploit it. He looked at his foe and realized what was not there. Dumbledore had cast no protective spells at all. Of Riddle's great array of spells there were only a few that he could still cast, voiceless and submerged as he was. Of those few there was one that might give him revenge on his hated enemy. He cast it in Dumbledore's direction and had a moment's vicious satisfaction in seeing it strike Dumbledore's hand.

That spell would not give him victory but it would give him revenge. Exarandum Laborios was a torture spell that would eat its way through the body and kill slowly and painfully. Crucio only allowed you to torture one person at a time. This was far more efficient. He had perfected it through much use.

Riddle realized that this last act of vengeance had distracted him from holding his breath. The reflex to breath had overridden his control and he had gasped water into his lungs. No matter. He had died before. He would roam the world as a spirit, create another body. Voldemort the Undying would rise again.

"Tom Riddle, you are summoned." Voldemort felt the Dark Mark on his arm awaken again to burning pain. He realized too late that he had had made an error in crafting that spell. Dumbledore had found that error and exploited it, sending that spell into an endless loop. That loop would summon him to where he already was continuously, binding him to this body using his own power to do so. Voldemort searched for a way to break that spell, but there was none. He had never imagined the need.

Beset by the twin agonies of drowning and the Dark Mark, Voldemort could not concentrate enough to do anything to prevent what happened next. He felt the globe of water that imprisoned him harden into stone around him. Runes and wards and enchantments backed by all of Dumbledore's power, poured out without stint, settled on the globe of stone. One by one Voldemort felt the bars of his prison weld into place around him.

Voldemort mastered the agony and put it aside, searching for some flaw in the protections that now held him imprisoned. He could find none. In that moment of despair his control lapsed and the pain flooded his mind again.

The DA had gone back to Hogwarts as they came, and they sat in the Great Hall wolfing down their food in between telling and retelling the events of the day. Harry was just serving himself another helping of roast beef when he dropped the fork and plate and clapped his hands to his forehead as his scar blazed into white hot life. The next instant he vanished with the crack of Apparation.

A ripple of alarm spread through the Great Hall as students and teachers realized that something had happened to Harry.

"What the …" "Impossible." "You can't Apparate in Hogwarts."

"Silence." The voice of Minerva McGonagall rang through the hall. "Teachers to me. We will raise wards of the castle. Prefects conduct an immediate headcount of their Houses. Filch, lock the gates."

She put her wand to the side of her neck and said Sonorus. Her voice rang throughout the castle. "All students, staff and guests. Report to the Great Hall forthwith. This is an emergency." Quietus.

The organization that had been tried and tested by the deadly attacks of previous years went smoothly into action. Prefects accounted for each student in their House, then double checked. Harsh questioning of students and ghosts established that there were no guests in the castle. Staff members took the reports of their prefects and reported in turn in order to the Acting Headmistress.

"Gryffindor. One student missing. Harry James Potter. Not within the castle. No guests."

"Hufflepuff. All students accounted for. No guests."

"Ravenclaw. All students accounted for. No guests."

Severus Snape turned toward the head table. "Acting Headmistress. Slytherin. All students accounted for. No ..." Quite abruptly, Snape went down hard in a flurry of black robes, as limp as a puppet with its strings cut.

"Pomfrey. Man down." snapped the Acting Headmistress, her wand up and searching for a target. There was a chorus of Protego as Prefects cast Shield charms around their tables.

Hermione Granger's voice rang through the Great Hall. "Dumbledore's Army, by teams. Team One, cover Ravenclaw. Team Two, Hufflepuff. Team Three, Gryffindor. Team Four, Slytherin. Team Five, on me. Team Six, high guard."

"Check for invisibility." snapped McGonagall. Curtains of mist swept through the hall leaving moisture on everything they touched. There was no one invisible in the hall.

The DA teams leaped onto the tables, falling into the disciplined fighting formation that had been drilled into them. Hermione's team formed up on her, covering the entrance to the Great Hall. Team Six was composed of the best fliers. Accio spells had brought their brooms to their hands and they hovered high up, close to the ceiling.

Its every defence up and every wand within it ready for battle, Hogwarts waited for an enemy to appear.

Madam Pomfrey knelt over Snape. A sweep of her wand removed Snape's robes with total disregard for who might see what. She checked his vitals and cast diagnostic spells. The smell of burnt flesh brought her attention to the Dark Mark on Snape's arm. It was no longer a tattoo but a brand burned bone deep into his arm. Poppy cast another spell and recoiled at the evidence of dark lethal magic that it revealed.

"Minerva." She said grimly. "He's dead. Someone used the Dark Mark to kill him."

"Here?" McGonagall demanded.

"Could have been from anywhere." Pomfrey replied. "The Dark Mark is a direct link to Voldemort."

McGonagall lowered her wand fractionally. What in Merlin's name are you doing, Albus?

Harry stumbled and fell headlong on the barren stony soil of … wherever this was. He looked up past the straggling shrub that he had wound up behind. A bolt of terror went through him even as the burning pain in his scar subsided. He knew the figure standing with his back to him beyond any doubt. It was Voldemort.

Harry instinctively ducked down, then slowly raised his head as he heard and felt the fury of magic unleashed. Beyond the dread figure of Voldemort he saw Dumbledore, wand in hand and casting spells with furious intensity.

Harry thought about saying something or standing up, then realized that the merest stray reflection of the energies that were being released here would snuff him out like a moth in a flame. The flash and the concussion of the spells that were exploding around Voldemort were like something out of a muggle war movie. Fifty yards and more away he was half blind and deafened.

Harry hugged the earth behind the scanty cover of the bush while the fire and thunder of the duel went on fifty yards in front of him. Eventually it subsided and he dared to raise his head again. "Please ..." he murmured in an unfocused appeal to … someone.

The scene in front of him was an area of devastation with, in its centre, a sphere of some clear material. It was covered with runes and wards that Harry didn't recognize. It took him a moment to recognize the figure trapped in the centre of it, like a fly in amber, as Voldemort, his mouth frozen open and his back arched in agony.

Harry stood and walked forward, skirting around the churned up earth and the hot pieces of rock that littered the area. He saw Dumbledore and ran toward him, alarmed. Dumbledore was not his usual well groomed self. He was down on his knees, his hair and beard in a wild scorched tangle and his robes burned and ripped. His hand was blackened and dead looking.

"Ah, Harry." He said in an eerily calm and conversational voice. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Harry replied automatically. "God, Professor. You're hurt!"

"No, Harry." He replied in that same calm voice. "I'm dying. I would have come to you. How is it that you are here?"

"I heard you summon Tom Riddle, and then I was Apparated here from the Great Hall."

"Ah, of course. One more of a foolish old man's mistakes. I used the Dark Mark to summon Riddle to me as he summoned his followers. His familiar came with him. I did not foresee that if one of his horcruxes was a wizard who could Apparate he would also be drawn in due to that link. I am sorry for that."

"It's all right." Harry said anxiously. "We have to get you to help. You're hurt."

"There is no help for me, Harry, and there are things you need to know."

"Professor ..." Harry said, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"Harry. You must listen. There is little time. I have imprisoned Voldemort in that sphere of rock with every rune and ward and enchantment within my knowledge. He is bound to his body, he cannot cast spells or escape by Apparating or Portkey, he is completely isolated. But, because of his horcruxes, he cannot die. There is only one link that I could not close, and that is the link between him and his horcruxes. They are parts of his very soul. It was my first care to kill his familiar. All his other horcruxes are objects with no senses - except one."

Dumbledore winced with pain, then continued. "That horcrux is you, Harry. A piece of Voldemort's soul is lodged in your scar. You are the only person Voldemort can communicate with - if you let him. You have studied Occlumency, and if you value your sanity I urge you to complete your mastery of it."

"Why would I want to talk to Voldemort?" Harry asked in revulsion.

"That would be entirely your choice, Harry. If you choose to take that risk, then you could offer Voldemort the final mercy of death. If his other horcruxes can be found and destroyed, then he will die when you do. He alone knows the location of his horcruxes and the traps and protections that guard them."

"And if not?" Harry asked.

"Then he will live on for centuries in constant agony, less and less sane as continuous pain eats away his capacity for rational thought. Perhaps future generations will be able to find and destroy his horcruxes unaided, or perhaps they will consign his prison to the bottom of the sea or the depths of space. I have done what I could. The rest must be left to others. I am sorry to put this burden on you."

An awful thought struck Harry. "Will the Death Eaters try to release him?''

"No, Harry. The marked ones are all dead. The fortune of war is not always bad. When Voldemort saw the battle go against him, he took the life and power of his followers to fuel his own."

Dumbledore's face twisted with agony. By a visible effort of will he mastered himself and went on. "Such help as I can give you I shall. This..." He handed Harry his wand. "is the Elder Wand of legend, the most powerful wand in the world."

As Harry took it, a magical nimbus swirled around him and a sound like the thunder of war drums came to his ears.

"You are now its new Master. Bear it well."

Dumbledore reached up above his head with his good hand and a crown of golden fire appeared. He placed it on Harry's head. "The Crown of the Warlock of Britain, Defender of the Magical Realm and Heir and successor to Merlin Ambrosius, I bestow on you.''

"Now I must go, Harry. Atonement is beyond my powers, but I have made such poor amends as I could. Try to remember me kindly."

Dumbledore fell on his side and never moved again. Harry bowed his head and wept.

Harry Potter appeared in the Great Hall of Hogwarts with the prone body of Albus Dumbledore at his feet. A dozen wands snapped to bear on him, then dropped as people ran toward him, staff and students alike.

Harry collapsed onto the nearest chair. Wrung out physically and mentally, ears ringing and grieving for the father of his heart, he had not the energy or the will to answer the babble of questions directed his way. Madam Pomfrey was having to work around Ginny hugging him to confirm that he was all right.

"All right's a relative term." Was her tart reply to Minerva's anxious question. "Exhaustion, stress, grief. Physically, no injuries."

"I'm sorry to ask this at such a time, Mr. Potter, but I must. What happened? Are we in danger?" Minerva McGonagall asked with a gentleness that masked urgency.

"No." He replied in an empty factual voice. "Not anymore. Voldemort is imprisoned. The Death Eaters are all dead."

"Imprisoned how?" McGonagall asked.

"He is bound to his body, trapped at the centre of a sphere of quartz, and bound by every rune and ward and enchantment that Dumbledore knew."

Well, you did the thing thoroughly, Albus. Merlin grant it is enough. McGonagall thought. She looked down at the wand in Harry's hand, and her eyes widened with shock. She had seen that wand before in Albus' hand.

"Harry, your wand." She said carefully.

"Oh, that." He said, wearily. "He said it was the Elder Wand and I was its new Master."

"Did he … give you … anything else, Harry?" McGonagall asked, with the careful control that a muggle might use to inquire if a nuclear bomb was armed.

"He gave me a crown. Um, yes. Crown of the Warlock, I think he said. I don't know where it got to."

"That's all right, Harry. You can find it when you need it." She said in as kindly a tone as she could. Merlin, what were you thinking, Albus? she thought.

Bitter second thoughts followed. Albus was dying. If anyone in Britain can say that he stood for justice in these times, Harry can. Merlin knows the rest of us who were supposed to be doing that can make no such claim.

By an effort of will she shut off the mental list of her own failures, starting with letting a creature like Umbridge anywhere near her students.

Enough. She stood straight. She had her duty. She could at least not neglect it any more than she already had. "Poppy. A Draught of Dreamless Sleep for Harry."

She saw Harry escorted off by Poppy. "Harry is to be guarded at all times by two teachers, wands out and alert. Arrange the schedule as you see fit."

She swept the room with her stern gaze. Albus and Severus had been laid out with reverence and covered with white cloths without any need for her to give the order. "Students will return to their dormitories. Prefects will stand guard in the common rooms. I shall keep vigil over Albus and Severus."

When the room was empty save for her and the dead, she could allow herself to weep for her fallen friends.

Chapter 7: Chapter 7 Questions and Answers

Chapter 7 Questions and Answers

Harry awoke slowly in his own bed in Hogwarts. He felt … better. Not exhausted and his ears had stopped ringing. He looked at the side table, found his glasses and put them on, and saw there not one wand but two. One was the plain one that was almost a part of his hand, but the other was a long white one covered with complex runes. Memories came back to him, slowly at first and then in a flood.

"He's awake." Came a quiet voice from the door. Harry sat up in his bed and a house elf brought him breakfast. At first he ate tentatively, then with greater appetite as he realized how hungry he was. Bacon, eggs, toast and tea all finished, he put the plate and cup on the side table.

There was a knock at the door. "Mr. Potter. Are you strong enough to speak to me?" The voice was Minerva McGonagall's.

"Yes, ma'am." Harry replied.

The Acting Headmistress came in the door. To Harry's eyes she looked every one of her many years and running on raw willpower.

"Mr. Potter. I would wish you a good morning but that, I fear, is a vain hope for both of us."

Harry could not help but agree with that.

"There are some things that you will wish to know. Both Albus and Severus have gone up to London to lie in state for three days as befits heroes who fell in the defence of the Realm. I have been asked to convey the request of the Wizengamot that you should give the eulogy at Albus' funeral, as I shall for Severus."

Harry nodded. "I owe him that. I don't know what to say, though."

"Speak from the heart is all the advice I have, Mr. Potter. That's what I intend to do." She said.

"Oh." was all Harry had to say.

"There is another question I must ask you. You told me that that Dumbledore had given you that wand. Is that correct?" McGonagall asked.

"Yes. He said I was ... the new Master of the Elder Wand. Does that mean something?"

"Yes, it does, Mr. Potter. The Elder Wand is the most powerful wand in the world. It passes to a new Master at the death of the old Master. The new Master may be the heir of the old Master, or the witch or wizard who has conquered the old Master in battle. You can confirm that by picking it up."

Harry did, and felt the terrific power of this wand run through his body. It was scarcely a comfortable sensation, quite unlike the comfortable harmony of his old one. He had the feeling of a man mounting a mettlesome warhorse. He carefully put the wand back down again.

"Is there some way I can … give it up?" Harry asked, tentatively.

"I fear not, Mr. Potter." She replied, firmly. "More than any other wand, the Elder Wand serves but one Master. Wield it or not as you choose, but you are its Master and it will serve no other whilst you live. However you choose, I would advise that you guard it carefully. If one who is not its Master attempts to wield the Elder Wand, the consequences are ... severe."

Minerva looked back at Harry's downcast expression, and wished that this was all of the burdens that had been laid on this boy's shoulders. Later would be time enough for the news that there were far too many wizards who would kill him to become Master of the Elder Wand. Dumbledore had been the target of such attempts.

"I believe you said that you received another bequest from Professor Dumbledore?" she asked. It was very soon to probe these recent wounds, but there were far greater issues that brooked no delay. She could only try to ensure that they were dealt with as humanely as might be.

Harry frowned. "He gave me a crown, he said it was the ... the Crown of the Warlock of Britain. I can't find it, though. I can give that back if it belongs to someone else."

Merlin, if only it were that simple. Miranda thought. "The Crown of the Warlock is not a physical object, Harry. It is a construct of magic. If you concentrate, it becomes visible. Can you try that?"

Harry reached up to his head and closed his eyes. A glowing golden crown appeared above his head.

Merlin, this too. Minerva thought, dismayed.

She wished that she could afford to give him the time to grieve and to heal. She could not. Necessity had no heart, and the news of Dumbledore's death had already gone abroad. The magical world had its own strategic balance. There would be many minds considering how these events would change that balance. Some of those minds bore Britain no goodwill at all.

Well, the time for secrecy and keeping this boy in the dark was gone. The ring Dumbledore had given her held secrets she had never been privy to until now. Albus had been right. The time for secrets and lies was over.

"Harry, of the offices that Dumbledore held, the office of Warlock was the one that made him, quite literally, the most powerful wizard in the world. It allowed him to use the magic of the Realm as his own. The Wizengamot does not control appointments to that office, little as they care to admit it."

"The magic of the Realm?" Harry asked.

"There are deep pools of magic in the world, Harry. Ley lines connect them. The services we depend on, like the Floo network, draw on that magic. Britain is a nexus of those ley lines, the greatest in the world. Merlin was the first wizard to discover how to tap into this nexus. His heirs and successors inherited the artifact that he created and used to tap into that nexus of power."

"So I've inherited the source of Dumbledore's power?" Harry asked, uneasily.

"Well, as to that, Harry, it's not quite that simple. Merlin left a test for his successors, to ensure that they would be worthy to hold that power. When we journey to London, you will have to face that test." She said soberly.

"What sort of test?" Harry replied uneasily.

"I have no idea, Harry. Albus knew. He never told anyone."

All I know is the legend, that it was known of old as the Crown of a Just Man. I don't know whether to hope that you pass or fail. She thought worriedly.

"Where is Voldemort's prison?" Minerva asked. This, too, was urgent. Albus would have put safeguards on that prison to ensure against tampering. Those safeguards would be little inclined to care for the difference between curiosity and tampering, and less inclined to give the benefit of doubt. Outer protections to keep the curious from killing themselves would be needed, and that soon.

"I don't know, Professor." Harry said. "I was Apparated there. It was a barren, bleak place. I don't know where it is physically. I could Apparate there again, I think."

"Time enough for that later." Minerva replied. Secrecy would not last forever, but it would have to do for now.

"Is there anything else you can tell me about Voldemort's prison?" She asked.

"Professor Dumbledore said that there was only one link that he couldn't block, and that was the one between Voldemort and his horcruxes. The others are objects. He can't use them to sense anything or do anything. My scar is a horcrux. He can … talk to me - if I allow it."

"Merlin." Minerva said, horror stricken. "What of his familiar?" She asked, mostly to buy time.

An awful suspicion came to her mind. Is it Harry's mind behind those eyes - or Voldemort's?

Cool reason reassured her. Voldemort had tried to take over Harry's mind once before, and he had failed. Harry's defences were much stronger now. Spotting someone who was possessed was not difficult. He showed none of the signs.

"Professor Dumbledore said that it was his first care to kill it." Harry replied.

"One less horcrux is a good thing. As for the other matter, I would think a long time before attempting such a thing, Mr. Potter." Minerva said.

Harry looked back at her with eyes far older than his age. "I've seen into Voldemort's mind before, Ma'am. I didn't enjoy it."

Minerva decided that now was a good time to leave that dragon to slumber. She changed the subject. "As you might imagine, Mr. Potter, there is an incredible clamour for your eyewitness account of what happened. I have told people quite firmly that you are not available. My writ does not run in London, however, so you should give thought to how you intend to deal with that."

"Thank you, ma'am." Harry's expression said that he was not looking forward to that.

"I will leave you to rest, now, Mr. Potter. If you are up to it, your friends would like to visit you."

His smile was the first hopeful thing she had seen since entering this room. "I'll send them in."

They went up to London by Portkey at noon the day before the funeral. Harry was dressed in his best robes. He was uneasily aware that this short time of peace and quiet was about to pop like a soap bubble. His escort of five grim-faced Aurors led by Kingsley Shacklebolt was a broad hint of that.

They arrived at the Ministry building where Harry was shown to a suite of rooms. Shacklebolt told off two of the Aurors to stand guard at the door.

They were greeted by an efficient looking witch in plain dark robes. "Dinner will be at six thirty, Mr. Potter and Headmistress McGonagall. The Acting Minister of Magic and several other senior officials will be attending. I am Melissa Overgard, Chief Steward. Your luggage is already in your rooms. Please ring if you want anything."

Harry looked around the suite after Overgard left. "Nicer than the Leaky Cauldron." He said cautiously.

"That it is, Mr. Potter." McGonagall replied. "I am inclined to think that the Ministry is trying to be polite - and conciliatory. This suite is normally reserved for visiting heads of state."

Harry thought about that for a moment. He wasn't sure what to make of that. His level of trust in the Ministry and the Wizengamot wasn't all that high right now.

"Do you still wish to go ahead with the press conference?" Minerva replied.

He nodded. "It will get no more pleasant for putting it off, Ma'am. As far as that goes, I've had worse than a few nosy reporters." He smiled briefly. "Hermione helped me with the writeup."

Minerva nodded. It would have been good if Potter could have had his friends with him, but the transcript of the trial had been made public and there was a huge furor among all the parents. The fact that a now-dead Death Eater had been a member of the Board of Governors wasn't helping that, either. She had declared a week's break and sent all students who wished to go back to their families. The mourning for Albus would last the same period.

"Is three o'clock all right?" Minerva said, glancing at her watch.

Harry nodded, and she pulled the bell pull. When the steward entered she said briskly, "Mr. Potter will hold a press conference at three o'clock this afternoon in the Atrium. Please see to the arrangements."

She handed him Harry's statement. "This is Mr. Potter's statement. Please see it duplicated in sufficient numbers for the press conference. It is not to be released to the press or anyone else prior to three o'clock."

The steward simply bowed and left. Minerva watched him go. "Well, we shall see if that instruction is obeyed."

"Why would it not be, ma'am?" Harry asked. "It'll be released in a couple of hours anyway."

Well, Minerva thought. I am a teacher still, and he needs to know this.

"In politics and elsewhere, Mr. Potter, to know what others do not and have time to act on it can be a great advantage. There are certainly people who would be able and willing to pay handsomely for a copy or even a sight of that statement. Some might want a journalistic scoop, others might want to know if they should take a Portkey to the Lesser Antilles under an assumed name."

Harry looked pensive and said nothing.

The press conference started right on the dot of three. All the reporters were there well in advance. As Harry walked out to the podium that had been set up in the Atrium amid his escort of Aurors he could see that there were people who had invited themselves along. Amelia Bones was there, and the Speaker of the Wizengamot - Harlan Greengrass, that was his name. Harry didn't have a problem with either of them being there, but there were some others that he was less happy about. Well, too late now.

"I have a statement to read, after which I will take some questions." He said, and unfolded a piece of parchment. "I mourn the death of Albus Dumbledore, my mentor and friend. He laid down his life to remove the curse of the Death Eaters from our world. You have my account of that duel. Riddle himself is not dead but he's imprisoned by every means within his power. All Riddle's marked followers were killed during that fight by Riddle himself, trying to gain momentary advantage. A great man sacrificed his life to give the chance to build a better world, one where we do not live in a constant state of fear. Let us strive to build that world, one with equal justice for all."

He waited out the initial babble of questions, as he'd been warned, and then pointed at one reporter pretty much at random, a middle aged woman. "Mr. Potter, Albus Dumbledore was the Master of the Elder Wand. Who now holds custody of that powerful artifact?"

"I am now the Master of the Elder Wand." Harry replied simply.

"Are you not rather young for such a responsibility?" Was the rather snarky follow-up.

"I was born that way, ma'am. I'm told that abates itself with time." Harry replied coolly. The laugh that got wasn't directed at him.

A tall, rather scruffy-looking man said "Are you are aware that there are wizards who would kill you to gain control of the Elder Wand?"

Right, I've never been threatened by dark wizards before. Harry thought irritably. He drew the Elder Wand and laid it on the podium.

"They will have it to do." He gave the reporter a steady look. The reporter was silent and Harry moved on.

There was a lot of second guessing about whether Dumbledore should have fought Riddle, with questions about what would have happened if he had lost. Harry kept his answers to "I don't know." and "Bad things would have happened."

Another reporter, a paunchy man with a flowing moustache and muttonchop whiskers, asked, "Since Albus Dumbledore was responsible for containing the threat of the Death Eaters, wouldn't you agree that he botched that effort rather thoroughly?"

Harry's hand balled into a white knuckled fist. "Albus Dumbledore was human and he made mistakes. He died making amends for those mistakes. You, sir. Where were your crusading articles on the threat of the Death Eaters? Where were your investigations into Fudge's mismanagement of the Ministry? What have you done to make amends? If you want to see someone who botched his responsibilities, look in the mirror."

Harry took a moment to collect himself before he took the next question.

"Mr. Potter, your account of the battle is rather lacking in detail. What are you holding back?" That came from Rita Skeeter, in her usual tone that insinuated at something scandalous being covered up.

"Ms. Skeeter, I was about fifty yards away from a duel between the most powerful wizard in the world and the most evil wizard in the world. I was very occupied with keeping my head down and surviving. The next time there is a battle to cast down an evil Dark Lord, I'll invite you along to take notes."

She flushed and stopped talking, which Harry considered a win.

"You are just a boy who wants to be an Auror when he grows up. By what authority did you, a mere student, arrest a teacher?" The voice was male, starchy and condescending.

"Anyone may arrest without warrant any person found committing an indictable offence." Harry replied. "That's the law."

"You attacked a teacher!" He insisted.

"Reasonable force may be used to effect an arrest. That was brought up at trial. Read the transcript."

Then they got on to whether the trial had been fair or not. Harry waved his hand to the sidelines where the Speaker of the Wizengamot and Madam Bones stood. "The Judge of the High Court and the Prosecutor are both present, and those questions are properly directed to them. I will leave you to do so. Good day."

Harry walked away, ignoring the shouted questions flung after him.

Chapter 8: Chapter 8 Dinner and Politics

Chapter 8 Dinner and Politics

Harry took his seat at the dinner table behind his nameplate. Hogwarts laid on a good spread, but this was far more elaborate and formal. He had not been in a mood to do anything except sit in his room and mourn for Dumbledore, but Professor McGonagall had persuaded him to come.

It would be nice to know which fork to use. He thought irritably.

He looked around, sizing up the room. The room was elaborately decorated, with portraits of past Ministers, which were right now quiet and watching. A quartet of enchanted instruments played soft music in one corner.

The table was a single round one, with heavy silverware place settings and gold rimmed china. Seated at it were Harry, Professor McGonagall, the Speaker of the Wizengamot and his wife, Madam Bones, and a middle aged woman he didn't know.

Things started off with quiet small talk and introductions, and condolences on the loss of Dumbledore. The woman he didn't know was introduced as Alice Darkwater, the Chair of the Ethics Committee of the Wizengamot. Trays of canapés floated around the table, offering small bite sized snacks while the conversation went on.

The soups appeared in the bowls and the bowl asked him if he wanted bread with his, to which he answered yes. He used the spoon he saw others use. The conversation began to shade into more serious topics when the fish plates floated in to replace the soup bowls.

"Who do you think should be the new Headmaster of Hogwarts?" The Speaker asked after the first few bites of the fish, a salmon fillet.

Harry had his opinions, but he was in a mood to be very cautious about what he said. "Surely that is for the Board of Governors to decide." He replied politely.

"So it is, Mr. Potter. Their credibility has been rather strained by the presence of a marked Death Eater among them and the scandal over Umbridge. I dare say that they would not want to appoint anyone over your disapproval." Greengrass said, his tone that of a man searching for the solution to a serious problem and inviting help with that.

Harry decided to speak his mind. "Professor McGonagall is well respected, and she spoke out against Umbridge and tried to stop her."

Professor McGonagall put her fork down, her face troubled. "That I tried is thin gruel, Mr. Potter. I did not stop her abuses."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment against the pain of the memory that question evoked, then opened them again and spoke firmly. "The last words that Albus Dumbledore said to me were that he had made such poor amends as were in his power. Had I spoken out sooner, had you done more, had the Wizengamot replaced Fudge, had Magical Law Enforcement investigated ... we all have amends to make that all this ever happened in the first place. Let us make them."

Greengrass looked at him with surprised respect. "Well said, Mr. Potter."

He visibly made the decision to go on. "I will take it that you do not pay much attention to politics, Mr. Potter. You have your studies, Quidditch, your friends."

Harry nodded. He could see no harm in agreeing to something so obviously true. "That is so."

"Whether you pay attention to politics or not for the future, Mr. Potter, I will assure you that politics will pay attention to you. What you say and what you do will be followed even more closely than before."

"I see." He said.

"With respect, Mr. Potter, I don't think that you quite grasp how greatly your life has changed." Greengrass said in a careful diplomatic tone.

Greengrass took a sip from his water glass. "Cornelius Fudge was not an accident. There were many people who remembered all too well the horrors of the last war and could not bear the thought of it happening again. They swallowed his lies and denials and looked away from the abuses he was too weak and inept to prevent because they were afraid. I bear my own share of responsibility for that. I too have amends to make."

He took another sip of water. "Then you stood in the Wizengamot Chamber with Dumbledore's Army at your back and ripped aside that veil of denial. Afraid they may have been still, but they were faced with a worse and and more pressing fear."

"They were afraid of Dumbledore." Harry said. "I've never seen him so angry."

"That they were." The Speaker replied. "They were not much less afraid of you. In spite of all you had gone through you had gone to them - to us - for justice. If we had rejected that demand, what would you have done?''

Harry thought about that angry chaotic time. "I don't know. It wasn't even my idea to go to the Court. Hermione was the one who suggested it."

"You took it up and your people followed you. It is to your credit that the idea of raising the flag of rebellion never occurred to you. Had you done so there would have been many to follow you. There was great discontent that only needed a flashpoint. That thought occurred to many minds in the Wizengamot that day, mine included. We were looking over the precipice of a three sided civil war. There are no winners in such a conflict, only survivors and few enough of them. By the thin line of your integrity we were spared that. You have a position of trust that no one else has."

The fish course was removed and the sorbet bowls appeared in their place. Harry used the time it took to eat the lime jelly to do some hard thinking. Would people have really followed him into rebellion?

He remembered how the strict and orderly and law-abiding Professor McGonagall had put her wand in Gollapot's face. He remembered, too, the deadly tension in the Chamber as the teams faced off against the Wizengamot. He thought about how little it would have taken for that standoff to explode into a bloodbath.

Yes, they would. Beyond the law, Harry, is a very scary place. He thought grimly. Before you take your friends there, make sure there's no other choice.

He frowned as he realized the weight of responsibility that lay on him. His friends had trusted him in the Chamber, and they were trusting him now to be the voice for them to the most powerful people in the wizarding world. The voice for justice in a world that hadn't given them much of it.

The main course, roast beef and steamed vegetables, saw a resumption of the conversation. Madam Bones led off. "Mr. Potter, you told the whole world that you are the new Master of the Elder Wand. Was that wise?"

"How long was that secret going to keep?" Harry replied. Madam Bones clearly wasn't prepared for that answer. "It was going to be a headline in the Prophet the first time someone like Rita Skeeter saw it."

She conceded the point with a nod. "You will need to be careful, Mr. Potter."

Harry bit down on an angry retort at what sounded to him very much like condescension. "I need to be careful of a lot of things. I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. I have a piece of Voldemort's soul in my scar, so I need to be careful that he doesn't get into my mind. What I say and do, as you've told me, matters. I'm the leader of the DA. I need to be careful of what I do there."

"Surely the need for the DA has passed, Mr. Potter." The Speaker said quickly.

Harry put his hand on the table to show the scars from the Blood Quill. "I'll decide that, sir. When I'm satisfied that there is competent Defence instruction at Hogwarts, when I'm satisfied that the Ministry isn't going to issue blank checks to someone like Umbridge, then perhaps. Don't ask me to take that on trust. Show me."

The Speaker saw the controlled anger in Harry's voice and face, and re-calibrated his approach. Potter was not simply an angry boy with a grievance. He was in great part the heir to Dumbledore's position of influence and trust. He had the intelligence, and as Greengrass now saw, the control to use that position effectively. The knowledge of how to do so sat at his elbow. McGonagall had made it clear that her loyalty was to Harry as it had been to Dumbledore.

Our world has a new power. Greengrass thought, watching him carefully. Because he was doing so, he saw what no one else at that table except McGonagall did, and understood what it meant. A brief golden glow appeared above Potter's head, forming the ghostly outlines of a crown. It vanished again as he reasserted control.

A new power. Harlan thought. I was more right even than I knew.

Harlan knew of the Crown, as only McGonagall and Potter himself at this table did. Dangerous knowledge, given that it was intertwined with the deadly struggle between Dumbledore and Voldemort. He had been bound to absolute silence as long as Dumbledore lived. Dumbledore was gone, and now he knew who held the artifact that had made Dumbledore the most powerful wizard in the world.

A very dangerous game was being played out beneath the polite surface of this formal dinner, and Harlan only now realized just how high the stakes were. The unity of Britain, and the power of the Warlock backing it, was the defence against many threats. The Fall of Voldemort had removed one of those threats, but only one. Dumbledore had understood that, for all that he had been furious at Fudge and the do-nothing attitude of the Wizengamot.

Potter did not, and convincing him of that would require the most delicate and careful diplomacy. Lecturing or condescending to him would be the deadliest of mistakes. Bones had come very close to making that mistake.

Because this boy ... because this man, this powerful and dangerous man, had come to this table it did not mean that all was forgiven. It meant that they had a chance to make a new beginning. He nodded acceptance.

"Mr. Potter." Professor McGonagall said formally. "Thank you for your recommendation. While I am Headmistress, there will be no corporal punishment on pain of dismissal for the teacher ordering or inflicting it, and criminal charges if those are warranted."

"Is not that an over-reaction?" asked the Speaker mildly. "Surely it has its place."

Professor McGonagall gave him a cold look. "Its place is in the history books. I have never used it, and in my experience it spoils the good ones and makes the bad ones worse. As we have recently seen, it is apt to abuse. I can maintain order perfectly well without it."

Harry decided that was fair enough. He asked another question that was bothering him. "What is to become of Cornelius Fudge?"

Greengrass looked up from his plate to reply. "As you saw yourself, he lost a vote of confidence, so he is no longer Minister. I am Acting Minister until an election is held. As is the Custom of the Wizengamot, I will not run in that election. As I ordered as soon as I succeeded to the office of Acting Minister, Mr. Fudge's conduct in office is the subject of an investigation by the Ethics Committee of the Wizengamot. He remains a Member, but his privileges are suspended pending the outcome of that inquiry. Any evidence of criminal wrongdoing will be passed to MLE for their action."

"How long is that going to take?" Harry asked skeptically.

"It will take time, Mr. Potter." Darkwater replied carefully, seeing the stormy look on Harry's face. "What did Fudge know, and when did he know it? Was he Imperiused or threatened? Certainly Umbridge was capable of that. Who else besides Umbridge was acting on his authority, or claiming to? Did he order crimes, or simply turn a blind eye to them? We have a very dense thicket of secrets and lies to hack our way through."

Harry restrained a very strong urge to hammer on the table and tell her to get on with it. As his temper receded a little, he had to admit that Darkwater had a point. Umbridge had been an arrogant lunatic who thought she was untouchable. Not everyone was that mad.

"Very well." He said grudgingly. "Ensure that you hack diligently."

Darkwater visibly decided to venture into dangerous waters. "I am doing my best at a very thankless job, Mr. Potter. There are those in the Chamber, Fudge's former allies among them, who want this investigation to be as narrow and brief as possible lest it unearth things they want to keep buried. There are others who want to use it as a hammer to destroy their enemies. I am working to be as fair as I can, so that it is neither a whitewash nor a witch hunt."

Harry said nothing, but his cold measuring look said quite plainly that he was considering how much, if any, trust he could put in her word.

Darkwater bit her lip, then went on. "You will no doubt ask why I did nothing before this. It is a fair question, and I will answer it. I was being blackmailed by Dolores Umbridge."

Harry looked startled. Darkwater pushed on. "She had evidence and witnesses to point to wrongdoing on my part. The evidence was manufactured and the witnesses were lying, but it was very plausible. I do not ask you to take my word for it. I will testify under Veritaserum if you wish."

Harry sat there for a long silent moment, then nodded slowly. Fear. He knew very well the corrosive effects of living in fear. He could certainly believe that people would fear Umbridge. Everyone at Hogwarts certainly had.

"That will not be necessary, Madam Darkwater. I do want to know how your investigation goes on. I have had enough of being kept in the dark." He said firmly.

"You have every right to attend Wizengamot sittings, Mr. Potter. I will notify you of the sittings at which Ethics Committee reports are presented, if you like." Darkwater said, mildly.

"Yes, I would like." Harry said definitely. "Please do so."

"Mr. Potter." Madam Bones said, careful to speak as to an equal after her earlier slip. "I have already opened an investigation into Umbridge's prior activities. As it is in progress, I cannot divulge details. I can tell you that she made a statement, and we are following up on that."

"You believe a word that woman said? What does it matter, anyway? Umbridge is in Azkaban." Harry said dismissively.

"So she is." Madam Bones replied equably. "As to believing what she said, the statement was made under Veritaserum. Leaving aside her own crimes, there are things that need looking into. Were the Blood Quills the only dark artifacts she created? How many other people were her victims before you and the students of Hogwarts? Did she act alone, and if not who were her accomplices? We cannot change the past, but we can make such amends as we can and try not to make bad worse."

Harry bowed his head, feeling shamed that he had thought only of his own grievances as his own words came back to him. Then his head came back up as another thought occurred to him.

"Hang on, if her statement was made under Veritaserum, what's the problem?" Harry said.

"Veritaserum causes people to tell the truth as they believe it to be. If someone is lied to by someone they trust and believe, they will repeat that lie thinking it is the truth. For that matter, Umbridge sincerely believed that she was the best and wisest person in Britain, and that Dumbledore was the threat to Britain, not Voldemort. She said that, repeatedly, in her statement." Bones replied.

Harry chewed on that thought, not liking it very much but having to believe it.

"All the claims in that statement need to be corroborated, and that will not be a short or easy job. Like Madam Darkwater, I will try to be as fair as I can. When all this is done, I would like to be able to say that I did not add to the number of Umbridge's victims."

Madam Bones turned to Greengrass. "I intend to follow that investigation wherever it may lead. Does the Minister's office have a problem with that?"

The Speaker gave her look for look. "Madam Bones, any direction from the Minister's office regarding what you may or may not investigate is hereby rescinded forthwith on my authority as Acting Minister. Your charter is your mandate. Enforce the law. You will have that in writing tomorrow morning."

That pretty much ended the political part of the dinner. Harry enjoyed the dessert, a trifle. The conversation over the trays of fruit and cheeses was kept light, with reminiscences of Dumbledore's life and career salted among lighter topics.

The dinner broke up by mutual consent, and Harry was glad enough to go back to their suite. He sat in one of the comfortable armchairs and closed his eyes. Dinner with the Minister. Important people asking his opinion and telling him that it mattered. No doubt there were people who would envy him. Right now he was just very tired. He hoped that he hadn't said or done something stupid that would be all over the Daily Prophet in the morning.

He didn't really know what he was going to say at Dumbledore's service tomorrow. He supposed that he should be thinking about that, but he didn't have the energy. He couldn't just let go, though. He had a growing feeling of urgency. There was something he had to do, something very important, and it could not be delayed very long.

His first thought was Voldemort, but this was not Riddle. He knew the vile feeling of Riddle's mind. He had had it in his own. His training in Occulumency allowed him to visualize his his scar as a gate like the tall heavy gates of Hogwarts. That gate remained closed and secure. This was something else. There was the feeling of great power held in restraint.

I'm tired. He thought. Tomorrow. He felt a sensation like an understanding nod. The urgency receded and he could go to his room, throw off his robes, and collapse into the sleep of exhaustion.

Chapter 9: Chapter 9 Test of a Just Man

Chapter 9 Test of a Just Man

Author's Note: One of my guest reviewers called my attention to a slip in the timeline in this chapter, which has now been fixed. Thanks.
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Harry awoke to the knock of a steward announcing breakfast. He looked around, realizing that he was very hungry. The robes he had dropped haphazardly on the floor last night were nowhere to be seen, but there was a bathrobe hanging on a hanger on the door of the wardrobe. He slid out of bed and put it on, put on his glasses and put his wands in the pocket on the lapel, then opened the door.

Professor McGonagall was already at the table, fully dressed and with a cup of tea in front of her. "Good morning, Mr. Potter. Feeling better, I trust?"

Harry sat and poured himself a cup of tea. "Better rested, I suppose, ma'am."

He served himself bacon and eggs and potatoes and began eating hungrily.

"I thought you did very well yesterday, Mr. Potter." Minerva said as she began eating her own breakfast. Hers was a bowl of oatmeal.

Harry took off his glasses, then put them back on. "Negotiating concessions from the Ministry in exchange for not leading a rebellion was not what I expected."

"Which speaks to your credit." Minerva replied. "You kept your temper. The points that you brought up were entirely reasonable ones." She smiled wryly. "We teach our students, and one day our students teach us. I don't know if I could have been as reasonable in your place."

Minerva took a sip of her tea. "You could have demanded Darkwater be replaced and she probably would have been. May I ask why you did not?"

Harry put his teacup down. "I can't say that I like her, but she had the courage to speak the truth. That's more than a lot of people can say these days."

Minerva nodded. "But you will be watching, and she knows that you will be watching."

Harry nodded, but looked puzzled.

"That's a standard move in politics, Harry. There is a saying that the threat is more effective than its execution. In this case, by sitting in the visitor's gallery of the Wizengamot you can remind her that justice must be done, and it must be seen to be done."

"Why would they pay attention to me and not to Dumbledore?" Harry asked.

"They did pay attention to Dumbledore." Minerva replied. "The struggle against Voldemort consumed … much. As you said, Albus had to make terrible choices. The fear of Voldemort twisted and poisoned our politics. Trust in law, trust in each other was lost. People do trust in you and your integrity."
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Harlan Greengrass was also breakfasting, with his wife. Miranda was also his political right hand. She was not in a good mood. "Harlan, you practically gave away the family manor, and what did you get for it?"

"I could have wound up getting a lot less, Miranda. That he came to the table was important in itself. Thanks for arranging that, by the way. How did you manage it?"

"Through McGonagall. She was able to talk him around on the condition that she was there also." Miranda replied, a little mollified at the reminder of a skillful and successful move.

"It paid off. We have his endorsement for the new Headmistress of Hogwarts. I owled the Chair of the Board of Governors last night. They'll hold the meeting this morning and announce it right away. That's the epicentre of this earthquake. Whatever else, we had to deal with that."

Miranda had to concede that point. "Well, yes." she said grudgingly. "You didn't have to tell him how much influence he has."

Harlan wasn't surprised. Miranda was a veteran of decades of political maneuvering. It was deeply ingrained in her nature to keep her cards face down until she had to play them. Giving them away she would only regard as a new girl's foolishness. Where Potter was concerned, that would be a mistake.

"Potter is a novice at politics, Miranda, but that doesn't make him a fool. He's bright, learns quickly, and he's a survivor. He has McGonagall to advise him. She was Dumbledore's deputy, don't forget. One way or another we're going to be dealing with him for a long time. Trust and goodwill are a long way down the road, but we've made a start. It could easily have gone the other way."

Miranda frowned. It went deeply against her grain to deal with unknown quantities, and Potter was about as predictable or controllable as accidental magic. He certainly had no regard for the balance of power in the Wizengamot.

That balance had been violently upended. There would be many to seek advantage in that disorder, especially with the fall of Fudge. Umbridge had been ripped out of the political scene like a rotten tooth, and the threats she had held over many heads no longer inspired fear. That maneuvering had started as soon as Harlan had declared the result of the vote of confidence. Alliances of long standing had been shattered. Powerful people were looking to settle old scores.

She moved on to another thing that was bothering her. "Those inquiries and investigations aren't going to make you very popular, Harlan. Voldemort is gone. The Death Eaters are dead. There are a lot of people who are going to say that the war is over and slumbering dragons should be let lie."

He put his fork down. Harlan knew his wife well enough to see the fear that she did not speak aloud. "We're a long spellcast past politics as usual, Miranda. We're still in the middle of a war. Not all the Death Eaters are dead, just the marked ones. We know they had people in the Ministry. They were gathering an army, and it may be headless and divided but it's not gone. Fudge and Umbridge between them were systematically destroying the will and the means to resist. I didn't put us in any more danger than we were in already. How long would we have survived if Voldemort had taken over?"

His expression turned determined as he saw her nod reluctant agreement. "Those people tried just sweeping everything under the rug after the last war. Look where that got us. No. I got the short straw on this shambles, and I'm going to clean house and hold people accountable. Everyone wants to just dance in the sun and say 'Boy Who Lived saved us all again.' and let off fireworks. Potter and Dumbledore bought us a chance, that's all. We squandered the last one. I'm not going to squander this one. Atonement. I've got that to do too."

"What does Potter want?" Miranda burst out irritably. In politics people had agendas. You needed to know those agendas to deal with them effectively. She didn't understand Potter's and that bothered her deeply.

"I'm not sure he has an agenda, beyond banning the use of torture. He'd had enough. He wanted us supposedly responsible adults to act like it." Harlan replied. "Done's done, but you're right that we need to know more about him. There's a larger problem here."

"What's that?" Miranda said, warily.

"The Elder Wand was not the only bequest that Potter received from Dumbledore."

Harlan took a deep breath. "I need to tell you something that I've never said before. I know what the source of Dumbledore's power was. It was an artifact that allowed him to tap into the magic of the Realm directly, use it as his own without any limits. It was created by Merlin, and passed down through his successors to Dumbledore, and now Potter. That artifact is called the Crown of the Warlock." Harlan replied.

"Merlin protect us all." Miranda said, shocked to the core. "What was he thinking, to put that power in the hands of a teenage boy? Who knows about it?"

"I expect he thought that he was dying, Miranda." Her husband replied reasonably. "As to who knows, McGonagall, me, now you, Potter himself, a few others at Hogwarts. Others may suspect, to be sure."

"Why did you keep this from me?" She said, sharply.

"Dumbledore bound me to silence. I'm reasonably sure that the Crown was the 'power the Dark Lord knows not' that the Prophecy spoke of. Knowing it would have put you in danger, too." He said.

"What does the rest of the ICW Security Council know?" She asked as she began to regain her balance and consider the larger picture. Now she knew that there was a reason, beyond tradition, for Dumbledore's long tenure as Britain's representative on the ICW Security Council.

She realized that Harlan had been right. Potter's good will was not a luxury, but a crucially important necessity and would be so for a long time.

"They know of the death of Dumbledore, officially. What else they may know or suspect …" He shrugged. "You will get your wish, Miranda. Potter cannot use the powers of the Crown until he undergoes and passes the Test of Merlin."

"The Test of Merlin?" She said.

"That's all I know, Miranda. Tradition says that Merlin watches over the Realm still, and ensures that the holders of the Crown of the Warlock are worthy to hold it and remain so." Harlan said.

"I hope Merlin does a good job protecting us all." She replied tartly.

Harry was well breakfasted, clean and shaven and dressed in his best school robes. He had thought to spend some time working on his eulogy for Dumbledore. The last words of the man who had been in great part his father kept coming between him and the parchment. He straightened up having only written a few words.

"What do I say?" He said to no one in particular.

Minerva McGonagall was working at her desk at the same task. She looked up. "I fear that I am achieving little myself. Great men, heroes by any reckoning. Flawed men, who made mistakes. They fought a long secret war with death at their elbow everyday for years on end that we might walk in freedom."

"But they were people. He liked sweets. Some of them bit back." Harry replied.

"Indeed. How do you sum up a life?" Minerva said. Harry nodded.

Harry stretched. He had been sitting here for a while and he was feeling stiff. With that he realized that there was something else that was coming between between him and this task. That sense of urgency that he had felt before was getting stronger again.

"Professor, there's something I need to do." He closed his eyes. "I don't think I can put it off much longer."

Can you not grant the boy a little time to grieve? Minerva thought irritably.

She did not expect the answer that came to her mind, its controlled power like bottled thunder. There must be one to hold the Crown, else the Realm stands in grave peril. Needs must, and there is no time.

Harry's shocked expression told her that he had heard it too. "Who was that, Professor?"

"Merlin, I think." She said carefully.

"What?" He said, looking confused.

She raised a hand, and said, "I thought we would have more time before you needed to do this. As I told you, the Crown of the Warlock is what made Albus the most powerful wizard in the world. He gave it to you because he considered that you should be the one to hold that power."

"Me? Why me?" Harry asked.

"He trusted you." Minerva said simply.

"I don't feel any different." Harry said uneasily.

"No, you wouldn't." She said. "You can't use the power of the Crown until you pass the Test of Merlin."

"What sort of test is it?" He said warily.

"I don't know. Albus took that secret with him." She said. "I would say that it is not the sort of test that you need to study for. The Sorting Hat measures your qualities. Perhaps it is something like that."

He stood silent for a minute or so, then patted his pockets to ensure that he had his wands, a quill and parchment notebook, as a man would before going out to work. "Well, let's get this done."

The two Aurors standing guard at the door fell into step with them as they came out the door. "Where are we going, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked back at the one who had spoken and realized, rather shamefacedly, that he didn't know either of their names. "I'm sorry. I haven't asked your names, and that was inconsiderate of me."

"Wulfric Clearwater, Mr. Potter. No worries. You've 'ad a bit on your mind." Harry would have shaken hands, but Clearwater's hand was on his wand and he was scanning the hallway.

"Brian Duncan, Mr. Potter." The other introduced himself. They were rather opposites in appearance. Clearwater was a tall man, blond-haired and muscular. Duncan was short, dark-haired and built like a fireplug. Both of them wore formal Auror's robes.

"We're going down to the Round Table Room, gentlemen." Professor McGonagall said. "It's right by the old Wizengamot chamber in the North Tower."

"That area's closed off, mum." Duncan said.

"To the public, certainly." McGonagall replied equably. "Mr. Potter has ... business there."

Harry was glad that someone knew the way, though he could feel a tug that he could have followed.

They went down two flights of stairs and turned right into what Harry had no trouble realizing was the older - much older - part of the building. The stonework was rough and massive. There was visible evidence of wear from generations of feet and hands in some places. They went through an arch into what was clearly the base of a tower. Minerva cast a Lumos as they came to the end of the lighted public area, and held her wand high to light their way.

Following the tug in his head, Harry turned left toward another arch that had two torches - no, magical flames - lighting the area. The flames cast dancing shadows along the rough stone walls.

Harry felt strong wards around this arch, but nothing harmful or hostile. He stepped through unimpeded, but Minerva and the Aurors slammed into an invisible barrier as unyielding as the stone walls themselves.

Startled, he stopped and looked back. "This is as far as we can go, Harry." Minerva said with a brief smile. "We will await you."

He nodded. He had gone it alone before. Voldemort was not at the end of this passage, at least. The passageway was curved and after a few steps he lost sight of Professor McGonagall and could see only the rough stone passage lit by torches. He could hear no sound except for his footfalls and his own breathing. The magic torches made no sound at all. It was chilly, and he was glad of his warm robes.

The sensation in his head had changed from urgency to watchful waiting. He came to another archway, but this one was closed by massive wooden double doors bound with heavy iron straps. He slowed, uncertain as to what he should do, but the doors swung silently open at his approach to reveal the room behind them.

As he stepped forward he felt more wards on this chamber. There were old and powerful wards of protection, ones that prevented almost all use of magic, and one that ensured no one would speak anything but the truth in this room.

The room was a large one, lit by torches as the corridor had been. The ceiling was lost in the shadows. Down the centre was a long wooden table of hand-hewn timbers. At its head, facing Harry, was a tall imposing man with long white hair and beard dressed in plain grey robes of coarse weave. A long ornately carved staff leaned against the high seat from which he looked down upon Harry. Along each side of the table were seated men and women dressed in clothing from many periods of history, both from the wizarding and muggle worlds.

As Harry looked down the row of faces, he saw one that he recognized with a leap of his heart. "Professor!" It was Dumbledore, looking as he had before the battle with Voldemort.

"Harry, I hope you are all right. I am not really here. We are memories of those who have held the Crown before you. Fear naught. No harm will befall you in this chamber, but there is an important decision to be made." The familiar voice was gentle, as he remembered it.

Harry blinked back tears. He did not know if it was kindness or cruelty that magic could bring back the image of those who you loved after they were gone to speak with you as they had in life.

The man at the head of the table rose and took up his staff, striking the stone floor with the metal shod butt of his staff three times. He spoke in that same voice of bottled thunder Harry had heard before.

"We, the Guardians of the Realm of Britain are here met in conclave. This council is now in session. I am Merlin Ambrosius, called the War Lock, who first fashioned the Crown and took up the duty to put down war in this isle and unite it under the rule of just law."

He looked down the table. "Albus Dumbledore. You have bestowed upon Harry James Potter the Crown of a Just Man. Speak to the deeds of his life that make him worthy of such a trust."

Dumbledore stood in his turn. "Harry James Potter was orphaned at fifteen months of age by the murder of his parents. The murderer fell upon his own deed, for his mother laid down her life willingly to protect her son and so his own spell came back upon him. He came to the household of his muggle relatives, so that the protection that his mother had died to give him might continue. That was an ill choice, Master Merlin, and the fault is mine."

Harry made to speak, but he fell silent at Merlin's imperious gesture.

"Despite being neglected and ill-treated, when he came to Hogwarts at eleven he was not bitter or vengeful. He made friends, showed promise, and gained leadership by exemplary conduct. Even at that young age he was quick to stand up against others being ill-treated."

Harry stood and listened, feeling rather embarrassed, as Dumbledore told of the Philosopher's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets and the other adventures that he and his friends had been through. He didn't think of himself as a hero, and he would not have been able to succeed without the help and support of his friends.

Dumbledore came to the account of when they had risen against Umbridge, which was brief and factual. "Mr. Potter and his followers might easily have slain Umbridge and her minions, but they did not. Rather they brought them alive before the bar of justice with evidence of their crimes and testimony thereto."

Harry felt the gaze of Merlin upon him. "Umbridge lay at your mercy, defeated and disarmed, and yet you slew her not. Why?"

It was no effort for Harry to tell the truth about that. "That would have been murder, Master Merlin. That would have been selling myself to the dark arts. I have had that temptation put in front of me before, and I refused it. Voldemort and Umbridge did that, and they did not profit in the end."

"Say on, Master Potter." Merlin commanded.

"The night that Pettigrew was unmasked, I could have had vengeance on the man who betrayed my parents to their deaths by saying nothing and doing nothing. The two men who hated him most in all the world would have killed him for me and his blood would not have been on my hands. I spoke out, and so Pettigrew lived. I gained nothing from that night, but I did not sell my soul for revenge." Harry said as steadily as he could.

He remembered the bright hope that he had felt that night. The hope that he could have family who cared for him and never have to go back to the Dursleys. The hope that had turned to ashes when Pettigrew had escaped. It had cost him to do the right thing.

"You knew that temptation, Master Potter, did you not? Anger and fear prompted you to ensure that she could harm no one else ever again, did they not?" The question did not come from Merlin, but from another man of middle height dressed in dark robes seated well down the table, who stood to ask his question.

"Yes, I did." Harry replied shortly.

"How do we know that the next time, or the time after that, you will not yield to that temptation?"

"A wise man taught me that it is our choices that define us. Let me be judged on my choices." Harry said.

"Fairly said." Merlin said, in the manner of one passing judgment. The questioner nodded and resumed his seat.

"Master Potter, despite thy young age thou hast seen many fights against the odds. Did thou fight for fame or glory or reward or, mayhap, the pleasure of fighting?" The man who rose to ask that question was a forbidding figure. His right hand lacked two fingers and his left eye was covered by a patch. He was plainly dressed and armed with a broadsword as well as his wand.

Harry seethed for a moment, then set his jaw. "No."

He'd been famous since the first time he walked into the wizarding world, whether he wanted it or not, and had never enjoyed it. What reward? For fighting Voldemort alone and bringing the warning of his return he had been rewarded with scorn and disbelief and Umbridge's torments.

"Who in their right mind enjoys fighting?" He burst out. For Harry it had never been anything but deadly dangerous business, to be done when there was no other choice.

"Some do, Master Potter, nor are they necessarily evil or mad for that." was the cool reply, and the questioner seated himself again.

"Granted that you acted with good motives, Master Potter," came a question from a woman in witch's robes closer to his end of the table. "But did you consider the consequences of your actions, one of those consequences being the death of your mentor and friend in a battle precipitated by your actions?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut with hurt. He could not deny that what he had done had led to that battle.

"I ask leave to speak to that question, Master Merlin." Harry heard Dumbledore's mellow voice as he had heard it so many times before. Evidently Merlin assented, because he continued.

"It is unjust to lay the responsibility for my death upon Harry Potter. I made my own decisions. Long since had I given up hope of surviving that war. At best I might hope that my death would buy victory, as in the event it did. The quest to find Voldemort's horcruxes held many perils. I might easily have died and thereby failed along that road. Mr. Potter reminded me of my duty. That I died doing that duty is the common epitaph of all at this table."

"When is the right time to act against injustice, ma'am? I did as I thought was right." Harry said, forcing himself to open his eyes and look back at the woman.

"It is not my intent to hurt you in your loss, Mr. Potter." The woman said, in a more kindly voice. "The bearer of the Crown holds great power, and forethought is part of using such power responsibly." She looked at him searchingly for a moment, then nodded and sat.

Another man stood. He was richly dressed in a style that reminded Harry of pictures he had seen of the court of Elizabeth I. "In that battle perished one of thine own allies, Severus Snape. Thou may again be put to making such decisions. Can you? Indecision is as much a flaw as rashness."

"I have made decisions that risked the lives of my friends." Harry replied, remembering the night they had gone down after the Philosopher's Stone and when they had gone into the Chamber of Secrets to rescue Ginny. "I did not force them to go with me, or lie to them, or keep secrets from them."

A man who Harry had seen in the paintings of Dumbledore's office, one of the former Headmasters of Hogwarts, stood to speak. "Speak to thy skills and thy knowledge, Master Potter. The Crown was fashioned to be powerful, not forgiving. Wield its power unskillfully and thou, and indeed the Realm, may well pay a heavy forfeit."

Harry described his studies and the spells he had mastered, ending with the Patronus Charm. His questioner did not look impressed. Others did, though, when he said that. He described the training of Dumbledore's Army. His questioner nodded. "Thou hast the ability to learn and to teach. Thou hast yet much to learn."

"Master Potter," Another woman stood to speak. She was a tall elderly woman who reminded him of Professor McGonagall. "By taking up the Crown you take up the responsibility to guard the Realm while you live or until you bestow it on another. Are you willing to bear that responsibility?"

For a moment Harry was tempted to say no. Then he smiled grimly. As if he had ever had any choice in that since he was fifteen months old.

"I will bear that responsibility for the rest of my life whatever is decided here, ma'am." He replied politely.

There was a rustle of surprised comments and exclamations along the table. Merlin struck the floor with his staff, and silence fell.

"Say on, Master Potter." he commanded.

Harry stood straight, bracing himself to continue. "When Riddle - Voldemort as he called himself - sought to become immortal he made horcruxes, pieces of his soul torn off by dark magic and stored in objects so that he could never die unless they were destroyed. Two have been found and destroyed, four remain missing, and one is here."

Harry tapped his scar. "It was made by accident when he murdered my parents. It is the only means by which he can speak to anyone from the prison where Professor Dumbledore shut him. I must be watchful that he does not invade my mind. He alone knows where the missing horcruxes are and what protections surround them, so perhaps I can get that information from him in time. Then they can be destroyed and he will die when I do."

There was a buzz of comment and conversation, in which he heard the phrase 'two edged sword' several times. One man stood to speak. "Master Potter, speak, if you will, of your skills in Occlumency."

Harry briefly described his training with Professor Snape. "My skills are adequate to guard my mind, but my mentor urged me to complete my mastery of it. Since I value my sanity I intend to do so."

A woman who looked to be only a few years older than Harry himself stood and said, "A man is measured by his friends and his enemies. Thine enemies we know of. Speak of thy friends."

"Albus Dumbledore was my mentor and my friend, and I was privileged to know him." Harry said simply. "He bore the Crown for many years and died defending us all."

"Hermione Granger is my friend. She is smarter than me, and better read than ... anyone else I know. It was her idea to take Umbridge before the court. She is, as it happens, muggle born. She stands up for others. When she found out about house elves she wanted to help them."

"Is she thy leman?" The woman asked bluntly.

Harry looked puzzled for a moment, but Dumbledore looked up at him and mouthed "Girlfriend."

"Oh, no." Harry said, a little flustered. "We're just friends."

"Ron Weasley is my loyal friend. He has stood by me in a good number of those fights against the odds. He comes of a good family, not rich or famous or powerful but kind and loving. They accepted me and showed me what a family could and should be. He comes by his courage honestly. His father and mother both fought in the wars."

"Have they faults?" Was the next question, in that same blunt tone.

"Of course they do, as do I." Harry replied. "Hermione is impatient with those who aren't as smart and well read as she is, which is most people." He smiled briefly as he remembered her with her wand in Malfoy's face during the Chamber of Secrets. "She has a temper."

"Ron can be jealous and stubborn, and over protective of his sister."

Merlin struck the floor with his staff. "Hath anyone at this table a further question for Master Potter?"

The answer was silence. Merlin swept his gaze around the table, then nodded. "Shall Harry James Potter be confirmed as the bearer of the Crown of a Just Man and Warlock of Britain?"

"All those in favour?" Merlin said. Wands lit along the table, the majority as far as Harry could see. Dumbledore voted for him.

"Opposed?" There were a few wands, not very many.

Merlin struck the floor of the chamber three times with his staff, and said, "Harry James Potter is proclaimed Warlock of Britain, Bearer of the Crown of a Just Man, Guardian of the Realm."

He looked down at Harry. "Raise your wand, Master Potter."

Harry drew the Elder Wand and held it up. He felt a great flood of power wash around and through him. It was like the feeling when he had taken up his first wand, but many times more powerful.

"So mote it be." Merlin decreed.

Merlin smiled down on him. "Welcome to the brotherhood of this Conclave, Master Potter. If thou needest advice of us, we are always here. Such help and knowledge we can aid you with is at your disposal."

Harry rubbed his scar. Since he had come to the knowledge of what it was, the worry about whether he could keep Voldemort out of his mind had never been far from him. "I don't think that I know enough Occlumency."

Merlin smiled. "Our powers outside this chamber are limited, Master Potter. The power of the Crown is thine, not ours. That small matter we can attend to in thy stead."

He swept his arm toward the members of the Conclave. "Who here will volunteer to stand that watch?"

Every witch and wizard at the table raised their wand, and a fierce warlike shout rang through the chamber.

Merlin smiled again. "Set thy mind at ease, Master Potter. An this Riddle varlet learns humility, we shall bring you that news."

Chapter 10: Chapter 10 Warlock

Chapter 10 Warlock

From the door of the Round Table Room back to the archway where Professor McGonagall and the Aurors waited was not a long walk in normal terms, but after the grilling he had been through it felt long. He stepped back through the warded archway and said, "Well, I'm back."

Minerva saw that there was no need to ask of the result of the test he had undergone. The Crown of a Just Man glowed above his head and the aura of its power shimmered around him.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter." She said.

"Glad to be back." He said, and led on down the corridor. "What time is it?"

She glanced at her watch, an old mechanical that she wore as a brooch on her robes. "Lunchtime, Mr. Potter."

Lunch. He had just stood before the Conclave of the Guardians of Britain, before the high seat of Merlin himself, and taken up that responsibility. He, Harry Potter, was now the most powerful wizard in the world. Most powerful did not mean the wisest or most learned.

"Lunch would be good. I'm hungry."

They had lunch in the Executive Dining Room, with Duncan and Clearwater standing by the table, hands close to their wands. Professor McGonagall had a bowl of soup and thick slices of buttered bread. Harry was truly hungry and had steak and kidney pie.

Harry had time to think about the test he had just gone through. "Professor, why was it so urgent that this be done now? Voldemort is done for. Surely there was time."

Minerva looked up from her soup. That was a simple question, but it did not have a simple answer. Harry lacked the background that would have made it easier for him to understand. Certainly he needed to. That his eager mind had been starved all those years was one more crime to be laid at the door of the Dursleys, and one more sin of omission on her own account. Atonement for that would be a long time coming, but she could refrain from repeating that blunder.

"It would be good if we could rejoice in the fall of Voldemort and walk off into the sunset of a happy ending and a time of peace. Would that it were so. It is not. Riddle is imprisoned, not dead. The search for his horcruxes must go on if ever we are to see the end of that menace. Even then there will be those of his followers who escaped the net. There are other nations in the wizard world that are not our friends. The moment news of Dumbledore's death came to them they would plan to use it to their own ends."

Harry sat still with his fork above his plate. "There were things that Voldemort didn't dare to do because he was afraid of Dumbledore. You're telling me that there were other people who didn't … attack us because of Dumbledore."

"It's more complex than that, Harry, but, yes, Dumbledore did deter some ruthless powerful people. There is a great chess game among nations for advantage. Dumbledore was Britain's queen on that board. Now, you are."

Harry took a deep breath. "Needs must." Merlin had said. That was his life, really.

"All right. I'm going to need to know more about this. Not now, though." He set to on the rest of his lunch.

As they were leaving the dining room he looked down at his robes. "I'm going to have to change before the ceremony."

At Minerva's inquiring glance, he said "I don't think that school robes are right for the ceremony. Not now." He looked down again. "Besides, I got gravy on these."

They went up to the suite and Harry changed into the formal robes that he had bought for the Yule Ball, sending a steward for a black armband. As he looked in the mirror, he remembered the crippling shyness that he had felt then. He couldn't show that now. He had to look strong, confident and in control. Of course, he was giving a speech, not asking out a girl.

By the time they got to the Atrium, where the service was being held, they were in good time to be seated but with little to spare. The service was non-denominational, which was apparently in accord with Dumbledore's wishes. He sat through the invocations of a life to come and hoped that they were true for his mentor's sake. When it came time for him to speak he took out the piece of parchment with his notes on it, few as they were, and decided that Professor McGonagall's advice was good and he was going to take it.

He spoke of the man he had known, great matters and small as they came to him, the fury of the final battle and how close run it had been.

"The last words he said to me were that atonement was beyond his powers, but that he had made such poor amends as he could. Not alone did the long struggle against Voldemort take his life, but it ate away at his conscience as he made terrible choices between bad and worse in the hope, and it was only that, that good might come of them in the end."

He paused, then took a deep breath and continued. "To truly honour his memory we should stand together against evil, not hide our heads while it builds its strength by preying upon the innocent. I have taken up the trust that Dumbledore bequeathed to me, Warlock of Britain. Where I see a threat to the Realm or injustice done, I will speak out, and I will act."

Minerva watched as the Crown glowed to life above his head and the aura of its power shimmered around him. Dumbledore had never displayed the Crown in public, never referred to the trust he held except obliquely even with his closest friends and associates. She had never known why, but she had assumed that secrecy was grained into his character after so many years of silent conflict in the shadows. The title was on his letterhead with the other honours he had accumulated in a long lifetime, but there had always been the misleading implication that it was one more title, of no great importance. Changing the title to Chief Warlock had been part of that misdirection. There was only one Warlock of Britain.

The new Warlock of Britain was evidently of a very different mind. That news would go abroad as fast as magic could carry it. To be sure, it was now pretty plain to her that "the power that Voldemort knew not" spoken of in the Prophecy had been the power of the Crown. Many people would now know that Harry now held that power.

Minerva saw the glances that came her way. Of course, she had come here with him and he listened to her. That made her a trusted advisor, in some minds power behind the throne or even puppet master. That had fallen on her even as the Crown had come to Harry. Well, all she could do was to tell the truth as she knew it and never, ever abuse that influence.

The limits of that power were sharper than many who were here would be willing to believe. They saw a schoolboy. They did not see the sharp intellect and the iron will that had brought him here, alive and sane, though all that he had endured. Well, that wand could point both ways. If those people wanted to underestimate Harry, they could find out the cost of their error for themselves.
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A man sat alone in a darkened room in Russia, reading a letter that had come to him by swift and secret means from his agent in the British Ministry of Magic. He finished it, rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then re-read it carefully from the beginning. Much had happened in a short time in Britain. The death of the old Warlock had made for a window of opportunity, but that window had been too brief to be useful. Someone had been well aware of the peril attached to such a delay.

Still, there might yet be opportunity here. The power of the Warlock had come to a boy, scarcely more than a child. That was unexpected. He would have expected that choice to fall upon McGonagall. Clever, an accomplished and powerful witch in her own right, and Dumbledore's trusted right hand. That was not the only unexpected action on Dumbledore's part, to be sure. Dumbledore had been a chessmaster, a man who had played the long game with consummate skill and patience. To stake all on a single bold stroke was wholly unlike him.

Sufficiently great threat or opportunity might compel swift action. What might have impelled Dumbledore to act was not knowable, but he was now in a similar position himself. There was a move afoot in the Security Council of the International Confederation of Wizards that posed a deadly threat to Russia, more even than its sponsors knew. So long as Britain was preoccupied with the threat from within, that move could be delayed indefinitely with relatively little cost and risk. That threat was now gone.

The man re-read the letter, including the speech the new Warlock had given at his predecessor's funeral. It did not make comforting reading. McGonagall was certainly one of Potter's advisers as she had been to Dumbledore. Who his other advisers might be, and how much he listened to them, was unknown. A young activist Warlock would be less inclined to patience and restraint, and he would in addition have an example of success by swift decisive action fresh in his mind. The sponsors of that move against Russia could do that calculation just as well as he could. He had now come to the point where greater risks were justified - unavoidable, even.

The outlines of a plan to forestall such action formed in the man's mind. He took quill and parchment and began drafting letters. The first was to the agent in the British Ministry. The next was to the Chief of the Cheka, the feared secret service that was the sword and shield of Russia against foes within and without.

Dealing with the Cheka carried costs and risks as well. The internal politics of Russia were ferocious beyond the imagination of outsiders. What he wanted would come at a cost, but if the necessity was urgent enough the risk and cost would be worth it. He was now certain that such necessity existed.

The man flicked his wand and the letters flew away. So, it begins.

Chapter 11: Chapter 11 New Defence Teacher

Chapter 11 New Defence Teacher

Things had calmed down a little at Hogwarts since the turmoil of Umbridge's arrest and all that had followed it. Harry was back at Hogwarts and trying to get back into the rhythm of classes and homework.

There was a new urgency there. He was now aware that there were a lot of things he needed to know, and he needed to know them a lot more thoroughly.

The new schedule of classes was temporary, and there had already been some changes. The new Potions teacher had arrived yesterday. Horace Slughorn was well known to be competent, if a bit given to gossip and name dropping.

There was still no name for the Defence teacher, though rumours abounded. Everyone agreed that it would be a brave soul indeed who took up the post considering the mess left in Umbridge's wake, to say nothing of the reputed curse on the position. Umbridge's fate had given that reputation even more weight.

So matters stood when Harry received a request to come to the Headmistress's office after dinner. The note included the password to the entrance of the office. The theme was no longer different types of sweets. Harry had no idea who Harold Bangwell might be, though no doubt Hermione could find out. The carved stone lift took him up to the Headmaster's ... Headmistress's office.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter." Professor McGonagall greeted him. "Please have a seat."

Harry took one of the comfortable chairs and looked around. The office looked different from what it had been when it had been Dumbledore's. The new look reflected McGonagall's much more austere tastes. There was a portrait of Dumbledore there along with the other past Headmasters of Hogwarts. All of them were awake and seemed to be looking at Harry.

Harry reflected that he had not felt even a twinge of the apprehension that most students would feel on being summoned to the Headmistress's office. His relationship with Professor McGonagall had changed greatly. Indeed, the note had not been a summons, but a polite request. She very carefully did not treat him as someone she held authority over. That was just one more of the ways in which his world had changed profoundly.

"Mr. Potter, thank you for coming. I have a problem that I hope you can help me with." Judging by the stacks of parchment on her desk and her look of weary determination, she had a lot of problems.

"Certainly, Professor." Harry replied, genuinely sympathetic. "Anything I can do."

"The Defense Against the Dark Arts programme has been in disarray for years and is now a total shambles, as we both know very well. The last incumbent was not only worthless but an active saboteur, and there were problems for years before that. I have reached out to some possible candidates for the post, but there is not much enthusiasm."

Harry nodded. Not much enthusiasm was no doubt a great understatement.

"I made a request to Amelia Bones for help from MLE, but her plea, certainly well founded, was that the Aurors are badly under strength and overworked. She has even called in retired members to help out."

That was something Harry hadn't thought about, but now that he had he could see the problem. Having taught the subject himself he was beginning to appreciate how much training it took to qualify a new Auror. Spells weren't all of it by a long spellcast, and those alone took time. In order to enforce the law fairly, you had to know it in the first place.

McGonagall put the parchment in her hands down. "The only useful training recently was what you provided to the members of the DA. In order to go forward it would be helpful if you could give me a description of the training regimen you used, the spells you taught, and the degree of success you had."

Harry was a little taken aback at that, since the DA had been first and last about secrecy. Still, Umbridge was gone now and the DA was well known to exist. She wasn't asking for names, so he could speak generally without triggering the contract. That would be all right.

"Well, I had to start by testing skill levels. They varied a lot, as you might imagine." He began. He went on to describe the training sessions. He hadn't really had an overall plan. He'd started at the very basics, like Stupefy and Protego, and hadn't taken anyone's word for their skills. Plenty of practice was needed to make sure that that the spell was cast reliably and accurately, not to mention quickly. Having to take your time to think and prepare was not nearly good enough in a real encounter. Aptitude and self confidence varied a lot, too. Neville Longbottom had needed a lot of help and patience.

"I understand you put a good deal of effort into teaching the Patronus Charm, Mr. Potter. I don't disagree, but I am interested in your reasoning. It is a rather advanced spell." Professor McGonagall asked.

"The time when Dementors weren't seen outside Azkaban are gone, Professor. The Ministry's control over them has been a lot less, and that hasn't gone away with the fall of Voldemort. That charm has saved my life a couple of times. It has other uses as well."

"Quite so." She agreed. "The Unspeakables are rather dubious about any sort of permanent solution to the Dementor problem. How many of the DA can cast a Patronus?"

"Over three quarters." He replied. He had been surprised himself at the level of success. "That's full corporal."

She raised her eyebrows. "Impressive."

Harry nodded his thanks. "Well, ma'am, one thing on my side was that the DA were all volunteers. They were motivated, as well. They were willing to risk Umbridge's punishments, after all."

She nodded judiciously. "Well, Mr. Potter, we come then to the point of this conversation. I would ask you to take up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor. Your initial contract would be to the end of the current school year."

Harry gaped at Professor McGonagall, taken flat aback. "I'm still a student."

"You have proven yourself an able Defence instructor, Mr. Potter. Since you have declined to disband Dumbledore's Army, I will presume that their training will continue. It seems to me only fair and just that that advantage should be shared with the rest of the students of Hogwarts. Personally, you would be paid for what you would be doing in any case. In addition, as a teacher you would be well placed to ensure a proper standard of conduct and deal with any breaches. It goes without saying that you would have my full support in doing so."

Harry managed to keep from gaping at her, while he thought about this wholly unexpected offer. He was free to refuse this offer, of course, but in justice he had no reason to do so. Certainly there was a crying need for good Defence instruction, which he himself had called for. As Professor McGonagall had made clear, if he didn't do it no one else was going to.

Well, Harry, he thought. that's checkmate. You've talked about this. Time to put your wand where your mouth is.

"I would need some assistance from the other instructors to keep up my other courses." He said cautiously.

"Of course, Mr. Potter." Minerva replied with a smile. "Your case may be somewhat unusual, but all Professors at Hogwarts are expected to maintain and upgrade their qualifications. I will have a word with the other teachers, and I am sure they will be supportive. You will of course retain your affiliation with Gryffindor, but I will retain the Head of House position myself. I think you will have enough to be going on with."

Minerva smiled and inwardly added, Any teachers who aren't supportive can be invited to take up the post themselves.

She produced a sheet of parchment. Harry read through it quickly. It was a contract of employment for the rest of the school year, renewable by mutual consent of the parties, for the position of DADA teacher. Teachers were reasonably well paid, though money wasn't really a great concern of his. Well, his life had just taken another unexpected turn. What was new about that?

He pulled out a quill and signed and dated the parchment, then passed it across the desk to Professor McGonagall. She signed it her turn, then smiled. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Potter. I will have the house elves move you into your new room tonight and we will announce your appointment tomorrow morning at breakfast. Please let me know how soon you can restart classes. There is much concern about that."

"Yes, ma'am." He replied automatically.

She smiled again. "Minerva, please, Harry. We are colleagues now. If there are any problems my door is always open to you."

Minerva watched him go out the door, greatly relieved at having found a solution to not one but several of her most pressing and intractable problems. There had been an incredible barrage of owls from the Wizengamot, the Board of Governors, the Ministry and almost everyone with a quill about the DA, almost all saying that it should be disbanded or brought under control to their benefit. The number of useful or practical ideas about how to do so in all of that blizzard of parchment was zero.

Politicians were good at ignoring inconvenient facts, as for example that trying to coerce or intimidate the most powerful wizard in the world wasn't going to work. Persuasion was up against the hard fact that his regard for what they wanted added up to the amount of good cheer in Azkaban.

She scarcely needed reminding of the problems with Defence teaching, which was another issue that politicians and bureaucrats were endlessly going on about while being massively unhelpful in solving a problem that they themselves had in great part created in the first place.

Well, in your face the whole bloody boiling of you. She thought viciously.

Minerva's smile turned predatory. Apolitical doesn't mean idiotic. You've got what you wanted. If you don't like it, too bloody bad and serve you right. You can't have it both ways. If Harry isn't competent then the DA is not a threat, and if it is then he is perfectly well qualified. I'll not be your puppet, and neither will Harry if I have any say in the matter.

She pulled up a fresh sheet of parchment and began to write a press release. If she got it out right away it would be in time for the morning edition of the Prophet. Then she could sleep after a long day. Tomorrow, she was sure, would be another of the same.

Chapter 12: Chapter 12 First Classes

Chapter 12 First Classes

Author's Note: This chapter has been modified. Several of my reviewers have reminded me that Harry was dating Cho Chang during this time, not Ginny Weasley. Thanks to you all.

Harry found himself out in the corridor outside the Headmistress's office working hard to get his head sorted. Professor Harry Potter. Well, that was something he hadn't ever thought he would say. He stood in the corridor trying to decide what he should do next.

He knew the way to the Defense teacher's room. He shook his head. Time enough for that. He headed off for the Gryffindor common room. He was going to have to break the news to his housemates. They deserved that. That was just one of the ways that his life was going to change. Well, he would still be a Gryffindor, just not the same way.

Harry arrived at the Gryffindor common room and gave the password to the Fat Lady. There was a good crowd in the common room, and a warm fire in the fireplace. Hermione and Ron were both there, sitting together and working on a homework assignment.

"Harry! Where have you been?" came from both of them.

He came and sat down with them. "Hermione, Ron. I'm all right. I was in the Headmistress's office."

"Harry, are you in trouble?" Hermione said at once.

"Blimey, Harry …" Ron added.

"No, I'm not in any trouble." Harry said, holding up a hand to stem the flow of questions. "But things have … changed."

He thought for a moment how to break the news. "You know we've all complained about the Defence teachers. The Headmistress wanted to talk to me about that. There's a new Defence teacher just been appointed."

"Blimey, Harry. They actually found someone barking bloody mad enough to take that job?" Ron's carrying voice had every head in the common room turned to pay attention to them and immediate silence fell.

"Well, yes. It's me." Harry said. There was a short stunned silence. Then pandemonium broke loose.

Fred and George looked at each other and then back at Harry. "Brilliant prank, Harry. Even we couldn't do better. Stop taking the mickey out of us and tell us who it is really."

They were interrupted by a group of house elves who were shepherding Harry's trunk and his other personal effects, floating along in a parade. "Professor Potter, sir. Tilly will take good care of all your things. Do you wish your new room cleaned?"

Harry shuddered as he realized just who had been in that room before him. "Yes, please, Tilly. Very thoroughly."

There was another short stunned silence while the column of house elves and possessions went on out the door. Harry looked rueful as another thought came to him. "Sorry, but you're going to have to find another Seeker for the House team. I can't play Quidditch any more."

"It's not going to be the same without you, Harry." Ginny said quietly.

"I know." He said, heavily. "Too many things aren't going to be the same."

He shrugged a little. "It had to be done. Someone had to stand up. Someone has to see to it that we don't get the like of Umbridge again. Dumbledore's gone. I'm what you've got. I'll do my best for you."

Harry sat and talked with his housemates, more of a family than the Dursleys had ever been, with the bittersweet feeling of saying goodbye to them and to a part of himself. Finally he said goodbye one last time.

He glanced at his watch. It wasn't all that late … Oh, good God. Late, oh God I'm going to be late.

He'd been going to meet Cho in the library to help her with some homework, though in truth it was more like an excuse to be together. Cho could get any help she needed from any number of Ravenclaws, probably a lot smarter than he was.

Harry whipped around and headed up the stairs to the Library. Cho was at one of the tables in the corner, and she looked up as he hurried in the door and came over to the table.

"Is something wrong, Harry?" She asked looking concerned and worried.

God, this is going to be hard. Harry thought bitterly. He'd taken this bloody job, with never a thought to what it was going to cost him, or people who cared about him. He hadn't even given Cho a thought.

Right, boyfriend of the bloody century, that's me all right. He added to himself.

"Well, something's happened, Cho. I got called up to the Headmistress's office." He said carefully, trying to be as gentle as he could. All he could do was say it straight out and make it clear that it wasn't her fault.

"Are you in trouble, Harry?" She said at once.

He was, just not the sort she thought it was. "No, I'm not in any trouble. The Headmistress … well, you know how much of a problem there's been with Defense teachers. The short of it is that she offered me the job of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I took it."

"I'm sure you'll be brilliant at it, Harry. You were brilliant with us in the DA." She said warmly.

The kindly supportiveness just made what he had to say a little harder.

"Well, I was mad enough to take the job, so I suppose there's that in my favour." He said. "I'm a teacher now, or at least I will be tomorrow morning. I can't date students, Cho. I'm really sorry about this, but we can't see each other any more. It's not your fault, it's all my fault for being a thoughtless git. Maybe you can find someone who deserves you. God knows I wasn't any bargain."

She sat for a moment, taking in what he had just said. He wouldn't have blamed her if she'd got angry and shouted at him, but she just looked sad. That actually hurt worse.

"I understand, Harry." She said quietly. "You're doing what you have to, for all of us. I wish it wasn't like that, but it is."

"I should go now." Harry said, awkwardly, and got up and left when she said nothing.

Harry felt guilty about feeling relieved that was over. He really had found it very hard trying a boyfriend. He was always afraid that he was going to make a hash of it, or say the wrong thing, or do something that would hurt her. He hadn't the least clue how to do it, and was always afraid that people would laugh at his feeble efforts. The Yule Ball had been a golden memory for some, but for him it was just a reminder of how badly he'd messed up.

The shadow of Cedric Diggory had always hung over them, as well. He'd been there when Cedric died, and that was there even if it had never been mentioned.

He headed off to his new room. The portrait that formed the door to the Defence teacher's room was a fierce looking man, who carried a broadsword as well as a wand.

"Um, … I'm Harry Potter." He said uncertainly.

"Indeed, thou art." He said. "William Marshal, Master Potter. Thy mien is uncertain. Twill not do before thy students."

"I don't know what I was thinking to take this job." Harry said. "I'm way too young for this. What if I get someone killed teaching them the wrong things?"

"I was but little older than thee when I won my spurs, Master Potter, and I had seen a thing or two before that. Do thy best. Angels can do no more. Thy room is ready."

The door swung open and Harry walked in. Looking around, he could see that the room was as large as the one he had shared with half a dozen others. His clothes hung in the closet, and his robes were all clean and pressed, the shoes shone and everything tidy, far more so than he had been able to keep it himself. The walls were bare. There was no trace to say that Umbridge had ever been there.

The quiet was the hardest thing to get used to. He rang the bell for a house elf and left a wake up call. There wasn't going to be the usual cheerful noise of everyone getting up at the same time to wake him tomorrow.

He was already up when Tilly popped in. Today was not a day he could afford to miss breakfast. He wasn't nervous, exactly, much. He made sure that he was as neatly dressed as he could be. Teachers wore robes similar to the students, but with a crest showing the subject they taught instead of the house crest. A teacher only wore the house crest if he or she was the Head of House.

The teachers always breakfasted early, at 6:30. The clock in his room said he had fifteen minutes in hand. He took a deep breath, walked out the door of his room and down the halls and staircases to the Great Hall.

He was in the Great Hall with five minutes to spare, and looked down the long tables of the different houses. Students were starting to filter in and seat themselves in groups of friends. Yesterday he had been one of such a group, the "Golden Trio" some called them. Today … today he walked up to the teacher's table. Professor - Minerva - McGonagall was already there with a cup of tea in front of her. He stopped, uncertain as to which seat he should take.

She greeted him with a smile. "Please, have a seat, Harry. There's no assigned seating." He took the seat beside her, grateful for the answer to one of about a hundred questions he hadn't thought to ask yesterday.

The other teachers filtered in, each of them passing by him and offering a friendly greeting or a word of encouragement. When they were all seated, Headmistress McGonagall stood and said, "Your attention, please. I would like to introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Harry Potter. He has a considerable task in front of him and I will ask all of you to give him your support."

The reaction was mixed. Wild cheering from the Gryffindor tables, rather less from the Slitheryns. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had started cheering late from gobsmacked surprise. Well, he had one thing going for him. He wasn't Umbridge.

At eight the next morning he stood in front of his first class. "Good morning. I'm Professor Harry Potter, your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher …"
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Jane Twelvetrees was as nervous as if she'd been facing a dragon. More, maybe. A dragon was one and done. This might go on for years. She remembered this morning when she'd just been a trainee Auror. She was going to remember it when she was as old as Bathilda Bagshot. If she got that far.

Jane had picked up a copy of the Prophet on the way into the Ministry building, reading the front page in the elevator. She had been as interested as anyone else in the earthquake that had shaken the wizarding world. Umbridge in Azkaban, Fudge out as Minister, You-Know-Who - no, Voldemort - stuck in a sphere of rock like a fly in amber. A lot of celebrating, too. She'd done some of that herself last night.

On arrival at the Auror Training wing of the Ministry building she had reported in to the front security desk as usual. The trainees took it by turns to man the desk. She knew the trainee at the desk slightly. Jill Harbottle was a new trainee, only a couple of months in.

"Hi, Jane. Training is suspended for all second year trainees. You're to be in the auditorium for 9:00 o'clock sharp." She said.

"What's that all about?" Jane had replied. Auror training took two years. All the senior trainees called together was not usual. When it did happen it wasn't likely to be good news.

Jill leaned over. "All I know is that I clocked Minister of Public Safety Amelia Bones and Director MLE Kingsley Shacklebolt in just twenty minutes ago. They went straight up to the Director of Training's office."

"Shacklebolt is DMLE? When did that happen?" Jane asked asked in astonishment. The last she had heard, which was to say yesterday, Rufus Scrimgeour had been Director.

"My army of spies in the Minister's office forgot to tell me about that. I'm very cross with them." Jill said with a smile.

"So you should be." Jane glanced at her watch and decided that her morning tea could wait.

She got there in time to be able to nail herself a half decent seat. A couple of tail-enders wound up standing in the back. Bones lived up to her reputation for punctuality, striding out on to the stage on the dot of nine. She was flanked by Shacklebolt and the Director of Training.

"Good morning, people." Bones said."As you all know, there have been some changes of late. You'll see some internal changes as well, and I'm here to fill you in on those."

She laid down a parchment on the lectern. "First, Rufus Scrimgeour has resigned as DMLE to take a position as Chief Investigator for the Ethics Committee of the Wizengamot. You may well be bumping into him from time to time, and I want you to give him your full cooperation."

There was a short buzz of interest, which quickly subsided as Bones continued. "I've appointed Kingsley Shacklebolt as the new DMLE. In this time of changes I'll ask you to give him your full support. He's going to need it."

She looked up from her notes and swept her stern gaze across the room. "We come now to the part that directly affects you young ladies and gentlemen. We are looking at a very busy time, and we are going to need every wand out on the street. To that end, we are changing the training for Aurors, substantially. The formal training is being cut to eight months from the current two years, after which trainees will be probationary Aurors. They will learn the rest of what they need to know on the street from experienced Aurors with whom they will be partnered. Rabbis, in the traditional definition of the term. The probationary period will be until you are deemed ready by your rabbi, not two years."

The rising hum of surprised comments was cut short again. "That specifically includes you, ladies and gentleman. Please stand, raise your right hands and repeat after me …"

After the mass swearing of the oath, Bones turned over the lectern to Kingsley Shacklebolt and left.

"Congratulations to you all." He said in his deep velvet bass. "Normally, we would have a ceremony to mark this important passage in your lives and careers, while your families watch proudly. These are not normal times. You have the rest of the morning to clear out your lockers, return your equipment and have your badges added to your wands."

Jane and the others had all dreamed of this day, but there had been the comfort of the routine that would give them another year to learn all they needed to know before they were actually out on the street doing the job for real. Now it was on them, as unexpected as a dragon in your locker.

"At noon today there will be a luncheon in the Auror's mess, where you can raise a pint to celebrate your new status, and more importantly, young rooks, meet your rabbis."

Shacklebolt paused to let that sink in, smiled briefly, and added, "Good luck, and good hunting. Be careful out there."

Jane stood in the entrance of the Auror's Mess. It was her first time there, as it would be for all the trainees. Only Aurors were allowed there. Now she was one. A flick of her wand, with its new badge, had let her in.

She looked around the room. It was a long low room, constructed of stone and timber dark with age. There were fireplaces in three of the walls, and a long bar at the far end of the room. Heavy wood tables and comfortable chairs were scattered throughout the room, and it was lit by magic flames in brass lanterns.

She wasn't interested in the decor, though. She was interested in finding one particular face among the patrons at the tables, one who was going to have great sway over her future. Sergeant John Crusher (formerly retired) had been somewhat of a legend among Aurors. There was a plaque among others in the Training Wing, intended no doubt to inspire the trainees, that detailed his very long and distinguished career. Jane simply found it intimidating.

Unlike the formal procedures that had come in of late, the old rules were back in force. A rabbi was solely responsible for his rook. Mentor, teacher and disciplinarian. He decided when your probation was over, or indeed if you were fit to be an Auror at all. His word was law without appeal.

There. Jane thought as she recognized his face from the plaque. She walked over to the table. At that table a big man sat, with a tall tankard of beer in front of him. His head was shaved bald and his big hands had scars on them that hinted at the times Sergeant Crusher had not bothered with his wand to subdue a suspect. His face could have been chiselled from rock.

"Sergeant Crusher, I'm Jane Twelvetrees."

He looked up at her and nodded. "Sit yourself, rook. What do you drink?"

"Red wine, sir."

"Sir is for suspects, rook. They call me Big John." He replied in a rough whisky baritone. "Twenty seven seconds."

She looked back at him, surprised and puzzled.

"Twenty seven seconds to scan an unfamiliar room and recognize someone from a photo. Marks for knowin' what I look like and recognizin' me. Twenty seven seconds is too long. A bad 'un could use that to duck out a bolthole or get his hand on his wand."

She thought about that. Crusher was right, which was about as surprising as the sun rising on time given that he'd been an Auror more years than Jane had been breathing. "I'll learn to do better, Big John."

"That you will, rook." He replied.

Her wine glass appeared on the table and she took a drink from it. He flicked his wand at the long side table and said, "Accio sandwich."

The sandwich that landed on the table in front of him was made from a long narrow loaf of bread, stuffed with meats and cheeses. "Get yourself something and set to, rook. Never miss a chance to eat, sleep or pee. You never know when the next chance will come your way."

Jane nodded, pulled over a meat pie and dug into it. The instructors always said that what you get in a classroom is useful, but the real school is the street. My first class has just begun. Hope I can keep up.

Chapter 13: Chapter 13 Discipline and Justice

Author's Note

Thanks to Cassandra30 for the question about the Room of Requirement.

Chapter 13 Discipline and Justice

The next week flew by as Harry juggled teaching three classes a day with his other courses. Friday was very welcome, not that it was a guarantee of a break from anything but teaching classes. His normal schedule of classes was one with the Goblin rebellions of the Middle Ages. Minerva had pointed out that a teacher sitting among the other students in a classroom would not do. He was being tutored one on one by the teachers - the other teachers, now.

That approach was much more efficient, to be sure. If he understood something, there was no waiting about for his classmates. If he had a lab or a project, he was let to get on with that. The bad news was that he was now being marked on a much stiffer standard. He was a Hogwarts teacher now.

The weekend wouldn't be a break, just a breather. He'd be working on lesson plans and assignments for most of it. He'd already gone to Minerva to get a real Defence textbook to replace Slinkhard's load of old cobblers.

I'm turning into Hermione, but without the brilliance. Was the thought that had come to him quite a few times of late.

His first classes had gone reasonably well, though the idea of standard lessons by years had died very quickly. He had fallen back on an approach similar to what he had done with the training of the DA.

He was certainly going to get everyone well up to scratch on the basics before there was any dueling practice. He still remembered how his bout with Malfoy had gotten out of hand. That was a lot more likely now. Things were still very tense among the students.

He had asked Hermione to research ideas to act as a substitute for dueling practice. She was working on that, but she hadn't got back to him with anything concrete.

Harry was headed to the Great Hall for a hasty dinner before digging into the mountain of work that was waiting for him when he ran right into another problem. The anger at having to endure Umbridge's torments hadn't gone away after the trial, though that had reduced it. It was apt to come out against the Slytherins at any excuse, given that Malfoy and his goons had been Slytherin. The remaining Slytherins were edgy and defensive.

The first incident he walked into on the way had been no worse than a tense staring match, with hands close to wands.

"What's going on here?" Harry asked sternly.

There had been some shamefaced replies of "Nothing."

"Do nothing somewhere else. If you don't have enough homework to keep you busy I can have a word with the other Professors." Harry had replied.

There had been a couple of astonished stares from the Gryffindors, but they had obeyed without question.

The second had been quicker to dispel. All he had seen was retreating backs in multiple colours of house robes. He had given up on the idea of giving chase and moved on.

The third was more serious. He had heard voices and what he was sure was the sound of some sort of spell being cast. Harry had come around the corner at close to a run with his wand drawn. The scene that he saw had it up and ready to cast. Hermione was faced off alone against five other students, all of whom had wands drawn. Two were Slytherins, and the other three were Gryffindors.

"Drop 'em!" Harry snarled. Hands opened and wands clattered to the floor. Harry took in the scene, and almost immediately did not like what he saw. He recognized one of the Slytherins, Daphne Greengrass. She did not look well. She had clearly been hit by Stinging Jinxes at least, and was down on one knee struggling to get back up again. Her friend Tracey Davis was standing over her.

"What happened?" Harry demanded. Hermione had retained her wand and was keeping the other students covered.

Harry was shocked to recognize the other three students. They were members of the DA.

"She bloody well deserved it. She started it, anyway." Snapped Seamus Finnegan heatedly. Dean Thomas and Michael Corner chimed in to support him.

"Shut it!" Harry said. "Hermione?"

"These three …" She gestured at the DA members with her wand. "Got into an altercation with Daphne here. I didn't see who threw the first curse, but three on one doesn't strike me as very fair. Tracey arrived next. As far as I saw, she was just shielding herself and her friend."

"Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis. Pick up your wands and put them away." Harry said, tightly. "Miss Davis, see your friend to the Hospital Wing. Hermione, escort them there and make sure that they arrive safely."

"Will you be all right, Harry?" She asked, sounding concerned.

"I'll be fine, Hermione." Harry replied evenly. "I've got this."

"Harry ..." Finnegan started to say as the three girls left, Davis supporting Greengrass.

"That's Professor Potter to you." Harry said coldly. "Three of you bullying one lone girl. Is your name Malfoy?"

Finnegan's mouth opened, then closed again as he stared at Harry. All three fell silent, looking shamefaced and apprehensive.

Harry flicked his wand. "Accio wands."

The wands floated up off the floor to Harry. He took them in his off hand and sheathed his own wand. "Your wands are confiscated. Fifty points from your Houses. Each."

Harry had expected some protest from the three, but they just stared at him. "We will talk again after I find out how much hurt Miss Greengrass may be. You are dismissed."

The three of them left, hurriedly. Harry watched them go, then pocketed their wands and left himself.

What Harry wanted to do was go back up to his room. What he did do was go up to the Headmistress's office. This problem wasn't going to go away overnight, but he'd done what he could to help deal with it. Minerva needed to know what was going on and what he was doing to deal with it.

He gave the password and went on up, and entered at her word. There was someone else in the office already. It was Professor Vector, the Arithmancy teacher, and she was looking very angry. He recalled that she was the new Head of House for Slytherin, in succession to Professor Snape.

"Professor Potter." Minerva said. "Professor Vector has reported the incident involving Miss Greengrass to me."

"I want something done about it!" Vector's voice was near to a shout.

Rather than try to out-shout her, Harry reached into his pocket and held up the three wands he had confiscated. Vector stopped with her mouth open.

"What are those?" She asked after a moment.

"Those are the wands of the boys who were harassing Miss Greengrass. I have confiscated their wands and taken fifty points each from their House. If you think further punishment is warranted we can discuss that." Harry replied. He gave her a very hard look, but refrained from pointing out that he wasn't one of her students. He thought it pretty loudly, though.

Vector looked like someone who had put her foot on a step that wasn't there. "I don't want the DA running wild in the corridors." She said in a more moderate tone.

"I don't want the students running wild in the corridors. It's not just the DA by a long way." Harry replied firmly. "I've had to deal with three incidents just today, and I'm sure I'm not the only one. My first week as a teacher hasn't exactly been an easy one."

Septima looked back at Harry, and her anger gave way to sympathy for the position he was in. Student one week, teacher the next, and having to keep a grip on an armed group of rebellious teens into the bargain. He certainly hadn't shied away from dealing firmly with this very sticky situation.

"Harry, I apologize." She said, being careful to treat him as a colleague, which she wasn't sure she had done in her anger. "I assumed you would favour your own House, and I was wrong to do so."

"Accepted." He said at once. Vector wasn't Snape, and he had all the enemies he needed already.

"Professor Vector." Minerva said formally. "Are you satisfied that this matter has been dealt with appropriately?"

"Yes." She replied at once.

"Then I will leave you to sort the details between yourselves." Minerva said, and turned her attention back to the work on her desk.

Harry and Septima took the hint and exited stage left. Once out in the corridor, Septima turned to Harry and said, "Can we talk about this over tea in the teacher's lounge?"

Harry could recognize an olive branch when he saw one, and he was quite willing to accept this one. "Certainly. You'll have to lead on, though. I've not been there yet."

"Well, we can't have that." She said. They went up two flights of stairs to a good sized room with tables and comfortable chairs. They sat at a table and a minute later a tea service appeared in front of them. Harry took his with sugar. Septima added a dollop of cream to hers.

Harry decided to lead off. "Was Miss Greengrass much hurt?"

"Fortunately, no. Bruises and Stinging Jinxes. It could have been a deal worse." Septima replied. Harry remembered his days at the Dursleys and nodded. Bullying escalated.

"I think she is owed some amends before I return those wands, Septima. Can you speak to Miss Greengrass and see what she's comfortable with? " Harry said after a sip of his tea. "I don't want to make things any worse for her, but I'd like to see this dealt with as soon as possible."

"Straight away." Septima replied. "We need to make an example here. The prefects are being run ragged, and they're feeling very outnumbered. Minerva has all the teachers out as much as possible, but it's a big castle."

Harry couldn't blame the prefects a bit. They were walking into situations where wands were out and tempers were flaring, outnumbered five or six to one in the bargain, as he had just seen for himself. It was to their great credit that they were carrying on at all. "I wish there was something we could do to help."

"Actually, I think there is, Harry." Septima said thoughtfully.

Harry took a sip of his tea. "I'm listening."

"Suppose you had the DA back up the prefects. They are the best trained students in the school, thanks to you, and from what I've heard they are very restive with nothing to do. Give them something useful to do and they'll have less time to get into trouble. They'd be supporting lawful authority, not rebelling against it."

Harry was impressed. "That's very clever, Septima. That's very …"

"Slytherin." She added with a smile.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way." He added hastily.

"I know, Harry. That does speak to a problem that I've inherited as Head of House, and not a small one either. We don't have a good reputation."

"Well, I can see where that's a problem." He said uncertainly.

"It is a very large and intractable problem, Harry." She said, seriously. "You're the perfect example."

"Me? Sorry, I don't quite understand." He replied.

"The story is that you were offered Slytherin at the Sorting in your first year, but you declined."

"That's true." He said carefully, not wanting to give offense.

She nodded, as something she had heard was confirmed. "Prior to getting your letter you knew nothing about the magical world, but in one shopping expedition and one train ride you picked up enough gossip to decide you wanted no part of us. How many other bright promising students have we lost the same way? A House is its students. How do you build a House that has and deserves a good reputation when you get all the dregs?"

"I never thought of it that way." Harry said slowly. "I didn't want to be anywhere near Draco Malfoy."

"Quite, and I can't blame you for that. There's another intractable problem. What do you do with the likes of Malfoy? What House would want him? Gryffindor? He's a bloody coward. Ravenclaw? No love for learning at all. Hufflepuff? He thinks work is for servants. Slitheryn? He's about as subtle as a curse in the face. We got landed with him anyway. Now he's in Azkaban. That's another failure."

Harry could only nod his head in agreement. He didn't have an answer to that either.

She bowed her head, then raised it again with a look of determination on her face. "Problem for another day. If you're all right with the DA backing up the prefects, we can take it up to Minerva. If the spell casts, then we do it."

Harry nodded assent, finished his tea and stood. "No time like the present."

They went back up to Minerva's office, and Harry briefly explained the idea.

"An original idea, Harry. Not something we would normally consider, but then these are hardly normal times." She said gravely.

"Not my idea, Minerva." He replied at once. "Septima should have the credit. I think it's a good idea, and I recommend that we do it."

Minerva looked thoughtful, then nodded decisively. "All right, let it be tried. I look to you, Harry, to keep the DA on a tight rein."

He nodded. If this worked, it would solve some pressing problems. The devil was in the details. They headed back downstairs.

"I'll go speak to Miss Greengrass, Harry, and get back to you. I hope you're not going to try to organize the DA on your own."

"No." Harry said as casually as he could. "I'll get Hermione Granger to help. She's a prefect, and very organized."

"She is also the de facto second in command of the DA. Don't bother answering. You should consider whether you still need that magical contract. That dragon is out of the cave. There were reporters in the press gallery that day in the Wizengamot, you know." Septima replied casually.

Well, pity the first Slytherin who thinks he can get away with lying to his new Head of House. Harry thought as he watched her go. He wondered just how long Septima had known about the DA. Not that it would have been any cause for alarm. He was quite sure that she would not have told Dolores Umbridge what colour the sky was.

Harry sent one of the ghosts to ask Hermione to meet him at the entrance to the Room of Requirement. She was there when he arrived.

"Hello, Harry. What's up?" She greeted him.

"We need to hold a meeting of the DA." He replied. "Things are out of hand, and I have a plan to help that. I'm going to need your help."

"Of course, Harry." She replied at once. Harry filled her in on the plan that he and Professor Vector had come up with. They discussed the details for a few minutes, as they usually did before a training session of the DA.

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, remind me not to try to match wits with Professor Vector. I'll get the Room opened up and we can call the meeting."

Harry watched as Hermione paced back and forth, concentrating. She looked puzzled when nothing happened. "Here, Harry, you try it."

Harry looked back and forth to make sure that they were in the right place, then, satisfied that they were, began to pace and concentrate as she had done. This time the door began to appear, but not as smoothly as it usually did. It appeared slowly, by fits and starts. When the door was finally complete, Harry gasped the big brass knob, twisted it and pulled it open.

Harry froze in shock as the door of the Room opened. Instead of the comfortably familiar layout of the DA's training room, the door opened onto a a swirling chaos. Hermione watched in horror as his face took on a blank, bemused expression and he leaned in toward the door.

"Harry!" She shouted, and tackled him. She glanced over her shoulder at the insanity that the doorway opened into, then kicked the door. It slowly swung shut and vanished again. Harry snapped out of his daze and he looked up at Hermione, then hastily got back to his feet.

Hermione's voice was eerily calm. "As a prefect, Professor, I do recommend that Room should be strictly out of bounds to all students."

Harry nodded shakily. "I'll mention that to the Headmistress."

Hogwarts had plenty of empty classrooms, so after Harry stopped shaking they took one over. Hermione sent out the signal for a meeting using the enchanted galleons she had created. They talked while they waited for the others.

"I thought the Room would just ... repair itself." Harry said.

"Magic can't fix everything, Harry." She replied soberly. "Umbridge did a lot of damage, and not just to the Room. We're here, now, trying to repair some of it. Trust in the teachers, respect for the rules, goodwill among the Houses. She did her best to destroy all of that."

"We've certainly lost the good will." Harry agreed. "I don't know that we can ever get it back."

"History is written a day at a time, Harry." She replied. They fell silent as the members of the DA began to filter into the classroom.

Finnegan, Thomas and Corner arrived together, looking uncertain, and were sent off by Hermione to stand on one side. The rest of them gathered in front of Harry, looking uncomfortable.

Hermione led off as they had agreed earlier. She held up the magical contact that all the members had signed. "First, this is done. The need for secrecy is over, and the whole world knows who we all are."

She flicked her wand, and the contract burned to nothing as they all watched.

"Your training will be in the DADA classes, and you will be expected to show the world what a proper standard looks like. You have no excuse to complain of the teaching." She continued sternly.

Harry took a step forward. "The whole world knows who we are now. That means that the whole world will judge all of us by the actions of any of us."

He gestured at the three boys standing on one side. "These three brought all of us into disrepute. Their conduct was no better than Malfoy and his goons. They bullied a lone girl in the corridors, and put her in the Hospital Wing."

Harry looked at them all coldly. "I stood up for you to the Minister of Magic and told him that I wasn't going to disband you. Show me that wasn't a mistake. Show me that you have discipline, that you aren't just a mob of witch burners."

"Well, haven't you just sold right out Mister bloody Potter." Zacharias Smith said angrily, reaching for his wand.

The next instant he found himself with Hermione's wand in his face. "That's Professor Potter to you, Mister Smith. Go ahead, think it."

Smith's hand stopped halfway to his wand. He saw the contained fury on her face and decided that he had overstepped the mark. He spread his hands. "Sorry, Hermione." Under her hard stare he added, "Sorry, Professor." After a tense second or two she nodded and stepped back.

There was a lessening of the tension in the room as people began to think instead of reacting angrily. The justice of what Harry had said began to sink in, and it was uncomfortably true. The glares of the girls in the DA shifted first, from Harry and Hermione toward the boys that Harry had disarmed. They had been the targets of such abuse often enough from Malfoy and his cronies.

"Now." Harry said coldly. "I will expect a proper standard of behaviour and the observance of school rules. If you cannot be civil then you can be silent. If you cannot be either then I will consider whether there is any place for you in the DA or in this school. Is that clear?"

There was a chorus of assents.

Harry continued bluntly. "You want a chance to do something useful? Here it is. The prefects are run ragged and outnumbered. They need help and you're going to help them. Here's your chance to show that you have discipline. You will act as directed by the prefects, and on their authority."

Harry handed off to Hermione with a nod. She produced a parchment. "All right. You are there to back up the prefects, so you will go on patrol with them. I have a schedule of which team goes with which prefect. Team Leads, you will speak to your assigned prefect and ensure that your Team provides backup for him or her for each and every patrol."

She paused and flicked her wand. The parchment hung in the air so that all of them could see it. There was a short silence while people read it, then several hands went up.

"And before you start saying that this will interfere with your snogging time," Hermione said, "I don't want to hear it. I gave up my study time for this. Get it done."

The hands went back down again. Hermione continued, "The prefects will report to me on your conduct, and I will pass those reports to Harry. Understood?"

Nods and assents said they did.

"Questions?" There were none.

Harry turned to the now thoroughly downcast trio. "You three will report to Professor Vector, and make whatever amends she requires of you. You will get your wands back when I hear from her that you have done that."

The DA scattered out of the room. Harry took a deep breath and got a grip on his temper. Hermione watched as the aura of power around him faded.

"Thanks, Hermione." He said. "That was actually not as bad as I was afraid it was going to be."

"Not to be indelicate, Harry, but your Crown was showing." She said.

"It was?" He said. She nodded.

She said. "For the rest, no thanks needed. That's my job. Besides, it was long past time there was a firm hand here."

"Umbridge had a firm hand. I trained them. They used what I taught them." He replied soberly.

Hermione saw the troubled look on his face, and knew the cause. Causes. He was worried that he might be turning into the tyrant he had displaced, and because he had trained the DA he felt personally responsible for what they did, right or wrong.

"Hogging all the responsibility for yourself is just rude, Harry." She replied firmly. "I was the one pushing the idea right from the beginning. Remember?"

He nodded reluctantly.

"Firm includes fair, and you understand that. You aren't Umbridge. Umbridge was a sadistic control freak. Her notion of order would have had us all walking around under an Imperius." She continued.

He grimaced but could not deny it. "Justice. Sounds good. It's not easy when you have to do it on the day-to-day level."

"Everyone wants fairness for themselves, and everyone's idea of fairness is different." Hermione replied. "You learn that very quickly as a prefect. Enforcing the rules even-handedly is as much as anyone can do."

"You'll have to excuse me, Harry. I have to catch up with someone and have a word with him." She added, and left.

"Smith!" Zacharias Smith turned at the sharp word from Hermione.

"A word with you." She said curtly. They went into an alcove by one of the statues.

"You're lucky that Harry was feeling lenient. If it had been up to me, you would be out of the DA twice, once for being an insubordinate git and twice for bloody stupidity." She said harshly.

Not giving him a chance to answer, she continued, "You were going to draw on the Defence teacher of this school, the man who has fought Voldemort twice and lived to tell of it, the Warlock of Britain, the most powerful wizard in the world. Explain to me how any of that isn't suicidal bloody stupidity."

Smith's face went white as he realized the truth of her words. "Won't happen again." He said shakily.

Her voice turned deadly. "It had better not. Harry doesn't have the time to keep his eye on you and throw you out of the DA if you cock up like that again. He doesn't need to. He has me for that."

Chapter 14: Chapter 14 The Price of Mercy

Chapter 14 The Price of Mercy

Some timeless time later Riddle was able to master the pain and try to search for some means of escape. Still he found no answer. The grudging awareness came to him that while his enemy had not planned this, he had certainly prepared for it. Still, even Dumbledore was capable of error. He suppressed the thought of what his own errors had cost him.

His search turned to his horcruxes. Those links … were still there. Four of them told him nothing save that they were still in existence. The fifth … ah, there was something he might work with. The accidental horcrux that was lodged in Potter's scar was incomplete, encapsulated, but he could still make use of it. He probed further and discovered that the brat had defenses. Trying to probe his mind led him into halls of mirrors that led only to memories of Voldemort himself being bested at this child's hands. Over and over he failed and found himself back in his body, trying to control the white hot agony of a body at the brink of death.

Finally, however, he found a passage in the maze that seemed to lead somewhere else, perhaps to the rest of Potter's mind and memories. It appeared to him as a corridor of rough-hewn stone, massive and ancient. It ended in a set of heavy wooden double doors. Those doors were barred and guarded.

Voldemort did not recognize the guardian. He was a tall man, his hair and beard white with age, dressed in plain grey robes of archaic style. He bore, not a wand, but a tall staff with many runes carved into it. For all his aged appearance, he stood as straight as the staff beside him.

"So, thou hast found thy way here at last, Tom Riddle." He said in the manner of a teacher rebuking a tardy schoolboy. Voldemort seethed, but retained his control. Only here was there any hope of escape. Vengeance was a dish best served cold.

"Potter!" He screamed, and drove a Legilimens probe at the figure in front of him. The old man moved his staff and the probe was smashed aside by a shield. Once more the memories of how Potter had thwarted him paraded through his mind.

"I am not Harry Potter, boy." He replied contemptuously. "The Guardian of the Realm hath matters of import to deal with, so he hath asked me to deal with this small matter in his stead. Hast thou come to sue for mercy?"

"Mercy? What mercy? I am Voldemort." He replied defiantly.

"I know who thou art, boy." The guardian replied in that same dismissive tone. "Justice thou hast brought upon thyself already. Mercy thou wilt have to earn. Yield up all the knowledge of thy Horcruxes, what objects they lie within, what protections thou hast woven around them, where they abide so that they may be destroyed, and thy life will end when Harry Potter's does. Elsewise, thou wilt live on down the centuries until they are destroyed at last."

"I will never beg for mercy." Voldemort said angrily.

"Never is a long time, boy. Harry Potter is young and strong and powerful. Thou wilt have many years to consider whether thy fear of death outweighs thy fear of life. I and my compatriots will abide here whilst thou think on that choice. Until then, begone."

The old man's staff moved and Voldemort found himself back in the prison of his body. The hope of escape that he had nourished on finding that passage out of the maze of Potter's mental defences had dwindled almost to nothing, but he was not yet defeated. There was knowledge that he needed to plot his escape.

Who was that guardian and how came he to be in Potter's mind? Riddle thought. The Prophecy had spoken of the power that the Dark Lord knew not. Voldemort had dismissed with the contempt that it deserved Dumbledore's mawkish theory that love was that power. The might that the guardian had wielded suggested that Potter had found a more practical source of power. If he could possess Potter's mind then he would have that power as his own.

Once more he probed into the defences of Potter's mind and came to the passage to the door and its guardian. He paused. It was not the same man. This man was dressed for the Court of Elizabeth I. He was armed with a rapier and dagger in addition to his staff.

"Hast thou come to beg for mercy, boy?" The guardian said in the same dismissive tone.

"Who are you to claim the right of justice over Britain?" Voldemort countered.

The guardian shook his head as a teacher would at the obvious mistake of an unprepared student. "Those who study not history are doomed to repeat it. I am John Dee, Court Magician to Her Majesty. In my time I held the power of the Warlock and I did my part to keep the peace in these isles."

"When I come to power there will be peace. None will dare to defy my will." Voldemort said.

The scornful laugh from the guardian grated on his control. Who was this popinjay to dare laugh at Lord Voldemort?

"You lie." Riddle snarled. John Dee was long dead.

"Thou flatter thyself worth a lie? That very power cast thee down and imprisoned thee, and still it is unknown to thee." Dee replied dismissively. "Thy pretense to gentle birth would be less feeble an thou took a grindstone to thy wit."

That shot went home. "What power is that?" Riddle demanded.

"That is for me to know and thou to riddle out. Thou'rt tedious, boy. Begone." Dee's staff struck the floor and Voldemort was back in his body again.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jane Twelvetrees followed Big John Crusher into the alley to the back door of the seedy rooming house. They were following up on reports of a wizard who had been robbing and obliviating muggles in a seedy part of London.

"I'll go in the front." Big John said quietly. "If 'e comes out the back, take 'im down."

Jane nodded. This was the first time she'd been trusted to do that. She was determined to get it right. She kept her attention on the back door of the rooming house, with glances up and down the alley. Any muggles who walked down here would be obliviated and sent on their way.

It was only a couple of minutes later that Jane heard the pound of running footsteps on the stairs. A seedy looking man in rough clothes and a blue bowler hat askew on his head burst out of the door. He had a wand in his hand.

Jane cast Protego, then shouted, "Halt! Drop the wand!"

The man's wand snapped up and he said " Bombarda". The spell ricocheted off Jane's shield and slammed into the bricks of the wall. Coming on at the dead run, he was too close for Jane to cast in time, so she reacted by reflex. She sidestepped and hit him with an elbow smash to the head, then took his feet out from under him with a foot sweep. He hit the ground hard, dropping his wand. Dazed by the impact, it took him a few seconds to start groping for it.

"Go ahead. Think it." Jane snarled, her blood up as her mind caught up to her reflexes while she held her wand on the suspect. That hadn't been a simple Stupefy he'd cast at her, it had been a Bombarda. She could have been badly hurt or killed. He looked up at her and stopped moving.

Thanks again, Big John. She thought. When you were Big John Crusher's rook, you learned to use the weapons you were born with as well as the wand that you carried.

"Well, well, well. What have we got 'ere?" The voice came from behind her, and it belonged to Big John, to Jane's relief.

"Someone thinks he can cast a Bombarda, Big John." Jane replied tightly.

He said from behind her. "Allo, Sandy. Long time since I've seen your ugly face."

The suspect looked up past Jane and looked as if he was ready to be sick to his stomach. "Crusher. I thought you was dead."

Sandy looked back at Jane and said defiantly, "That was brutality, that was. Me brain is still rattlin'. What did you hit me with?"

Crusher gave a rumbling laugh. "You can cry when you're hurt, Sandy. If she'd hit you hard, you'd know it. Trained her meself."

Crusher looked over at the hole in the brick wall. "Bombarda. Well, well, well. We are in trouble now, Sandy. That's Assault with Deadly Magic, on an Auror. That's a five-knut in the Happiness Hotel, Sandy. If the Beak is feeling kindly."

"Kind of depends on the whole issue of intent, Big John." Jane said. She wasn't sure where he was going with this, but she was willing to sing with the chorus. Five years in Azkaban was pretty serious, but it could be worse. "You could call it attempted murder if the intent could be proven."

"You're right." Big John said thoughtfully. "Where did that Bombarda land, now?"

"Dead on my shield, Big John. He knew where he was throwing it." Jane replied steadily.

Crusher nodded thoughtfully. "Crown Prosecutor's office has some young bloods, looking to win their wands. They'd be fighting each other to get this one. It's not looking good for you, Sandy. Not at all. If that one stuck, you'd know the hoodies by their first names time you were out again."

Sandy's coarse, unshaven face went from defiant to terrified. "Mercy! You got to gi' me a break. I don't want to die in Azkaban. I wasn't going to hurt you, just get you out of the way. I didn't know you was on the job. Swear to God!"

Jane knew where Crusher was going with this now. "Mercy, is it? Nothing comes free, Sandy, and you've got a long bill to pay on this one. Being slow on the cast isn't a defence in court. You want mercy? What are you willing to do to earn it?"

Sandy wasn't the brightest wand in the shop, but by now he'd twigged on to what Jane was talking about. "You know what 'appens to a grass on the street?" He whined.

"You know what will happen to you in Azkaban? Make up your mind, Sandy. I haven't got all day." Jane said.

"All right, all right. Give me my wand back." Sandy said.

Jane laughed. "Just like that? No bloody chance, Sandy. You've got twenty four hours to get me something, something good. Then we can talk about your wand. You don't show your face in that time, there'll be a warrant on the street and every Auror in Britain will have Supersensory on looking for you. Leave the muggles alone, too. If I were you, I'd get a move on. Clock's running."

Sandy got up and limped down the alley. Jane watched him go.

"Not bad, Jane, for your first spellcast." Big John said, judiciously. "You put the fear of God into him pretty well."

Chapter 15: Chapter 15 Meeting Notice

Chapter 15 Meeting Notice

Harry sat at his desk reading reports and grading papers. When he finished that he could get on to doing his own homework. That done, with a little luck he would actually get some sleep.

His initial attempt to maintain some semblance of a normal class schedule had gone away right after his first class as a teacher. He was now a class of one in a program of intensive tutoring aimed at making sure that he did well in his OWL's.

He missed the camaraderie of the common room, where if you were stuck on something you could just ask someone at the next table, that someone usually being Hermione.

He looked up to see a Patronus in front of him. It was a cat with spectacle markings around the eyes, which made it Minerva's. "Harry, could you come up to my office, please? There's something you need to see." It said in her voice.

"Right away, Minerva." There was no way that this was good news. Might as well deal with it. On his way up the stairs he wondered if it was someone in the DA over stepping the mark. So far the new arrangement had seemed to be working. Things had quieted down quite a bit, though it was a long way from sweetness and light. Still, stiff formal manners were better than insults and curses flying. Hermione had told him that the prefects were feeling much more confident, too. All that progress could be put at naught by one act of stupidity.

"Good evening, Minerva." He said cautiously as he came into her office. He had half expected one of the other Heads of House to be there, but it was just them.

"Ah, Harry." She said, and handed him an envelope. It was of heavy parchment, addressed to Albus Perceval Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Warlock of Britain.

"What is this?" He asked, a little suspiciously. By this time the whole Magical world knew that Dumbledore was … gone.

"I don't know, Harry. Only the Warlock can open it." Minerva's manner said that she had her suspicions.

Harry drew the Elder Wand and tapped the envelope. "Apertus" he said. It opened up into a letter. There was a crest at the top, which said International Confederation of Wizards. Beneath that was Security Council.

The letter was a formal notice of a scheduled meeting of the Security Council of the International Confederation of Wizards to be held three days hence, date and time given. There was, however, no location given. He looked and there was no agenda either.

"What is this, Minerva?" He said, putting it on her desk for her to read.

"Someone fancies himself clever." She replied in a hard voice.

"You're going to have to explain that, Minerva." He said, uncertainly. It was certainly odd that he was notified of a meeting but not the location or the matters to be discussed. That letter might very well have gone unopened, being addressed to Dumbledore instead of him.

"The ICW Security Council holds the power to actually deploy an international force of wizards to meet a threat to the wizarding world. Without that authority intervening in another country's affairs by force is illegal and may be an act of war. Usually such a force is deployed in response to a threat to the Statute of Secrecy." She replied precisely.

"That's quite a responsibility. Do they meet often?" Harry replied.

"No. Only when there's a crisis. Of course, different nations define crisis differently. I would say that someone wants to cover himself against an accusation of impropriety while making sure you don't attend." She said carefully.

"Me?" He said uncertainly. "Why would I attend?"

"You are the Warlock of Britain." She replied. "You are the Guardian of the Realm."

"You said there's a chess game going on. I don't know the rules." Harry said.

"There are three permanent members of the Security Council. Britain, France and the United States. They have veto power. If any one of them vote against a resolution, it does not pass no matter who votes for it. There are four more more members that are elected by the ICW General Assembly for a two year term. They have a vote, but not a veto. A resolution needs a majority of votes to pass."

"Sounds as if it can get complicated." Harry said.

"Very." Minerva replied. "There's a lot of behind the scenes maneuvering before a vote. No resolution will pass unless the permanent members vote in favor, abstain from voting, or don't show up to vote."

Harry nodded. He was starting to see where this was going. He was starting not to like it.

"The representatives who actually sit the meetings and vote are chosen by their countries. The permanent members are represented by the three most powerful wizards in the world. The Warlock for Britain, the Archmage for the United States, and the Sorcier Supréme for France. If there is a major force deployed, one of those three will usually lead it. Other nations will contribute to the force voluntarily. Normally draft resolutions will be passed around to the members to line up support in advance."

"No one in the Ministry bothered to tell me any of this. Someone is trying to take advantage of the confusion to put one over." Harry said grimly. He had been there before. Fudge had played a similar game over his trial before the Wizengamot.

Minerva nodded agreement. "Very likely. Magical Cooperation should have made sure that you were caught up to speed if there was a Snitch in play. I should have looked into this."

"In your abundant spare time, perhaps?" Harry replied. "No, Minerva. The Ministry dropped the Quaffle, not you."

"All right." He said decisively after a short pause. "I'm going to have to swot up on this. I'm going to need Hermione to help me."

"I'm sure the Ministry would be glad to help." Minerva said tentatively.

"I need someone who's brilliant, can do the research quickly, and who I trust." Harry replied. His tone made it clear that he didn't trust the Ministry at all.

Another thought struck him. "I could ask Albus."

A look of pain crossed Minerva's face. "You could, Harry. I don't know that it would be much help. The last Council meeting was over two years ago. There is a whole new set of members. Things have changed. Albus only paid attention to the Council if there was a vote coming up. He had too much else to do. He would have had to swot up, too."

Harry hadn't looked forward to speaking to the image and memory of a man whose death he had witnessed. That memory was too raw and fresh.

He nodded. "Thank you."

"I will inform Miss Granger's teachers, yours, and the Head Girl. She will have to turn over her prefect duties." Minerva replied. "Do you need any help from me?"

"Just keep the dragons in the cage here. Merlin knows that's a full time job and then some."

"That it is, Harry. I'll do my best."

Harry nodded and left, his head already full of things to do, including seeing Madame Pomfrey for a Pepper-up Potion, or two or three.

Several hours later, Harry looked up at Hermione over a table covered with books and papers. "All right, what do we know?"

"First, the players in this seven sided chess game." She said, spreading photos on the table. "You, the Warlock of Britain. Alexander Dulles, Archmage of the Magical United States. Aimeé Germane, Baroness de Stael-Holstein, Sorcier Supréme of France. The three Permanent Members of the Security Council."

He nodded. Dulles was a tall grey-haired man, dignified and sober looking, wearing a muggle business suit. The Baroness was glamorous woman of indeterminate age, richly dressed in elaborate robes, wearing a tiara. He was the only newcomer of the three. The others had been members for decades.

"Now, the current members. Antoine Hillier, commander of the Canadian Mounted Air Force. Canada. Dmitri Veronoff, Assistant General Secretary. Russia. Robert Graylock, Master of Dreams. Australia. Indra Bannerji, Minister of Defence, Indian Ministry of Magic."

The photo of Hillier showed a white-haired man dressed in tight fitting scarlet dragon leather. His tough weather beaten appearance didn't make him look much like a diplomat. Veronoff's photo showed a man in impeccably tailored robes who did look like a diplomat. Graylock was a tall, slender man who evidently had a lot of aboriginal ancestors. Indra Bannerji was a middle-aged woman wearing a sari.

"All right, now I know who they are." He said.

"Actually, Harry, we know a little more than that. Who you send to a meeting like this says something about what you want. The Canadians sent their senior military commander. That says that they want something done militarily. The Russians sent a senior diplomat. They think this is important and they're looking out for their own interests. The Australians sent Graylock. He's the most skilful wizard in Australia, very well respected in Australia and internationally. They think this is important and they've sent their best. He'd likely be part of whatever force the Council might authorize. India also sent their defence expert. They could contribute a lot of wizards if they wanted to."

"We don't know enough." Harry said irritably. "We don't know what resolution is being pushed, why, or by who. And we don't know where the bloody meeting is being held."

"We need to ask someone, Harry."

"Not the Ministry." Harry said, stubbornly.

"No." Hermione tapped the picture of Hillier. "But we could talk to him."

"How do we do that?" Harry said skeptically.

"We take the Floo down to Hogsmeade, go to the Three Broomsticks and ask Madame Rosemerta which room he's in." Hermione replied with a smile.

"How do you know that?" He asked, astonished.

She laughed. "I never in my life thought that Teen Witch Daily would have anything useful. I was wrong. Here we have Blythe Parkin, Seeker for England, having breakfast this morning in the Three Broomsticks with a hunky young frontiersman named Logan Hillier, in town with his grandfather. It was the gossip of the girls dorms this morning."

The picture showed a muscular young man in the same scarlet leathers talking to a witch wearing glasses. "The usual insinuations of a May-December romance, of course. Much the same in the gossip column of the Prophet."

"All right. Let's go talk to the man." He said decisively. As they left the library he added "Hang on, if he's in town why hasn't he tried to contact me?"

"Maybe he has, or maybe this is his way of doing that, Harry. Maybe he doesn't trust the Ministry any more than you do." Harry frowned. It was pretty easy for him to believe that.

"Who are the Canadians fighting, anyway?" Harry added as they went down to the Teacher's Common Room with its Floo connection. "Hillier looks like a pretty tough evening. I don't think he sits at a desk very much."

"No, he doesn't, Harry. It's not who they're fighting, it's what. Dragons."

"Dragons?" Harry said.

Hermione nodded. "I was surprised by that myself. Here in Europe that problem has been solved for a long time. In North America they have a lot more area and fewer wizards to cover it. Canada is the second largest country in the world by area. They have a lot of wild dragons, and the problem has been getting worse. Dragons cause forest fires, not to mention the threat to people and the Statute of Secrecy. In fact, we import most of our dragon materials from Canada. They kill ten or twenty of them a year. Logan Hillier killed his first dragon when he was 14. His grandfather has over eighty dragon kills."

"And I thought the Tri-wizard Tournament was hard." Harry said. "Hang on. They kill that many a year and the problem is getting worse?"

"Didn't make sense to me, either." Hermione said.

Harry and Hermione arrived at the Three Broomsticks and used their wands to dust themselves off. They headed into the main bar area, where Madame Rosemerta held court and watched over the barman and the waiters.

"Harry, Hermione. How good to see you." She greeted them cordially. "Your room is ready upstairs. End of the hall on the right." She winked roguishly. "You kids have fun, now."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the stairs. "This is for you, Harry." She said, and passed him an envelope. It was of heavy parchment, with a logo of a wizard on a broom, wand out, in pursuit. It was addressed simply, Warlock of Britain.

"Where did you get this?" He asked.

"Madame Rosemerta slipped it to me." She said quietly.

Harry tapped the envelope with his wand and said Apertus. There were several pieces of parchment in the envelope. On the top was a notice of the meeting of the ICW Security Council, but much more detailed. The location was given as Palais de Beauxbatons, France. There was an invitation to a reception for delegates prior to the meeting in the Grand Salon. At the bottom of the paper was a note in angular handwriting. "We need to talk. Hillier."

Chapter 16: Chapter 16 Too Many Dragons

Chapter 16 Too Many DragonsThey walked down the hallway to the end of the corridor. The right hand door had a sign on it, saying Reserved. Harry was getting edgy at all of this intrigue, so he took a step back and drew the Elder Wand, then nodded to Hermione to knock on the door, which she did.

The door opened to show the brawny form of Logan Hillier, dressed in plain dark robes. He also had his wand out. He nodded and lowered it. "Mister Potter, I believe. I'm Logan Hillier."

"The same." Harry replied. "My friend, Hermione Granger." Harry sheathed the Elder Wand, and they stepped into the room at Hillier's gestured invitation. It was clearly intended for lovers to meet in.

Maybe someday I'll actually have the time to book a room like this with a girl. Harry thought.

He hadn't had the chance to even think about that since his breakup with Cho. The power of the Warlock had its costs. He shook off that thought. Whatever was going on here, he needed to have his wits about him.

"Is your grandfather here?" Harry asked, looking around and not seeing anyone else. His hand strayed closer to the Elder Wand.

"No. This room isn't secure." Hillier replied. "We have one that is, and I can take you there."

Hillier seemed sincere enough, but all the cloak and dagger was making him edgy. Harry thought for a moment, then nodded. "All right. How do we go there?"

Hillier gestured at the far wall, where four broomsticks stood. "You ride a Firebolt, I believe, Mr. Potter. A fine broom, but I think you'll find the McLaughlin has its virtues."

Harry chewed his lip, and looked at Hermione. She looked uncertain. Broomstick was not her favourite mode of travel.

"All right. Let's go." Harry said decisively.

Hillier snapped "Ready."

His broom came to his hand. Harry and Hermione did likewise and the next two brooms came to their hands. Harry noticed that the McLaughlin was noticeably heavier than his Firebolt.

"All right." Hillier said in a crisp business-like tone. "We're going covert. This ward here," he pointed at a sigil on the front of the broom. "Is the invisibility charm. Tap it with your wand to activate it."

He gestured with his wand, and a large window opened silently onto the warm summer night. "We'll go invisible as soon as we clear the window. I have a red tail light on my broom. Just fly formation on that. It won't be a long flight, 15 to 20 minutes. When I blink the tail light three times, go visible and prepare to land."

Harry just nodded. Hermione said. "Not too energetic, please. I'm not Harry Potter."

Harry felt a little resentment at the warm smile and appreciative look he gave Hermione. "You certainly aren't, Miss Granger. This is covert, not tactical. I'll take it easy."

They went out the window and went invisible. The McLaughlin, Harry found, did have its virtues but you had to get used to them, as he found out by flying formation in the darkness. Its acceleration was breathtaking, better than his Firebolt. It didn't turn as well, but it could climb like a homesick angel. It needed a firmer hand than his Firebolt, too. Harry had to manoeuvre quickly when he got the three blinks of the tail light and Hillier went into a steep downward spiral. He was relieved to see Hermione blink back into visibility again and follow him down.

They arrived in the front yard of an old stone house surrounded by trees. A dim light over the door illuminated a shaggy and neglected yard. They shouldered their brooms and walked up to the big oak door. It opened silently to an entrance hall where they stacked their brooms.

The hallway led into a comfortable room warmed by a fire in a fireplace. Big lamps lit the room, showing bookcases and comfortable chairs. Antoine Hillier stood in front of the fireplace. He turned as they entered.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter. Good to meet you at last." He said in a strong, carrying voice. He was a big man, strongly built, and he moved with grace of a dancer.

"At last?" Harry said.

"We've been trying for weeks now. Through your Ministry and the ICW. I'm sure that someone really doesn't want you to know about this. Please, be seated. Logan, could you keep an eye out and ensure we aren't interrupted?"

Harry and Hermione seated themselves on one side of the fireplace and Hillier seated himself opposite them. "My condolences for the loss of Albus Dumbledore. He was a great man and a brilliant one. He went down fighting and he got it done. I've seen friends die. It doesn't get any easier."

"Thank you." Harry said. The accolade felt sincere.

Now, though, they needed to get back to business. "You've gone to a lot of trouble to set this up. I'm here. What is this all about?"

"All right, let me fill in some background. Wild dragons have been a problem for us for a long time. The CMAF was founded as a law enforcement organization like your Aurors, and by Hobson's choice we also deal with that problem. We manage to keep the dragons out in the wilderness away from cities and population. We don't have a very large wizard population, so maintaining the CMAF is costly in human life, in money, in options for our people. We don't hunt dragons for sport. We do it for survival."

He looked sad. "Logan made his first dragon kill at 14. His father died in the Service. I'd like for my grandkids to have better choices, not the same shit sandwich that I had."

Harry nodded. His life had been warped and twisted by the war against Voldemort. If he had children, as he hoped to someday, he would want better for them, too. He had said that at Dumbledore's funeral, and he had meant it.

"What have you done to solve the problem?" Harry asked.

"After Grindelwald's War we made a concerted effort to get the problem under control with the help of the ICW. We swept large areas of wilderness, cleared them out. We figured we'd push them into one area, make it a reservation, get them under control the way you've done here in Europe. Costly, but if it solved the problem once and for all it would be worth it."

"That sounds like a reasonable plan." Hermione said. "What happened?"

"It didn't work, and we had a Hell of a time trying to figure out why. We'd clear out an area, and two or three years later find out it was as bad as ever. It was as if they just appeared out of thin air."

"That doesn't make sense." Hermione replied decisively. "Dragons aren't migratory, they're territorial."

"That's right. The dragon population was going up, not down. According to all the experts that didn't make any sense either, not with the numbers we were killing." Hillier said.

Harry and Hermione both looked puzzled.

"Over half of the new dragons were Ukrainian Ironbellies." Hillier added.

"The largest and most dangerous breed of dragon. Native to Russia." Hermione said thoughtfully.

"That's right. We're sure that the Russians are using Portkey magic to dump their dragons on us." Hillier replied emphatically.

"How sure? Do you have proof?" Hermione said, sharply.

"Glowing wand proof, no. All the evidence points that way. From their standpoint it's a great move. Solves their problem and weakens a potential enemy." Hillier replied firmly.

"Is that possible?" Hermione said.

"You can make a Portkey out of just about anything. We think the Russians have found a way to make a Portkey out of a volume of air."

"Clever." Hermione said. "Just lure the dragon into the Portkey and activate it." She remembered the way Harry had out-maneouvred the dragon during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. It would certainly be easier and less risky than killing one, far less capturing one.

"Have you or the ICW complained to the Russians?" Hermione added.

"Sure. Both of us. Plenty of times. Same answer. 'Problem? What problem? All our dragons are under control.' Never mind that they have more territory to cover than we do, and more dangerous dragons too." Hillier said, in a tone that said he wouldn't believe the Russians if they said the sky was blue.

"And you want the ICW to invade Russia without proof?" Harry said sharply. He wasn't going to vote for that.

"No." Hillier replied at once. "I'll admit I wouldn't mind seeing those bastards pay for what they did to us, but that spell was never going to cast and we know it. This is our proposal."

He unrolled a large sheet of parchment. It was a map of the northern half of North America. "We've emplaced the nodes for a Portkey ward all the way across Northern Canada. What we need the ICW force for is to activate the nodes. Nobody sets foot in Russia, nobody does anything against them directly, not even a cross word."

"That's the largest Portkey ward I've ever heard of." Hermione said.

"The largest in history." Hillier said. "And that's the problem. We need the three most powerful wizards in the world to activate the master nodes ..." He pointed them out on the map, one at each end and one in the centre. "Then the secondary nodes each need a wizard. It all has to be done at the same time. Once it's up, we can handle the maintenance ourselves. Then the Russians have to deal with their own problems themselves instead of wishing them on us."

Harry looked at the map and nodded. "So you don't just need my vote, you need me to participate."

"That's right." Hillier said. "There are people going to a lot of trouble to keep you in the dark to prevent that."

Harry bit his lip. His immediate reaction was to vote in favour just to put a spoke in the wheel of the people who had tried to hoodwink him. It wasn't that simple. He was the Warlock of Britain. He had to consider the good of the Realm.

"Who do you think is behind all this?" Harry said, mostly to gain some time to think.

"The Russians, obviously." Hillier said. "You would want to look at a man named Dmitri Veronoff. Where he goes, trouble follows. He's been in London for two years now. If you don't know what he's been doing, worry."

Harry wanted to swear at the whole Ministry. He had a huge decision to make and he knew so bloody little. He didn't know this Veronoff from Voldemort's maiden aunt. Hillier seemed to be sincere, but he wanted something from Harry. Harry was reasonably sure he was telling the truth, but was it the whole truth?

On the other hand, he had stood in public and said that where he saw injustice he would speak out and he would act. He had seen evil flourish in the shadows because no one wanted to do anything. He had the scars on his hand to remind him of that. This man had lost a son and his grandson a father. He knew how that felt.

"All right. You've got my vote. I will participate." He said firmly.

"Thank you." Hillier said with heartfelt relief. He offered his hand and they shook. Hillier bundled up the papers on the table and put them in an envelope, handing them to Harry.

"Logan will see you back to your room. See you at the meeting."

The flight back was uneventful. Logan bade them good night and they left.

"Harry, are you sure that this is a good idea?" Hermione asked as they walked down the hallway.

"I'm listening, Hermione." He said. "Why would it not be?"

"The Russians wouldn't like it. You'd be out of Britain." She said.

"Dumbledore didn't seem worried about that. They had his vote, or they wouldn't have brought this forward. Voldemort isn't a problem, either."

"The Ministry is going to want to be consulted. They won't like it if you vote without consulting them." She said, not that she much hoped that Harry would care about that.

"They were so helpful and all, too." Harry replied drily.

She nodded. "All right. There is a benefit, too. If whoever engineered this whole business has it blow up in his face, that will discourage people from trying it again."

"That will look good on them." He replied harshly. Hermione wasn't surprised. People had tried to manipulate him by keeping him in the dark before. He hadn't taken it kindly. Well, he'd made up his mind and given his word.

"We should get back to Hogwarts." He said.

"Madam Rosemerta is going to be disappointed." She grinned. "We aren't staying here all night, and we aren't having any fun."

Chapter 17: Chapter 17 Full Quorum

Chapter 17 Full Quorum

Antoine Hillier sat in the Council chamber in Palais de Beauxbatons, counting the house. The warm summer Sun beating through the windows was offset by the cool from the unmelting ice statues with their convenient alcoves to keep a drink cold. His was water.

Every seat was occupied except for the Warlock of Britain. Hopefully Potter had not come foul of some other scheme to delay or waylay him. Veronoff's poker face was firmly in place, but Hillier could see a bit of cat and canary under it. He thought he had the win here. Hopefully he was wrong. He checked his watch. Ten minutes to the start of the meeting.

Preparations started prior to calling the meeting to order. Dulles was the Chair, which was good news. He didn't tolerate procedural games. Veronoff got to cast the privacy ward on the big double doors, which he did. Hillier wondered if the other members caught the calculated mistake in that ward. It was supposed to keep out everyone except authorized members. His would keep out everyone. It was an annoyance rather than a serious obstacle, typical of Veronoff. Hillier held his peace, as did the rest of the members.

Time crept on toward the meeting time, and Dulles' hand was actually reaching for the gavel when the ward on the door suddenly glowed white and vanished, burned out by a surge of raw power. The big double doors slammed open, and a young man strode into the room. He took the chair of the Warlock, pulled out an envelope of papers from a leather case and put them on the table, and looked over them at the Chairman.

"Harry James Potter, Chairman Dulles. Representative for Britain." He said in a business-like tone.

Hillier was hard put to hide a smile. Well played, Mr. Potter. He thought as he watched Veronoff's poker face slip for just a second to reveal the dismay under it.

"How do we know that this scrawny boy is the Warlock?" Veronoff demanded. It was a very Russian reaction. To them youth meant weakness and lack of control. Veronoff would have pushed anyway, but he would have no respect for a young man.

Potter looked up from the papers in front of him and slowly turned his head to look at Veronoff. The aura of power gathered around him, and a crown of golden fire blazed into existence above his head. Quite deliberately he drew the Elder Wand and laid it on the table. He said nothing, but stared directly into Veronoff's eyes. It was Veronoff who yielded in that silent contest of wills. Potter nodded, and sheathed the Elder Wand. The Crown and the aura vanished again.

Well, of course, the Russians always respect strength and power. Hillier thought. Well played, again.

There were others at this table who would have tested the resolve of the new Warlock, if perhaps more subtly. Hillier had been more concerned with the intelligence and resourcefulness that this young man brought to this table. He had not been disappointed.

He looked around the table. Bannerji was looking thoughtful. Hers was a swing vote. Passing the resolution was half the fight. Getting the force together was the other half. India was crucial to that. They had been on the Security Council many times over the years for precisely that reason. They had a lot to put on the table. She was reconsidering her estimate of the new Warlock, too.

Dulles picked up the gavel and said in the magisterial tone that was typical of him, "Let the record show that all the authorized representatives of the Member Nations of the Security Council of the International Confederation of Wizards are present and seated." He banged the gavel. "The meeting will come to order. The three hundred twenty-fourth meeting of the Security Council is now in session."

The meeting started with old business. There were two situations in Africa and one in Eastern Europe that the Council was watching. What would normally have been dealt with rather quickly dragged on as Veronoff used every excuse he could manufacture to pick and carp and delay. His only hope now was to waste enough time that he could move to delay the vote to another day. With Dulles holding the gavel that was a pretty thin hope.

The decision was made to send a small investigative group to Eastern Europe. Veronoff went on at length pushing the position that Eastern Europe was in Russia's sphere of influence and the Council had no right to intervene. He was outvoted and Graylock was picked to lead the investigation. Harry voted in favour of the investigation, and Graylock's leadership, without hesitation. He had Hermione's opinion for Graylock, and hard recent experience to convince him that suspicious activity needed to be looked into, thoroughly.

When they they came to new business Veronoff made his play to delay the vote on the Canadian resolution, and failed miserably. He didn't even get a second to the motion. Hillier was called on by the Chairman to present the draft resolution, which he did.

Hillier had no problems with the questions that followed. He had lived, breathed and eaten this plan for years. Veronoff's questions were accusations framed as questions that the ICW force was a plot to invade Russia. Dulles shut him down repeatedly, pointing out that the mandate of the force specifically forbade them to enter Russian territory.

The questions from the other members were more reasonable and practical. No one wanted the deployment to drag on, and a lot of thought and planning had gone into making sure it wouldn't need to. Those assurances Hillier could give sincerely and back up with facts.

Finally, Dulles called the vote, and the Resolution passed, six to one. Force Northern Shield was a reality at last.

Antoine Hillier sat back in his chair and savoured the moment. They still had far to go, but now they had hope. This is not the end, or even the beginning of the end. It is the turn of the tide.

There was a short silence around the table, then Dulles struck the gavel. "Next order of business is to nominate a commander for Force Northern Shield."

Hillier raised his hand. Dulles intoned, "The Chair recognizes the representative of Canada."

The plan had been to nominate him for Force Commander, but that had always been iffy. The Indians had a very qualified senior commander, too, and the argument that theirs was going to be the numerically largest contribution. Veronoff would be quick to exploit such a split.

There was a backup plan. Hillier still had doubts here, but Potter had learned fast. There was potential in this young man. He was a natural leader, intelligent, quick thinking and decisive. He could learn the art of command. "Canada nominates the Warlock of Britain."

Hillier had the satisfaction of seeing Veronoff knocked off his game again. Bannerji nominated her man, but the prestige of the Warlock had changed the dynamic. Potter won, three votes to two. The nominee abstained as a matter of procedure if he was a Council member. Veronoff had been caught between the wand and the dragon trying to figure out who to vote for, and ended up abstaining.

"Do you accept this command, Mr. Potter?" Dulles asked gravely.

"I am honoured to accept this command, Mr. Chairman." He replied as formally.

"Let the record show that the Warlock of Britain holds command of Force Northern Shield." Dulles said. He looked as if he was ready to wind things up, but Potter held up his hand. He had learned the hard way that being the leader didn't mean that you had to do everything yourself. This Force was vaster by far than Dumbledore's Army.

"Commander Hillier, you are appointed second in command of the Force. Please make all preparations to ensure that the force can take the field as soon as possible. Notify me when that is done."

"Yes, sir." Hillier replied. That plan had been long in the making, and Antoine Hillier vowed that there would not be a minute lost in executing it.

Well, he has taken some good advice. Amateurs study tactics, professionals study logistics. Hillier thought with satisfaction. Potential indeed. He can listen to good advice.

"Minister Bannerji." Harry continued. "The choice of your contingent is of course yours, but might I request that Commander Sheret lead it? I have taken up a great responsibility, and I need all the help I can get. His abilities are well known."

Sheret had been Bannerji's pick for command of the Force. A prestigious senior command for him, for which he was well qualified, solved both practical and political problems. It certainly would go a long way to salve the sting of losing the top spot.

"Certainly, Mr. Potter." She replied. She could hardly do otherwise at such a pretty compliment. "May I know his responsibilities?"

"He will be Western Area Commander, as Commander Hillier will be Eastern Area Commander. Please have him report to me as soon as his contingent is ready to take the field."

Veronoff's poker face frayed a little more. Complaining that the Force was led by an inexperienced boy would require him to try to convince people to ignore Hillier and Sheret. The bandwagon effect would be against him, as well. This was looking like a winner, and people liked being associated with a winner. Time was not his friend, either. Someone had explained to this boy the need for speed in war.

The Archmage and the Sorcier Supréme met after the meeting ended, in a small salon by the meeting room. She had a glass of fine vintage wine, while he sipped from a glass of aged whisky. They made small talk about the weather, their drinks and their respective grandchildren. They were not precisely friends. Their relationship was more complex than that.

"I noticed, Alexander, that your appearance at the reception was little more than a token. M'sieur Potter did not attend at all. He seemed remarkably well informed for his novice status." There was only a trace of accent in the Baroness' English. She spoke fluent German and Italian as well as her native French. Russian she scorned as the speech of barbarians.

"I took the liberty of giving him a few pointers, Aimée. He is quick to learn." He replied. "He will be our colleague for a long time, after all."

"Veronoff annoyed you, I think." She took a sip of her wine. "I can scarcely blame you for that. I was not myself displeased to see him set down. I wonder why the Russians are so sensitive to being called uncultured when they are."

"They are what their history has made them, Aimée. Still, tampering with the proper notification of Council members was a little over the mark. What dealings he may have had with the British Ministry is for Potter to take up with them." He replied equably.

She shrugged gracefully. "I do not think that young man is a wallflower. He will eventually have to repair his relationship with his Ministry, though. Was it wise to entrust him with the command of the Force? He is a little young, n'est-ce pas?"

"I believe the relevant quote is 'Let the boy win his spurs.', Aimee. With Hillier and Sheret as mentors he will have ample opportunity to learn. This is a relatively straightforward deployment, after all."

"There is always the unexpected, Alexander. You and I have both encountered that over the years."

"So we have. That is part of the art of command, as well. You and I will be there to see how he deals with that."

Chapter 18: Chapter 18 Marched Out

Chapter 18 Marched Out

Miranda Greengrass was working diligently at her desk when the memo flew though the door, landed on her desk and unfolded itself. Principle Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic was a very demanding job. The American equivalent was Chief of Staff to the President.

Miranda

Something has come up. I need a word right away.

Harlan

That cannot possibly be good news. Miranda thought.

That Harlan did not give even a hint of what it was about meant that it was highly sensitive as well. She got up and walked down the hall to the Minister's office. Harlan had dispensed with the Auror guards. They were too badly needed elsewhere. The MoM's office had been stripped of Fudge's clutter and bric-a-brac, but Harlan had not brought in any of his own personal items. That would have sent the wrong message.

She walked in and took a seat. "What do we have, Harlan?"

"A serious problem." He replied. "I just spent a very unpleasant hour with Harry Potter."

"Potter? I thought that dragon was in the cage, at least for now." She replied.

Co-opting someone into rebuilding the system instead of tearing it down was a very old political ploy. Energy that went into reforming the system was energy not spent in tearing it to pieces, to everyone's benefit. Even Fudge had had the wit to attempt it, though not the skill to succeed. Potter certainly had enough on his plate to keep him well occupied.

"He was in France the last two days, attending a meeting of the ICW Security Council and voting in favor of the Canadian resolution. He was also selected as the Commander of Force Northern Shield." Harlan replied grimly.

"What!" Miranda said in disbelief. "I put the request for a delay in through International Magical Cooperation practically the first thing. Dumbledore was dead, for Merlin's sake. We didn't even know who his successor at the ICW was going to be at that point. Benjamin Bulstrode stood right in my office to say that it was all taken care of, the ICW was sympathetic and they'd get back to us when the meeting was rescheduled."

"Potter wanted heads on plates, and I'm not sure that wasn't literal. I talked him down to public dismissals for cause. He was rather skeptical of my protests of innocence." Harlan replied.

"How in Merlin's name did he even find out?" Miranda said.

"I think the Canadians back-channeled him. They really want this resolution badly." Harlan said.

Miranda nodded. That made sense. What was disturbing was that they could have done it without her finding out. That was another problem Bulstrode had just created for her. The Canadians had gone right past him and gotten to Potter without the Ministry even knowing about it. What else had got past them? Merlin's hairy arse, the whole foreign policy of the Realm had just taken a hard right turn and Bulstrode had been asleep at the Floo.

"Could this have been sloppiness?" Miranda asked. That didn't seem likely, but she had seen a lot in her many years in politics. It was still more than enough cause to demand Bulstrode's resignation.

"I don't think so." Harlan replied. "There was a name that kept coming up. Veronoff. Dmitri Veronoff."

"Well, well, well." Miranda said. "Journey's end in lovers meeting, as the old song says. It's been a while since I crossed wands with that son of a hag. What is he doing these days?"

"Russian delegate to the ICW Security Council. Been in and out of London the last while." Harlan said. "I don't think that's a coincidence."

"Not even close." Miranda agreed at once. Where Veronoff was in the mix, there were no coincidences. Their current state of confusion would create plenty of vulnerabilities. Merlin knew how many of them Veronoff might have exploited. She was now willing to bet anything that Bulstrode was one of them.

"Do we know what Potter committed us to?" She asked with dismay. "Contributing to an international force? Merlin's beard, we're bare bones just trying to keep order domestically and clean up the Ministry."

"I didn't get that far. If we go back to him with some heads on plates maybe we can get that answer." Harlan said.

Miranda contemplated the mess that Bulstrode had just dumped into her lap, and her temper began to rise. "Damn it, Harlan, I want heads on plates. That bastard stood right in my office and lied to my face about this. What else did he lie about? How much damage has he done?"

"Right good questions, Miranda. How do you want to handle this?" Harlan replied gravely.

"I can't handle all this myself. Bulstrode's head rolls, and so does his Undersecretary's. I'll pull in someone I can trust and tell him to clean house."

Merlin bloody knows who that will be. Someone retired? She thought.

Harlan was writing with his desk quill. "Do you have a name?"

"Not off the top of my head." Miranda replied. Oh, for a spell to make triplicates of competent decent people. She added mentally.

"Hmm. How about Arthur Weasley?" Harlan said.

Miranda considered that. "I don't think he does bureaucratic warfare very well."

"I don't think he considered the MMA Office to be demotion to a backwater." Harlan replied. "He liked the work. Good investigator. He had the backbone to stand up to Malfoy, and Merlin knows that's a scarce commodity. As far as warfare goes, he was Order of the Phoenix."

Miranda raised an eyebrow in surprise. There had been a lot of rumours about who had, or had not been in the Order. Weasley had not struck her as the type. Quiet, competent and unambitious was how he came across. His naive enthusiasm for muggles and their ways had not encouraged taking him seriously. That made a lot more sense now. A family man in the Order would be very well motivated to keep a low profile. It was hard to call him wrong on that. He and his family were still alive, after all.

"Potter knows and trusts him." Miranda said thoughtfully.

"There is that in his favor, too." Harlan replied.

The more Miranda thought about that, the better it looked. Harlan had been right on the galleons about trust and goodwill being a long way down the road, and this fiasco was going to make that road longer.

In crisis there was also opportunity. Making a richly deserved example of Bulstrode would show that they were serious about cleaning house, and putting someone in his place that Potter would actually talk to would be the beginning of a relationship, a chance to show him that the Ministry could be useful.

"All right." She said decisively. "I'll get that done today."

Miranda went back to her office. Her first thought had been to call Bulstrode and his Undersecretary on the carpet in her office and fire them there. She changed her mind. They didn't even deserve that consideration. She stopped by the Ministry Security office. It was run by a scarred old veteran Auror named Kevin Vickers, brought back from retirement.

"Kevin. I'd like borrow a couple of your people if I could. Shouldn't take long." She said.

"What's it about, Miranda?" He asked.

"I'm firing a couple of people for cause, and I want to make sure that they don't walk out with anything they shouldn't, or anything incriminating." She replied.

"Will I do?" He said.

"You'll do splendidly, Kevin. Splendidly." She said warmly.

With Kevin at her shoulder she led on down to Misuse of Magical Artifacts.

"Is Arthur in?" She inquired of one of the staff.

"He's in his office, ma'am." She replied.

At Kevin's inquiring look, she realized what this must look like. "Goodness, no, Kevin. Quite the reverse, actually. I'm robbing Peter and Paul for competent people, and it's MMA's turn to stand and deliver."

He chuckled. They went on in to Arthur Weasley's office.

Arthur Weasley sat back in his chair with a feeling of modest accomplishment. Another file closed. Some people who had been tormenting muggles for the sheer Hell of it were in detention. With luck they would get Azkaban time to remind them of the law and common decency.

He looked around his cramped, cluttered office. Director of MMA wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, perhaps, but muggles and wizards alike slept a little safer because of what he did. He had done his time in the Order in the same spirit. Well, hopefully those days were gone for good.

The members of the Order had gone their separate ways, those who had survived. Sirius was still in hiding. The rest of them were, mostly, just glad to be alive. Arthur savored that feeling every morning when he woke up next to Molly. They were still keeping their heads down by the habit of years. They had cause. There were still Death Eaters out there.

He looked up at the knock on his half open door. "Come." He said.

Miranda Greengrass and Kevin Vickers came in. "Good morning, Arthur." She said cheerily. "Can I ask a favour? I've got quite a problem and I need your help to solve it."

"Certainly." He said, puzzled. What in the name of Merlin's long flowing beard did the Minister's right hand want with him? He didn't seem to be in any trouble, and Greengrass wasn't Umbridge, for which everyone in the Ministry gave daily thanks.

"Good, good. Have you got someone who can cover your desk for a while, Arthur? This will take some time." She said, pleasantly but with an undertone that said she had no time to waste.

"Um, yes. Petra Anson is out in the field at the moment." Petra was a muggle-born who he'd promoted because she damned well deserved it. He doubted if she was going to get much higher, but times were changing, so who knew?

"If you could leave word for her? We do need to get cracking on this." Miranda said, still cheerfully.

"How long do you think it will be?" Arthur said, quill poised over parchment.

"You should just make it until further notice, Arthur. I don't know exactly how long this will take."

Weasley nodded, wrote a quick note and put it on Petra's desk on the way out.

They went down three more flights to International Magical Cooperation, straight past the offices of Magical Trading Standards and Magical Law. They stopped at the offices of International Confederation of Wizards Liaison. Bulstrode's Undersecretary looked up inquiringly.

"We're having a bit of a meeting in the Director's office, and I'd appreciate it if you could sit in." Miranda said.

He looked puzzled but got up to go with her. They went in to Bulstrode's office and left the door open behind them. Vickers stationed himself at the door.

"Hello, Benjamin." She said politely. "I've got a bit of a problem."

"What can I do to help?" He replied unctuously.

Her smile went from polite to predatory in an eyeblink. "You can clean out your desk right now, you lying bloody sack of shit." Her gaze went from Bulstrode to his Undersecretary. "You too. Right bloody now."

He sat petrified for a minute, until she snarled, "I said right bloody now, not when you bloody well got round to it."

He opened his mouth to reply, and she cut him off short. "I know about the Russians, and I know about Veronoff. That's more than enough to get you the axe for cause."

He looked up defiantly. "I acted to keep a schoolboy from meddling with what he didn't understand. It's too late. The vote was taken."

Miranda laughed. "Not only corrupt, but incompetent, too. The Warlock attended that meeting and he voted in favour. Harry Potter outwitted you and you never saw it coming. You're going to have to explain that to your Russian friends. They are so forgiving of failure."

Bulstrode's face went from red-faced defiance to sheet white terror in an instant. Miranda nodded. If she'd had any lingering doubt of his guilt it was gone now. The look on Bulstrode's face was mirrored on his Undersecretary's hardly a beat later.

Vickers turned his head and nailed one of the staffers with his gaze. "You. A cardboard box. Here. Now."

The staffer was back in a couple of minutes with a box that had held floor soap. Vickers slammed it down on the desk. "Pack up."

Slowly, like a man in a nightmare, Bulstrode obeyed. He started with ordinary personal things, a presentation quill set, pictures of family, the family crest, awards and plaques. Then he unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out a folder of papers. Weasley took the folder from his hand and handed it to Miranda.

"Well, well, well." She said disgustedly. Bulstrode hadn't even been clever about it. It was all there, requests from the ICW to confirm the new Warlock, notifications of the Council meeting, draft resolutions. Replies from Bulstrode saying everything is fine but we're a little busy here. There was even a note from Veronoff thanking him for his help and confirming a Gringotts transfer.

The greenest Auror in the Corps could make a criminal case from this without even taking out his wand. She closed it again. This file was going to Amelia Bones personally.

The parade left Bulstrode's office and went to his Undersecretary's. Miranda still didn't remember his name and didn't care to bother. Just another apple-polishing time server. Another box was produced and filled with his personal bric-a-brac under Vickers' hard gaze.

By this time all pretense of work going on had vanished. The entire staff was gathered, watching in horrified fascination. Miranda was pretty sure that there were people from other departments, too.

Good. The more the merrier. She thought harshly. I need to make a example here.

She had been going with a light hand because she wanted people to understand that she wasn't Umbridge. People also had to understand that when they crossed the line, there were consequences.

"Kevin, could you see these two out, please. Make sure they don't come back. Ever." Miranda said, making sure that all those watching could hear her plainly.

"My pleasure, Miranda." He put a hand on each shoulder and started them moving. It dawned on Bulstrode and his toady that they were going to have to carry their belongings past the whole Ministry with the Chief of Security setting the pace. One glance at Vickers' set, merciless face said they would walk or be dragged.

"Let's go in your office, Arthur." She led the way into what had been Bulstrode's office. She subtly maneuvered to take the visitor's chair herself and have Arthur take the chair behind the desk.

He looked at the papers on the desk, and shook his head in disgust. "I don't understand diplomacy, Miranda, but I understand that Harry has had another God-awful responsibility dumped on him, and this bastard took bribes to lie to him and keep him in the dark."

"Exactly right, Arthur." She said. "By sheer bloody stupid luck Harry found out about it anyway. I'm pretty sure that Veronoff, the Russian who paid off Bulstrode, paid off people in the ICW too."

"Much good it did him. Looks good on the bastard. The ICW isn't our jurisdiction." He replied.

"True. It does mean we don't know who we can trust in the ICW." Miranda replied.

"Merlin's beard, how deep does the rot go?" Arthur said.

"That's what I will look to my new Director of International Magical Cooperation to find out and deal with." She replied.

"I'm a cop, not a diplomat, Miranda." He said evenly. He had seen this coming. Good.

"I need a cop to tell me which of the diplomats I can trust, and get rid of the ones I can't." She replied. "I know you like your job at MMA, and I'm handing you a mess. You'll be taking a lot more money home to your family, but they may not recognize you by the time we're done with this. I need someone trustworthy here. Harry needs someone he can trust here. He's got a terrible responsibility and he needs all the help he can get. He certainly got none from Bulstrode."

Arthur Weasley's face set hard. Miranda realized that this was his cop's face, the side of him that he never showed to his family. The side of him that had brought him into the Order. People underestimated kindly family men like him, because they didn't realize that the other side of such men was that they would go all the way to protect their family. Harry was family to him. Harlan had chosen better than he knew.

"Right. Do I need to go through you to fire people?" He asked, in the same tone as a man might use to ask if there was enough parchment in the store room.

"Do what needs doing, Arthur. You have my full confidence." She replied.

Chapter 19: Chapter 19 Breakfast With Teachers

Chapter 19 Breakfast With Teachers

"Good morning, Harry." Minerva said, looking at him narrowly. "How are you?" It wasn't a casual question. He had the look of someone who'd been running on tea and Pepper-Up the last couple of days.

"Better with breakfast, Minerva. I'm starving." His breakfast rose out of the table shortly afterwards, about twice his usual hearty portion. He set to at once. With the edge off his appetite he took a drink of his tea and said, "Thanks for covering my classes for me, Minerva. I'm sorry about the short notice."

"You were dealing with rather important matters, Harry. How did the ICW meeting go?" Minerva asked.

"I got there and voted in favor of the Canadian resolution. Its ... I thought it was the right thing to do. I wound up getting stuck with command of the entire force."

"What? They think you don't have enough on your plate?" Minerva said, frowning. Somebody had an agenda over this, but she had no idea who they were or what it might be. Of course, if Magical Cooperation was doing any part of their job Harry would have been briefed on what he needed to know.

"I wondered that myself. There are two experienced senior officers from India and Canada, so I dumped the work on them and told them to deal with it." Harry replied. "Alexander Dulles, the Archmage, pulled me aside and gave me some pointers. At least I didn't look like a complete ass out of his depth."

He applied himself to his bacon and eggs, and added, "I saw the Minister about that whole mess, and I put a flea in his ear. We'll see what comes of that - if anything."

The cold distrust in his voice said that nothing was exactly what he expected. Minerva thought about telling him that the Ministry was an organization of people, not a monolith, but now was not the time for that conversation. Hopefully the new Minister had had the sense to do something concrete about this.

The usual parliament of owls swept in with the morning's mail. Minerva and Harry both got copies of the Prophet. Harry poured himself a second cup of tea. He looked at the Prophet, but decided he had a little time before dealing with whatever drivel was in it this morning. He sipped at his tea and looked down the student tables. Hermione and Ron were sitting together, and frowned a little. He'd hardly seen anything of Ron lately, except in classes where he was a teacher or DA meetings where he was the leader.

He missed the easy comradery of the Gryffindor common room. He could have tea in the Teacher's Lounge, but it wasn't the same. Lack of time could lose someone a friend just as surely as a blazing row. Maybe more so. You could patch up after a row. This new life he had embarked on ate a lot of things. Time, relationships, small pleasures like an afternoon in the sun or reading for pleasure.

Harry was a little surprised to see a familiar red-headed figure walk down the tables and be greeted by Ron enthusiastically. It was Arthur Weasley. They talked for a little, then Ron pointed up at the teacher's tables. He walked up to the bottom of the stairs to the teacher's table, and said, formally, "Headmistress, I'm sorry to bother you so early in the morning, but I do really need a word with Harry if that's possible."

Minerva glanced over at Harry, who nodded assent immediately. Arthur came up the stairs and took a seat. He looked like a man who'd had little if any sleep last night. Harry knew that look. He'd seen it in the mirror a few times of late. "Hello, Harry. Good to see you again. I have to regret the circumstances, I'm afraid."

Minerva recognized it as well. "Arthur, have you had any breakfast?"

"Breakfast. Ah, no, actually." He replied. Minerva tapped her wand and a breakfast the size of Harry's rose out of the table in front of him.

He took a few bites and a drink of his tea. "Ah, thank you. That's good. Have you seen this morning's Prophet?"

At Harry's head-shake he continued. "Well, there's been a bit going on, so I needed to bring you up to speed. Your discussion with the Minister yesterday certainly put the kneazle among the pigeons. The Minister's Undersecretary went down to International Magical Cooperation and fired Bulstrode and his deputy right in front of God and everyone. They were marched out by Security and told not to come back. Ever."

"They really did that?" Harry said in shock. He'd expected some milk and water excuse for doing nothing.

"I was there, Harry. He deserved it, too. He hadn't only lied to you. He'd lied to her and the Minister and Merlin knows who else, and taken bribes from the Russians to do it. She wasn't best pleased with that." Arthur replied.

"Is there going to be a criminal investigation?" Harry asked.

Arthur took a deep breath and another drink of tea. "Well, there would have been, but Bulstrode saved us the trouble. He went home, wrote a letter, and blew his head off with a Bombarda Maxima. That's not in the Prophet, because we haven't notified all the family members yet. His niece is here at Hogwarts, which is part of the reason I'm here."

"Arthur, that is best done by her Head of House. Are you sure of that?" Minerva said.

"I just came from the scene, Headmistress. The Aurors were checking to make sure that it was him, which was a job of work and no mistake, and that it was suicide. They're certain on both counts."

Harry looked back at Arthur Weasley, shocked in a different way. His report of the death had been dry and factual. This was not like the kindly man that he knew.

Arthur returned the look. "The man sold out, Harry. He sold his career and his honor and his family's name, for 5000 galleons. He made such atonement as he could. That's the end of it."

For an orphan, I have a lot of fathers. Harry thought. He had no doubt that this was the Head of a magical family teaching his son about integrity and honor, the cost of keeping them and the price of losing them. There were faults that Arthur Weasley would forgive, and ones that he would not.

Harry realized that he had played his own role in Bulstrode's death. The power of the Warlock had its privileges. He could demand an audience with the Minister and get it. He could demand something be done and something would be done. Doing that had consequences. Like a man going home to realize that he had lost everything and was probably going to prison, and so deciding to end his life.

What was justice in this case? That was a question he was confronting a lot, lately. Bulstrode had made his own justice. In the muggle world there would have been concern for the man himself and his family. The magical world went by an older and sterner code.

Harry took a deep breath and changed the subject. "So, who is going to be the new Head of Magical Cooperation?" Harry asked, thinking, Hopefully it's not going to be another lying corrupt bastard.

"That would be me, Harry." Arthur replied evenly.

"You?" Harry said in astonishment.

"Rather my reaction, too, Harry." Arthur said ruefully. "I didn't ask for the job. My mandate is to clean house, and ensure that you have what you need to meet your responsibilities."

Arthur took another drink of his tea. "I'd like to get your account of the ICW meeting, if I could."

"Well, certainly, if you like." Harry said. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. He had some time before his first class.

"Yes, I would like, Harry." He replied firmly. "I'm going to be talking to the people in my new Department today, and I need to know as much as I can so I can tell whether I'm being lied to, and if so by whom."

"Ah, right, then. Well, it all started when …."

Chapter 20: Chapter 20 Walking the Alley

Chapter 20 Walking the Alley

Author's Note: Thanks to Katzztar for pointing out that Harry's qualifications might be called into question. Good reviewers make stories better.
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"So, Harry." Minerva said. "Madam Anselm and the Standards Committee are here to see your new substitute for dueling practice, since you have stopped using that as a training method."

"That's right, Minerva." Harry said. "I didn't consider dueling practice to be very … prudent, considering the state of feeling among the Houses. The initial results have been good, and I find it a better way to measure performance."

The very elderly woman with at the head of the group behind Minerva swept a cold look on the setup. It looked like an ordinary village street. There was a pub, a tea shop and some other small businesses. "Boadicea Anselm, Mr. Potter. Explain this new-fangled method of yours to me."

Harry swallowed nervously. Boadicea Anselm was the Chair of the Ministry's Educational Standards Committee, which ruled on validity of teaching methods and set examination standards. She had been a teacher when Harry's grandparents had been at Hogwarts. The Standards Committee Members had all been Heads of House at Hogwarts. Fudge had disbanded them, and the new Minister had restored them to their previous place.

Harry wished that he could give Hermione and Minerva the credit they deserved here. The idea here was not original with her, but Hermione had done the research and the work to adapt the design from the technology used by the muggle Federal Bureau of Investigation. Minerva had negotiated help and support from the Auror Training staff. Well, he could repay them by not letting them down.

Harry gestured at the setup. "The course simulates a normal street in a magical district. We are in fact using the area where the Philosopher's Stone was stored, cleared out and repurposed. We can vary the lighting, from full daylight to darkness with only street lamps. As the trainee walks the Alley, they experience encounters with various human and non-human entities, both threatening and non-threatening. We watch how they do up here on the mirror, so that they can be marked on how they do."

"Non-threatening?" She replied sharply. "What is the point of that?"

"It teaches judgment, Madam Anselm." Harry replied carefully. "Knowledge of spells and how to use them is one thing. The judgment to decide which spell, if any, is warranted is another. In a real encounter, that can be as vital as knowing the spell itself. Assessing the threat is as important as being able to meet it. Doing so quickly can be the margin of life and death, as I know from personal experience."

"Hmmph." She replied, intimidatingly. "And how long before your students know this course of yours by heart and pass cheat sheets around?"

Harry smiled. There were some advantages to being closer to his student days, and knowing Fred and George Weasley. "Every station in the course can have a wide variety of different threats, from nothing or a muggle child with a lollipop up to a Death Eater or a Dementor. I vary the course for each student, so there is no school solution to make cheat sheets for. That also allows us to tailor the course for various levels of difficulty. Right now I am training the Fifth years for their OWL exams."

"Hmmph." She said again. "Most unconventional. Do you use this for all your students?"

"No, ma'am." Harry replied. "The first through third years do classroom and drills. They need a firm grasp on the basics first. Fourth years begin on this course at the lowest level."

She swept the area with a cold measuring look, then said abruptly, "Well, the proof of the pudding is in the eating, Mr. Potter. I would like you to demonstrate your little toy. Minerva, set it up."

Harry nodded and moved over to the start line. Minerva moved over to the board with different runes for each station.

"I can set it up for a normal OWL level course if you like." She said, politely.

"There have been some complaints that Mr. Potter is not sufficiently qualified to be a teacher, Minerva. What is the top level of difficulty?"

"The Director of Auror Training has been borrowing this facility for the senior Auror trainees, Madam Anselm." Minerva replied, politely.

"Good." She said brusquely. "Set it up for that. Let us see what your young protégé has in his spellbook."

Minerva consulted that list and did so without argument. If Anselm thought she was going to catch him out, she was due to be disappointed. Harry did this course several times a week at high difficulty while teaching his classes.

Harry stood at the start line and waited. He was in good training and felt confident. That he would have an audience did not bother him, either. He'd had one at the Tri-Wizard tournament and he did it in front of his classes to demonstrate good tactics by example.

Minerva's voice, magically enhanced, sounded across the floor. "You are about to walk the Alley. Identify and neutralize the threats. Be prepared to fight for your life. Begin now."

Harry drew his wand, his ordinary wand rather than the Elder Wand, and a brief smile flicked across his face.

Thanks, Minerva. He thought. The warning about being prepared to fight for your life was only given to the Auror trainees. Let's get this done.

Harry walked around the corner, every sense alert. The first encounter was a small child who came up to him and said, "Hello."

"Hello." Harry said gently. "Where's your mommy?"

"Go back to her." He said when she pointed back down the street, never relaxing his vigilance. The brawny figure that stepped out of the shop door had a wand leveled and wore the evil features of Fenrir Greyback. Harry's wand snapped to bear and he snapped "Diffindo, Diffindo."

The first spell drilled a hole in the target's Shield, the second went through that hole and through him. The double-tap required speed, hair breadth precision and training. Harry spared a glance back to see the child hugging her mother, then moved on.

The next target was a muggle with a shotgun. Harry stunned him before he could fire, sliced the gun in half with a Diffindo, Obliviated him and moved on.

Minerva was commenting on what they saw in the mirror to the members of the Committee. They watched him levitate a block of stone, use it as a stepping stone to reach the top of the wall and surprise the three targets who were waiting for him on the other side of the gate through that wall. They had let themselves be seen through the partly open gate.

"As you can see, Madam Anselm, the Alley tests resourcefulness as well as the ability to use spells. As we have already discussed, good judgment in how much force to use is needed to train for the real world. Memorizing from a textbook does not do that."

"So I see." Madam Anselm said thoughtfully, looking at the mirror. Harry opened the door at the end of the Alley and began walking back to the start, sheathing his wand as he did so.

"Ewan, If you were to consider Mr. Potter as an Auror trainee undergoing his final examination, what mark would you give him on this exercise?" Anselm asked.

Ewan McAllister was the Director of Auror Training, and was also a member of the Standards Committee, since he had a vital interest in the quality of training for his potential recruits. He was also one of those who had expressed doubts about the qualifications of Harry Potter to teach this course. He was looking grudgingly impressed.

"90%. He lost most of those marks at Station 8, where he spent extra time moving the muggle civilians out of the line of fire. He would have done better to remove the threat more quickly. That is, however, still a strong pass. He engaged no non-threat targets and used appropriate force levels at all stations. An Auror trainee would be qualified for full duty without limits." McAllister replied briefly.

Madam Anselm nodded. "An Auror trainee is required to have a NEWT O in Defence, and undergoes additional training as well. Mr. Potter has just passed a demanding test at that level, with no warning or preparation. I would say that he deserves the qualification of NEWT O in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Do I hear dissent?"

"There are those who will say that the most powerful wizard in the world has an unfair advantage." Came one mild comment.

Minerva replied starchily, "Those people are not very observant. Harry used his ordinary wand, not the Elder Wand, and called on none of the powers of the Warlock."

She chuckled a little, and added, "That is a set policy. The integrity of the castle's foundations is, after all, a matter of serious concern."

Silence gave assent to that rather uncomfortable truth.

"Dissent?" Anselm repeated. There was none. "Then it is so ordered."

McAllister's voice seconded the motion. The voice vote passed the motion unanimously.

Anselm watched Harry as he walked back up toward them. It was clear to her very experienced eyes that while he had clearly been working hard, he was not exhausted or out of breath. She nodded approval. What a man taught and how he taught it told much about him. Potter's method tested not only personal courage and skill with spells, but quick wit and the ability to think quickly, plan and act under pressure. It also placed great emphasis on the defence of the innocent.

"Mr. Potter." Anselm greeted him as he walked up to them. "Impressive. The Committee has decided that you are to be granted an O qualification at the NEWT level, which will answer the criticisms that you are not qualified to teach this course at so prestigious a school as Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Madam Anselm." Harry said politely, feeling very relieved.

"You have earned it, Mr. Potter. There have long been serious concerns about the Defence programme at Hogwarts, and from what we can see you have made a commendable effort to address those shortcomings."

She cocked her head with curiosity. "Does this facility have a name?"

A sombre look fell on Harry's manner. "Yes, ma'am. I call it Diggory's Alley. Perhaps, if I train and prepare my students well enough, we will have no more tragedies such as befell him."

Boadicea Anselm nodded slowly. "We may all hope for that, Mr. Potter. I wish you good fortune in that quest."

As she led the Committee members down the corridor, Boadicea Elizabeth Diggory Anselm felt the pain and grief she had felt when she looked down at Cedric's body rise again within her. Wishing for vengeance on a man who would hover at the brink of death for untold lifetimes was sterile and pointless. Diggory's Alley. Now there was a worthy memorial for the laughing cheerful boy she had watched grow to manhood.

She turned to McAllister. "Ewan, what is your opinion of this method?"

"As soon as I can get Director MLE and the Minister for Public Safety to sign off, it will be the new standard for Auror training. I was skeptical until I saw it in action and saw the results. Some of Potter's advanced students could give my Aurors a run for their money. I've heard that the DA is using it, too."

They were on the way back down to London by train when Boadicea convened a meeting of the Committee, opening with a free-form discussion of Potter's new method and its merits. Even the conservative doubters did not have much to criticize.

"It does not prepare the students very well for a formal duel." Jane Florean said, dubiously.

Ewan fielded that one. "The vast majority of encounters are not formal duels, Jane. In my experience as an Auror, the commonest sort of encounter is unexpected, in bad light, and at close range."

Boadicea let the discussion run on for a while while she gauged the mood of the Committee. When she considered that the time was right, she broached her motion.

"I propose that this method should be used on a trial basis for this year's OWL and NEWT certifications. We can then evaluate the results and decide whether it will be certified as the new Ministry standard."

That provoked another round of lively discussion, but when Boadicea called the vote it came out in favour. She had no illusions that this was the end of it. She was also well aware that it would not be easy. Such a radical change had its doubters even in her own Committee. There would be furious opposition from some in the Ministry and the Wizengamot at the very mention of a test that required the protection of muggles.

No worthwhile thing ever comes easily, she thought. She began to reckon up allies and supporters. Griselda Marchbanks had resigned in protest over the Umbridge affair, and she could deliver a sizable bloc of votes, particularly if she resumed her seat in the Chamber. The Acting Minister would be persuadable, as well. It would give him solid ground to back Potter and thereby gain some goodwill in that direction. The Diggory family speaking out would make it awkward for some of her opponents, too. Still, it would be a hard fight.

Boadicea's face hardened into an expression that might, with great charity, be called a smile. There were men and women who had seen that expression across a dueling floor. Some of them had lived to remember it.

This one is for you, Cedric.

Chapter 21: Chapter 21 Dead Rat

Chapter 21 Dead Rat

Author's Note. I am indebted to Gman64 for pointing out that in this AU Sirius Black is still alive and a wanted fugitive. Let justice be done, though the heavens fall.

Jane broke off dictating to the Quick Quill as Big John walked into the cramped cubby that served as their shared office. She really hoped that this wasn't something else. She was one report away from being able to book off and go home. It had been one more long hard shift in a succession of them. She was well past the point where the overtime pay was any consolation.

"Sorry, Jane." Big John rumbled. "We got one."

Jane bit down on all the things that she could have said, stood up and checked to make sure she had everything. Then she checked again. It was easy to make stupid mistakes when you were tired.

"What have we got?" She said. They were headed for the front entrance, not the Portkeys, so it was at least local.

"Dead body." Big John replied briefly.

"What the Hell?" Jane said irritably. "Hitwizards all take the day off?"

"They pushed it up to us. They think it's a Death Eater." Big John said, sounding no better pleased than she was.

MLE was having to deal with a lot of things, including the fallout from the Fall of Voldemort. The policy of pushing those investigations up to the Auror Corps instead of leaving them to the local Hitwizards had come out of some very nasty surprises around those dead bodies. There had been Death Eaters who didn't have the Dark Mark and who were in consequence very much alive. That meant those dead Death Eaters might yield clues that would lead to living ones.

That also made for a lot of false alarms. Jane hoped this was one of those false alarms. Then they could wrap this up quickly and see the end of this shift.

They took the Floo to the scene, a small magical enclave in West London, mostly rooms to let and a small pub. A ward around the scene kept the gawkers at bay. It let Jane and Big John through, sensing the badges on their wands.

Big John said, "Jane, this is Jim Albumin, cursebreaker. Jim, my rook, Jane Twelvetrees."

"Pleasure." They said simultaneously.

"Jim, what have you got?" Big John said, getting to business.

"Pretty nasty." Albumin added. "The usual run of wards that you see if someone has something to hide, plus this."

He flicked his wand into the doorway and away again instantly. An evil-looking jagged blade slashed across the doorway, then vanished again. "Triggered by anyone with a badge trying to enter. The Hitwizard was lucky, if you can call it that. He put his shoulder to the door instead of using his wand. He's in St. Mungo's with a big chunk taken out of his shoulder, but he'll recover."

"How long to make safe?" Big John asked.

"A few minutes." Albumin replied. "They've got the landlord over there if you want to talk to him."

The landlord had been the one who reported the body, and he didn't strike Jane as being very diligent or careful about his tenants. In fact, he pretty clearly did not want to be. The answer to such questions as the identity of his tenant or how he got paid added up to no idea, and cash. His sole interest was in having the body removed so that he could rent the rooms again. Interrogation of the neighbors yielded no more of any use, either. It wasn't the sort of neighborhood that encouraged back stoop conversation.

Albumin waved them over and said, "Made safe to enter. Detailed check of the interior will take quite a bit longer."

"That's all right, Jim. We'll be careful. We spot anything, we'll give you a shout."

At Jane's puzzled look, Big John elaborated. "People with something to hide put the traps on windows and doors. Traps inside are more likely to hurt you than an intruder. We need to watch for Portkeys, though."

They went through the rooms, wands at the ready. It didn't take long to clear the place. The smell was coming from the small living room. There was the body of a man lying face down on the floor. There was no doubt that he was dead and had been for quite a while.

Jane watched as Big John went methodically to work. The wand on the floor floated up and set itself to one side. He then cast a quick succession of diagnostic spells. Jane recognized most of them, but a couple were new to her. She made a mental note to ask about them, later. For now, she kept her wand ready, alert to back up her partner. When it came to Death Eaters, dead was no guarantee of harmless. Whoever it was had certainly been a Death Eater.

The Dark Mark was burned bone deep into his arm. The hand on that arm lacked a finger. The hand of the other arm was missing altogether, though there was an outline shaped like a hand where the arm ended, scorched into the floorboards. Both it and the Dark Mark showed traces of the same powerful dark wizardry. Jane made the connection. Voldemort's work.

"All right." Big John said. "Lets see who you are, then."

He flicked his wand and cast Wingardium Leviosa. The body floated up and turned over so that they could see the man's face. It reminded Jane of nothing so much as a rat. Certainly he had not led a healthy life. The pale pinched look of his face said that he had not seen the sun nor lived well in a long time. The out-sized front teeth in the narrow mouth were yellow and stained.

Big John stared down at the face of the dead man for a long moment. Then the spell broke and the body slammed back down onto the floorboards. His face set in an expression of grim angry recognition.

"Snap me wand and call me a bloody muggle." He said, still staring down at the dead man's face. Jane was shocked, not so much at the foul language itself but that Big John would use it in front of her. Scrupulously avoiding that was one of his few concessions to her gender.

"I don't recognize him, Big John." Jane said carefully. Every Auror knew the faces of the Death Eaters, both the dead and the living. Especially the living. They were attainted outlaws, to be killed on sight. They had nothing to lose and everyone's hand against them.

"No, you wouldn't, Jane." He said, still staring down at the man's face. "Far as I knew, he'd been dead for years. That is Peter Pettigrew. He was the victim in the Sirius Black murder case. Him and twelve innocent muggles."

"Sirius Black. The one who escaped from Azkaban. The one who was never caught. That Sirius Black." Jane said. You didn't need to be an Auror to know that name. Well, so much for any hope of wrapping this up quickly.

"The very same." Big John replied heavily. "Now that I think about it, Dumbledore pushed to get the case reopened a few times. Never went anywhere because there wasn't any evidence, not to mention that no one wanted to poke that dragon. The last time was just before the escape. Never thought about that, but now I do wonder if there was a connection."

He set himself like a man going into something that was going to hurt - a lot. "Bag and tag his wand, Jane. Under your name, not mine. My name can't be on any of this."

He shook his head slowly and his mouth set into a hard line. "No, not even that. I hate to do this, Jane. A man should clean up his own mess and atone for his own mistakes. I can't. All I can do is pass it on to someone who can. This is not my case any more. You're the Lead on this, Auror Twelvetrees. What do you want done?"

Jane paused for a long moment, realizing that she had just been told that her probationary time was done. "Why is that?"

"I was the lead investigator on the Sirius Black case. Twas my first big case, the one that made my reputation."

Jane looked back at him in shock. She had never thought of Big John as old, but he looked every day of his many hard years now.

"A last word of advice, Jane. Don't make the mistakes I made. Don't assume. Sometimes what's obvious really is. Sometimes it isn't. Where this bastard is concerned, don't assume one damned thing. Don't let yourself be played the way I was."

Jane bit her lip and thought for a minute. This was going to be her first independent case, and there wasn't going to be a bigger one. As far as the whole Magical world knew, Sirius Black had been the Death Eater who had betrayed the Potter family to Voldemort and committed mass murder, starting with Peter Pettigrew. On the evidence they had just stumbled onto, the whole Magical world was wrong. With the players involved here ... No. She was going to do this by the book and be damned to the politics.

Under her name … no, she was going go one better. "Mr. Albumin!"

Albumin poked his head in though the door, and said curiously, "What's up, Big John?"

Big John shook his head sadly. "I'm just the subordinate, Jim. She's the Lead."

Albumin wasn't an Auror, but a civilian specialist. Jane swept her gaze around the filthy cluttered little room and started a mental list of what needed doing to make this magic tight. "I will want a detailed report from you on the wards and traps on this scene, with your opinion on who cast them if that is possible."

"That's going to take a while, Miss. I've got a lot else to do." He said in a foot dragging tone.

"That's Auror Twelvetrees to you, Mr. Albumin. Whatever else you are doing is less important than this. Take the Floo back to the Barn and tell them I want the Forensic Magic Squad out here as quick as kiss your hand." She snapped.

"Well, Auror, I don't know. They'll have had a long day already." He said in that same foot-dragging tone.

She gave him a cold look. "Haven't we all. You tell them that I'm reopening the Sirius Black case for significant new evidence and see if that doesn't put some dragon blood in their wand. Notify the Deputy Chief of Investigations and tell him where the scene is and that I'll be here."

Albumin looked gobsmacked, staring at her. Jane jabbed a thumb at the body on the floor. "That is the body of the marked Death Eater Peter Pettigrew. Get a bloody move on."

Albumin added urgency to gobsmacked and left hurriedly. Jane heard his footsteps as he hurried out to the pub where the Floo was.

"If you like, I can tell the Hitwizards to detain the neighbours and the landlord for questioning." Big John said. It was a suggestion, not an order framed as such, as it might have been an hour ago.

"Please do, Big John. Have them get statements from all of them. They can say this was a Death Eater. Might shake something loose." Jane said.

Releasing information was the Lead's decision. The norm for this sort of neighbourhood was to not tell the Aurors the time of day. The implication that they might have knowingly given shelter or succor to an attainted outlaw, and thereby be liable to share his fate, might be enough of a lever to pry some mouths open.

The niggling little fact that he would have died very shortly after being proclaimed an outlaw she would trust the Hitwizards to not bother mentioning. If the Deputy Chief didn't like that decision, he could replace her as Lead. He'd probably do that anyway. Someone experienced would probably inherit this one, but while she had the job she was going to do it as Big John had trained her to do.

Big John left. Jane stood still, looking slowly around the room. The locks, bar and lethal trap on the door said that it didn't get much if any use. No fireplace, so no Floo. Apparation made noise. Portkey didn't, and was easier and safer besides. Pettigrew's non-existent housekeeping skills made it a little easier. On the small sideboard there was a small statuette of a garden gnome, and there were fingermarks in the dust around it.

Pretty good bet. She thought. She made note to call it to the attention of the FMS wizards first thing so it didn't get activated by accident. Merlin knew where that thing might take you, or what welcome you'd get if you weren't a Death Eater.

Big John came back in and said, "That's started, then."

He looked down at the body, and set his jaw. "There's next of kin that will need to be notified. In fairness, I should do that."

"Pettigrew had family?" Jane asked.

"Not that I know of. I'm talking about Sirius Black's family. He has a godson." Big John replied. "I think I should be the one to tell Harry Potter that I was the one that put his godfather in Azkaban for a murder he didn't commit. I'm not looking forward to that."

Chapter 22: Chapter 22 Notification

Chapter 22 Notification

Harry looked up from his desk at the knock on his office door. "Come."

He didn't recognize the two people who entered. One was a big man, built like a stone wall with a hard, scarred face. The woman with him was a head shorter than he was, and strikingly good looking rather than conventionally pretty. Harry thought she was probably not much older than he was, in years at least. Her tough confident manner said that she'd seen a thing or two. Her long black hair was caught back in a pony tail and she moved with the grace of a dancer.

"Can I help you?" He said neutrally. He was managing to stay about even with the work on his desk. On recent form, whoever they were, they wanted something that was going to result in more of that work. Among the many other tasks that fell to the Headmistress of Hogwarts was filtering out people who wanted some of Harry's time for things that were important to them but not to him. If they had talked their way past Minerva then it was, at least, not trivial.

"Auror Sergeant John Crusher, Mr. Potter. This is Auror Jane Twelvetrees. We're here to notify you of a case that we've reopened that affects you, rather directly." The big man said. His rather diffident manner was at odds with his tough and formidable appearance. There was nothing in that manner that suggested that they bore good news.

Crusher took a deep breath. "Mr. Potter, we've been engaged in accounting for the marked Death Eaters that died at the Fall of Voldemort. We found one, dead. We've confirmed his identity. He was Peter Pettigrew. On that evidence, we have reopened the Sirius Black murder case. As he is your godfather, we are notifying you as the next of kin."

Harry took off his glasses, looked thoughtful, and then put them back on. "So, Pettigrew turned up at last. Took you long enough to find him."

"You knew he was alive, Mr. Potter?" Crusher said.

"Yes." Harry replied evenly, remembering that chaotic night in the Shrieking Shack. "After Sirius escaped from Azkaban, he made his way to Hogwarts to try to find Pettigrew. Pettigrew was an unregistered Animagus. His form was a rat, hence his nickname of Wormtail. He was the one who betrayed my parents to Voldemort, not Sirius."

Crusher visibly braced himself to continue. "Saving your presence, Mr. Potter, but why was all this not reported at the time?"

"It was reported, to Albus Dumbledore. Who exactly he might have told I never knew. He did not hold out very much hope that anything could be done. Pettigrew had escaped, so we had no proof that he was still alive, only the unsupported word of two 13 year old school children. Sirius was a fugitive, and if he had turned himself in he would have been put back in Azkaban." Harry replied, in the tone that said he agreed with Dumbledore.

He certainly was not going to get into the whole business with the Time-Turner. Pettigrew had been there at the return of Voldemort to his new body, but Harry had been too shocked and horrified to deal with that at the time. The Ministry had been systematically trashing his credibility at that time, as well. Reporting it would have been worse than pointless.

Crusher looked like a man who would like to disagree but could not. "I see, Mr. Potter."

"So, with Pettigrew found at long last, I trust this means that Sirius is exonerated?" Harry asked.

"I'm afraid it's not as simple as that, Mr. Potter." Jane replied, definitely. "The case has been reopened for significant new evidence, as it is now established that Pettigrew was not murdered. There were twelve muggles who were quite definitely murdered that night, and that investigation is ongoing. All the evidence will need to be looked at very carefully, given that there were obviously serious deficiencies in the previous investigation."

"Serious deficiencies." Harry snarled, his anger breaking free at last. "You bloody think?"

Crusher stood silent and waited for Harry to speak again. Harry visibly imposed control on himself and said, "Why is he not exonerated?"

Jane answered in a firm, factual voice. "According to the statement Black gave at the time, he was looking for Pettigrew to kill him for betraying the Potters to Voldemort. We do not know exactly what happened that night. Your statement that Pettigrew was an Animagus sheds a new light on that. Did Pettigrew cast the Blasting Curse to cover his escape in his animal form? Quite possible. Did Black cast that curse trying to kill Pettigrew, heedless of the innocent bystanders in his vengeful rage? Also possible. Pettigrew is dead, so he cannot be interrogated. I intend to assume nothing in my investigation of this case."

"Well, that would be a bloody good start." Harry said, angrily. "Merlin bloody knows that the fumble-fingered idiot who did that first investigation just assumed that Sirius was guilty. Who was he, anyway?"

"That would be me, Professor Potter." Crusher replied, in a controlled and carefully neutral tone.

Crusher watched in silence as the aura of magic gathered around Potter and the golden crown blazed into existence over his head. He met Harry's angry stare levelly without flinching. After a long silence, the crown faded away again.

"So who's running this investigation, anyway? You?" Harry demanded of Crusher in an accusatory tone.

"No, Professor Potter. I am." Jane replied, considering whether to point out that he was neither an Auror nor her superior. She decided not to, for now. He'd been caught unawares, after all. She still didn't appreciate his attitude.

She kept it factual. "Sergeant Crusher is recused from the Lead of the case due to his prior involvement. He remains part of the investigation."

There was another silence. Harry said, grudgingly. "Very well, then. I wish to be kept apprised of the progress of your investigation. In detail."

Jane bit her lip, but her voice stayed firm. "The policy of MLE is to not release details of ongoing investigations outside persons in MLE with the need to know. There are good reasons for that policy."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You can tell your superiors that is an official request from the Warlock of Britain. If necessary, I will go to the Minister over this matter, and you can tell them that, too."

"I will so inform them, Professor." Jane said, very politely, still not liking the attitude.

There was no way in the Realm that request was not going to be granted, but she was going by the book on this. For that matter, she was not going to give Black's defence counsel any free gifts, if it ever came to a trial. It would be nice if Black could simply be told that he was exonerated and free to go, but nice was a pretty scarce commodity on the job.

Jane looked back at Potter. He was actually younger than she was, she recalled. Handsome enough if you went for the boyish look, she supposed. Looks and fame weren't going to get him any free passes.

"I would also like your statement as to where and when you encountered Pettigrew and Black, and what was said and done during that encounter. That information will no doubt be old, but may still be useful." She added.

Jane met his angry look square on. Rich and famous and powerful wasn't going to mean that he got to dictate how she did her job. After a few moments he nodded acceptance.

"Very well. I will owl that to you when it is done." He said grudgingly.

"If you wish me to submit my resignation, Mr. Potter, I will do so. I led that investigation, and a man went to prison for a murder he did not commit." Crusher said steadily.

Harry looked back at him for a long moment, and said, "If you wish to make amends, Sergeant Crusher, then that won't do it. You find the truth. You see justice done. That's your atonement."

Crusher nodded acceptance, and he and Jane left. Harry watched them go.

Tough people. He thought, with grudging respect despite his growing anger. There were a lot of people who were intimidated by the fame of the Boy Who Lived and the power of the Warlock. If they were, they didn't show it. They had given him the bad news as straight as a double shot of Firewhisky.

God damn it to Hell! He thought, and slammed his fist down on the desk. Just bloody once, couldn't it be simple?

Sirius wasn't a murderer. He would never believe that he was. He had been framed by Pettigrew. Now there was finally proof of that, proof that couldn't be ignored. He wasn't 13 anymore. He couldn't be patted on the head and told that what he'd seen with his own eyes didn't matter.

He remembered the night in the Shrieking Shack when he had found out that Sirius had not been the one who had betrayed his parents. The bright hope that he had known that he could have family who cared for him, never have to go back to the Dursleys again. Then Pettigrew had escaped, and taken that hope with him as he had destroyed so much else. Now the traitorous rat was dead, and his secrets with him.

The desperate venture with the Time-turner had been riskier even than he knew, though God knew the chances he'd known about had been bad enough. All of that had gotten Sirius a running start on Buckbeak, no more.

Well, the past was the past. Even a Time-Turner didn't let you change it by more than a tiny fraction. Even that much was purchased at a heavy price in risk.

He took a quill and started writing. Twelvetrees wanted the truth. She would have it. He had no trouble remembering every detail of that day. His anger did not abate with the writing.

He finished writing, sealed the envelope and rang for a house elf to deliver it.

You'd better listen to the truth this time, Twelvetrees. If you try to railroad Sirius again, I'll break you. He thought vengefully.

Chapter 23: Chapter 23 Investigation

Chapter 23 Investigation

As they walked down the wide stone stairs, Jane said, "If you're going to quit in the middle of a case, tell me first."

Big John said rather sheepishly, "Sorry, Jane. Thanks for standing up for me."

"You have your partner's back, even if he's made a mistake. My rabbi taught me that, by a pretty good number of examples." She said.

"You just don't give an inch, do you, Jane? You could have cut him some slack, you know." He said after a pause.

He wasn't sure Jane's bulldog attitude was the right approach for a case this politically sensitive, but he'd given up the right to say things like that. Jane's career was her own now, and all he could do was have her back as she had his.

"I did." Jane replied. "I cut him the slack of not inviting him to make that statement down at the Barn. I didn't press him on where Black is now, either."

She glanced at her watch. "Let's head back to the Barn. With luck, FMS will have something for us."

"God, I hope so." He said, heavily. "I don't see how, though. It comes down to who threw that bloody curse, and I've no groggiest notion how we can know that."

She smiled briefly. "I talked to the Sergeant of FMS. The state of the Art in forensic magic has progressed of late. They have some new spells now. They can go back through someone's wand and list what spells were cast using it, when they were cast and who cast them."

"Lord above, send down a dove." He said, astonished. "If we'd had that back in the day … "

"Not a cure-all. Doesn't tell you where it happened, or what the spell was cast at." She said. "It could save our bacon on this one, though. If we're lucky. If Pettigrew hung onto the same wand. We already know when it happened, and where he was."

She cocked her head and thought for a moment. "Whatever became of Black's wand? It wasn't in the evidence that was collected at the time."

Crusher looked thunderstruck. "Bloody good question, Jane. He wasn't arrested at the scene. He was caught later. He never got a proper trial. They - I - just assumed he was a Death Eater caught in the act. I'll run that down. Please God it's gathering dust somewhere and isn't lost or destroyed."

"We can hope." she agreed. "If we know who cast what spells, we're a fair ways toward wrapping this up with a big bow on top."

"I'll get myself down to Evidence Management and check everything. This could take a while, Jane. I've known evidence to be misfiled. In this one, it might even have been misfiled on purpose." He said coldly.

"Thanks, Big John." She said, and added mentally, A partner you can trust. I thought that just came automatically. On this one, it's more like a gift from Heaven.
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Jane was going through the report on Pettigrew's wand. It was a very thick one. He had indeed kept that same wand over the years. Pettigrew had been an active Death Eater for years. Just the list of Unforgivable Curses was getting long. Cross checking them with the very long list of unsolved Death Eater murders and atrocities was going to be a lot of work. That was for the future, though. The hard fact was that closing those cases wasn't likely to do much to help people or protect them. Protecting the living came ahead of justice for the dead.

Now she was back to the night of mass murder and vengeance that had echoed down the years. She gave a deep sigh of relief. There it was in the neat handwriting of a Quick Quill. Confringo Maxima, and it had been Peter Pettigrew's hand on the wand. Just prior to that there had been a low powered Diffindo. That was a little odd. It was the sort of spell that you might use to cut a lock or make a hole in a fence.

Or, maybe, cut off a finger. She thought.

They now had Potter's account of the night in the Shrieking Shack when Pettigrew's identity had been discovered at last. Potter himself was clean by his own account, which she was inclined to believe since it was backed up by the fact that Pettigrew had survived and escaped. Black and Lupin would not have been inclined to mercy, that was for certain.

The resolution required to do something like that didn't really sound like the cringing coward that Potter described, but hate and fear were a pretty potent cocktail, too. Pettigrew had been quick enough to seize the chance of escape when his captors' guard had slipped that night. It would have saved everyone a Hell of a lot of trouble if they'd just stunned him and bound him, but they had been school kids, not trained Aurors.

The picture was fitting together. Pettigrew running for it after the murder of the Potters. Black was the only one who knew that he was the Secret Keeper instead of Black himself. Pettigrew's luck is out, or maybe Black knew him well enough to predict where he would bolt. Either way, Black finds him.

Black is too angry to make Pettigrew show his hands, or just stun him. He wants to tell him what a miserable traitor he is before he kills him. Pettigrew eases out his wand behind his back, slices off his finger, casts Confringo Maxima as a distraction, and makes his getaway as a rat. That fit with what had been said in the Shrieking Shack, according to Potter's statement.

If that was all there was to it, case closed. There was a big hole in that tidy picture. Wanting to kill someone wasn't a crime. Trying to kill someone was if you didn't have good cause. If Black had cast a lethal curse at Pettigrew, who was to all appearances unarmed and not a threat, that was Assault with Deadly Magic, or maybe even Attempted Murder. Intent was right there from Black's own mouth, to Potter and others.

It didn't end there, either. A trained Auror would clear his line of cast before throwing a deadly spell. Black was not a trained Auror, and he had been in a homicidal fury besides. If Black had thrown a lethal spell into a street crowded with innocent people, and injured or killed someone, that was Criminal Negligence, or even Manslaughter. Reckless disregard for human life, with a side order of endangering the Statute of Secrecy. She had Big John's account for just how hard that cover-up had been.

People before and since had made a lot of Black being seen laughing maniacally. Jane thought about that and discounted it. Eyewitness testimony from frightened people under stress was notoriously unreliable. Even if it was true it didn't mean much. Had he been laughing at the thought of avenging his friends? Screaming in horror?

Maybe it would be better if Black's wand was never found. She thought. She grimaced, and looked up at the crest on the wall calendar. The motto said "Uphold the Right", not "When it's Convenient".

Big John came into the cubicle and sat in his worn old office chair. "No luck, Jane. Evidence custodian kicked me out or I'd still be there. Everything documented and witnessed by the book. Went through every case six months either side of it, just in case something was misfiled. You?"

"Good news, actually. It was Pettigrew's wand, and his hand on it when the Confringo was cast. There was a Diffindo right before it, about right for Pettigrew slicing off his own finger." She said.

"You don't look all that happy." He said.

"I've been thinking." She said.

"We get paid to do that. Nothing says we have to enjoy it." He replied. "What were you thinking about?"

Jane outlined what she'd been thinking about.

He nodded judiciously. "Legally, you're absolutely right about the manslaughter. Practically, you'd have to be able to establish which spell killed which victim. That broom won't fly. I was at that scene, Jane. As bad as I've ever seen, it was. There weren't even bodies, just pieces of them. The muggle authorities dealt with the aftermath and the bodies. Best we could do was the Statute cover-up."

Jane nodded. No evidence and no way to get any. That one was done and she could look Potter or anyone else in the eye and say so.

"Do we keep looking for the wand?" He asked. It was a simple question. He wasn't hinting one way or the other.

Jane leaned back in her chair. "I'll accept that it's not in the evidence storage. Arresting officer?"

"Hitwizard named Malus Corcoran. He was alone at the time of the arrest. Died three years ago. Report was bare bones." Big John replied at once.

"Black was arrested, presumably searched. What happened then?" She said thoughtfully.

"Short and ugly, Jane. He was put right in front of the magistrate for a preliminary hearing. Barty Crouch Senior was the Chief Prosecutor, and he played the mass-murdering Death Eater card. Black was shipped to Azkaban that night, supposedly to await trial. Trial never happened."

Jane grimaced. Those had been bad times, but that was still pretty raw. Hate and fear twisted a lot of things, like regard for due process and impartiality. Big John had done his best, but it had been out of his hands.

Moving on, she said, "So, what's the procedure for a new intake at Azkaban?"

"Well, pretty straightforward. They're strip searched, head shaved, deloused, showered and photographed. Their clothes and personal effects are put into storage, they're issued a prison robe and put in a cell. Black would have been segregated as being a Death Eater."

"Personal effects." Jane said slowly. "Possible?"

"Not likely." Big John answered slowly. "The wand would have been evidence. If it wasn't just destroyed at the scene. That was what we all thought at the time."

"Normally, that would be so." Jane said. "From what you tell me, it was one bloody big shower of flobberworms. A mistake could have been made. He never got a trial, so the evidence list never would have been reviewed."

"We'd need a warrant to get the Governor of Azkaban to let us into the personal property storage." Big John said. His dubious expression was an unspoken comment on how long it might take to get such a warrant. There had already been some hints that she was pushing too hard on this.

Jane had two stock replies to such hints. "I don't work for you." if she didn't. "Is that an order? I want it in writing." if the dropper of the hint was senior to her. No one had pushed it any further. That wasn't to say that they were happy about it. She was undoubtedly getting a reputation as a hardass out of this. There were worse reputations to have.

"We're pursuing a lead on the only prisoner ever to escape from Azkaban." Jane said. "That could get us some co-operation from the Governor. I doubt if he's happy about the hole in his perfect record."

"Not bad, Jane." He said. "Still could be a dead end."

"Then we've done our diligence." Jane said. "We go to the Crown with what we have."

He smiled gently. "I've trained some good ones, Jane, but none as good as you. Never even occurred to you to just let it go, did it?"

"I learned from the best, Big John." She said. "We'll go tomorrow morning."

Chapter 24: Chapter 24 Property Seizure

Chapter 24 Property Seizure

Authors Note: Several reviewers have pointed out that Harry could simply have given the Aurors a Pensieve memory. They are absolutely right. There is a reason for that.
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Taking a Portkey to Azkaban required, inevitably, parchment work. It took longer for her and Big John, which she had pretty much learned to expect, too. The Supervisor of the Prison Transport Office had to sign off on the request, which was procedure. Jane looked at her watch and mentally allotted the time before she went down to his office and got in his face.

"How long are you giving him?" Big John said, noting her expression.

"Ten minutes." Jane replied tersely.

"You get mad stubborn when you're pissed, don't you?" He said. His tone was mildly amused.

"Yes, I do. That's not going to change, either." She replied.

"No, it's not." He agreed, still in that tone of mild amusement. "They don't know you the way I do. It's the quiet ones you have to watch out for."

She paused, and shook her head. "The petty dragonshit like this I understand. I don't like it, but I know where it's coming from. Everyone wants to just exonerate Black and sweep this whole mess under the rug. What I don't get is Potter's attitude."

Big John nodded. "Bothers me, too. On the face of it, he should be turning somersaults to help us. It's his godfather we're trying to exonerate, after all."

"Instead, he's measuring out the information with a potion dropper. We get a bare bones written statement instead of a Pensieve memory, along with a dragonshit excuse about how he's busy. The memory would actually have saved him time. We ask a question, we get the minimum when we get anything." Jane said.

"He hasn't lied about anything, though. Everything that he's told us has checked out." Big John pointed out.

"He's holding something back, though. We don't know what or why. Maybe he's protecting someone, or maybe he's covering his own ass." Jane said.

"Maybe it's just trust, or the lack of it. He was worked over by Umbridge and watched it happen to his friends, and the system just looked the other way. If he doesn't trust the system, he has a lot of cause." Big John replied.

Jane grimaced. That was uncomfortably probable. "Well, if that's the case he's not helping his own cause. This part of the system is shoveling a lot of dragonshit to do an honest investigation instead of just another whitewash."

Big John nodded agreement. "Yeah, and in a reasonable world he should be supportive and grateful. It's not a very reasonable world, Jane."

"Tell me about it." She said. "Well, this mad stubborn bitch is going to keep on shoveling."

"Aurors." Came the polite call from the clerk. "Your Portkey is ready."
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Azkaban was as bleak as its reputation made it. A tall tower of black stone, surrounded by the pitiless dark swells of the North Sea. The human guards came and went by Portkey to the outer areas. Jane decided that the outer circle of Hell was all she needed to see. There was something else about the place that she wasn't going to forget, either. If despair had a smell, it permeated Azkaban.

The Governor's office had a few comforts, but even so you could feel the chill of the stone floor and walls. The Governor was a pale faced man whose black hair was combed and parted with exacting precision, in common with his pressed black robes.

"Aurors. Please state your business." He stated in a voice as forbidding as his appearance.

"Governor, we are pursuing a lead as to the whereabouts of the escaped prisoner Sirius Black. We have reason to believe that his personal effects may hold clues as to where and with whom he has been hiding."

The Governor's saturnine expression hardly changed, save for the momentary arch of one eyebrow. "Well, it is certainly past time that there was some diligence in this matter. The man is a mass murderer, as I have reminded the Ministry times beyond count."

"Quite so, sir." Jane replied politely. "This case has been open for far too long. We do have a lead, but time is of the essence if we are to have a chance to capture him. He has eluded pursuit for years, after all."

"Which is why you are here without a warrant." Was the cold reply.

"Exigent circumstances, Governor." Jane replied, respectfully. She could back that up in court, too. Potter and Granger had helped Black escape once by their own admission. They could again, and they knew the hunt was up.

She made a slight bow, as she might to a Judge on the bench. "I am assured that your authority is final in all matters relating to the administration of Azkaban."

"That is quite correct." He replied in the same forbidding tone. "Very well."

He picked a quill from the stand on his desk, dipped it into the inkwell and wrote on a piece of parchment. He signed it with a flourish and handed it to Jane. "This is an order for the release of the prisoner Black's effects to you."

"Thank you very much, Governor." Jane replied, taking the paper.

"You can thank me by catching him and returning him here where he belongs." The Governor said.

"We will certainly do our best to recapture him, sir." Jane replied. "His disposition is not within our control. Who knows what other crimes he may have committed? If you will excuse us, we must make haste."

Jane and Big John headed down the flights of stone steps to the property storage area and presented the order to the functionary at the half door to the small cramped office. The custodian took his time about showing up after Big John yanked on the bell pull. He was an elderly gnarled looking man, dressed in the dark robes of the prison's uniform. He blinked at them through round rimless glasses.

"Yes?" He said, his reedy voice making him sound sullen and petty.

Jane presented the Governor's order. Her hope that might energize him a bit did not seem likely to be granted. He took his time reading the order, then said grudging, "Well, I don't know. I just don't know. This isn't procedure."

Jane replied, "You could send a memo to the Governor. Of course, he might take it as questioning his authority."

"All right, all right. No need to be stroppy about it." Was the querulous reply.

He scuttled off down the long dimly lit corridors of tall shelves and came back a few minutes later with a flat steel box, covered with dust over the faded grey paint.

He pulled down a big heavy ledger, opened it with a thump and wrote in it with a quill. Turning it around, he said, "Sign here for custody of the effects."

Jane signed and dated the line in the ledger, then picked up the Governor's order. Big John picked up the box.

"Hold hard, hold hard." The custodian said in that same reedy querulous voice, reaching for the parchment. "I'll want that for my files."

"Now you know what it is to want." Jane replied coolly, folding it away in an inner pocket. "You have my signature for chain of custody." She was considering the Governor's order to be the same as a warrant, which she would need if the contents of that box were entered as evidence.

They took the Portkey back to Auror Headquarters. Jane collapsed into her chair and sighed with relief. Her cramped little cubby of an office had never looked so good to her.

"We send people to that place." She said. "Beats the dragonshit out of me why anyone works there, never mind risks being sent there as a prisoner."

"Well, as to working there, the money's good." Big John said, heavily. "We can comfort ourselves with the thought that we don't sentence people. Mind, that's pretty hard to remember when you have the smell of that place in your nose. All we can do is make sure we do our job well. And do our best to not feed any innocents into that bloody misery mill the way I did."

"Well, let's see what we've got for all of this trouble." Jane said. She picked up the box, having to exert herself at the weight, and laid it across the arms of the visitor's chair. The grey paint had fallen off in flecks, to expose rusty steel underneath. The first thing she noticed was the lock. There was no key.

"Remind me to nominate that custodian for Helpful Employee of the Year." Big John said, sarcastically.

Jane cast Alohamora, and the lock clicked open. The whole top of the flat steel box was a lid. It opened reluctantly, with a screech of unoiled rusty hinges. Jane pulled items out, one by one, and called them off to the Quick Quill, which was set up on a standard evidence form.

"One pocket knife." Jane tried to open it but the blades were rusted shut.

"One key ring, four keys." There were no identifying marks. Presumably Black knew what they were for.

"One card holder, with identity cards." There was a membership card for the Hogwarts Alumni Association, an Apparation license, and some other odd ends, all in the name of Sirius Black.

"One shirt." Years of cold and damp had it ready to fall apart.

"One pair of pants." The same with them. Black hadn't been a fashion plate, by the looks. A little odd, seeing that he'd had the money to dress well if he wanted to.

"One outer robe." Jane checked all the pockets. Nothing.

"Men's small clothing." Jane said, using the euphemism for underwear. They were falling apart.

"One man's purse. Contains one galleon, 11 sickles, 5 knuts, 1 muggle subway card."

"One pair brown leather men's boots." She put them down on the floor. Good quality if a little worn. They were three quarters length in a wellington style.

"One wizard's hat." It was made of leather and a paisley material. Still not a fashion plate. It had been folded up and stuffed in a pocket, by the creases. Made sense if he was walking around on the muggle side.

"And, that's it." Jane said, not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. The Quill stopped.

Big John looked down at the miscellany of everyday items, his eyes moving from one to another. Then he picked up the outer robe.

"Nothing there, Big John. I checked." Jane said.

"Actually, I was looking for what's not there." He said. "People carry their wands in all kinds of places. He didn't wear custom tailored robes, and I see a button he sewed on himself. What I don't see is a wand pocket in the lapel or the sleeve. So, where did he carry?"

Jane picked up the pants and went through them again. "Nothing here, either. Hardly anyone carries in a pants pocket. Way too easy to snap your wand by accident."

Big John reached down and picked up the boots. "Not very common, Jane, but you do see it once in a while."

He ran his fingers around the top of the right boot. "Nothing."

He picked up the left boot and searched it the same way. "Well, what's this?"

He pushed a small leather flap aside and pulled out a wand from a pocket alongside the inner bootstrap. "Pretty well concealed. You'd have to know what you were looking for."

"I'm still learning, Big John." Jane said. "I'd never have found that."

She flicked her wand and added to the Quill, "One wand, concealed in left boot."

Jane looked down at the wand. Birch with a centaur hair heart, ten and three quarter inches. She knew that as she knew much else about Black. It was very small to have carried such a large secret down the years.

"Well, let's get it down to the Forensic Magic boys and girls and have them do what they do." Big John replied.

"I'll walk it down, Big John. The FMS Sergeant doesn't like me anyway. I've made too much work for him lately."
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The report sailed in though the door and dropped on Jane's desk with a thump, right in the middle of her lunch instead of in the In basket where it was supposed to go. Evidently the FMS Sergeant was still unhappy with her.

Big John looked up from his own sandwich and tea. "Lawson's kind of a petty twit, isn't he?"

"So it seems." Jane said, picking up the report and using a cleaning spell to get the bits of sandwich and spilled tea off the cover of the report. She cleaned up the remnants of her lunch and got herself another cup of tea from the always hot teapot that she and Big John had chipped in together on. It made a better cup than the communal pot and was more convenient besides.

"All right, let's see what we've got." Jane said, opening the report. There it was, no question about it. There was an Anti-Apparation ward, which was innocent enough. What followed was not innocent. Reducto Maxima. Twice. She pulled down the Crime Scene report and the one on Pettigrew's wand and put together the timeline.

"Well, I had to give it a chance to be simple." She said heavily. "Bloody Hell. All right, let's reconstruct."

Jane and Big John went out in the narrow corridor. "I'm Black. You're Pettigrew."

"I'm always Pettigrew." He said, mock complaining.

"Life's hard, Big John." She said, and took a step. "You're walking down the street. I cast an Anti-Apparation ward and step out to confront you."

"We know Black has his wand out because he cast the ward." Big John replied.

"I've got you at wand point." Jane said, pointing her finger at him. "You're a traitor, you sold out the Potters and I'm going to kill you."

"Sirius, we're old friends, don't kill me." Big John replied in a high falsetto, hand behind his back. He reverted to a normal voice and added, "I'm sneaking out my wand while I'm talking."

"We know that he had it behind his back because of the burns on his back and the scorch marks on his wand." Jane replied.

She held out her hand like a wand. " Reducto Maxima."

Big John nodded. "Like that, was it. I duck or dodge. It misses."

"The spell goes on down the street. Merlin knows who or what it it hits." Jane said.

"I'm desperate, so I think fast. Diffindo, ouch." Big John said. "I need something to cover my getaway. Can't just Apparate because of the ward."

" Reducto Maxima, again." Jane said.

"It goes down the busy street again. Merlin knows." Big John said. Jane nodded agreement.

"Now I'm really desperate, probably behind something. There was cover, lamp standard and a waste bin. Confringo Maxima." Big John said, his wand hand behind his back and crouching behind a cubicle divider.

"By bad luck it actually does hit the gas main, which is why the explosion is so big. Pettigrew's not that powerful." Jane added.

"Establishes that it wasn't pointed at Black. That's why it was even possible to cover it up. We just had to fudge the cause and Obliviate the memories of Black and Pettigrew." Big John said.

"Black is stunned, deafened, knocked down by the blast." Jane said. She went down to one knee.

"Pettigrew transforms into a rat, grabs his wand in his teeth, and runs for it. He has burns from the blast, but not as bad." Big John gestured finality.

"Black Apparates, or maybe just runs like Hell. Either way, no one notices in the confusion." Jane concluded.

"So, Black's not off the hook." Jane said judiciously. "Two Reducto Maxima spells cast at a man who's not a lethal threat, on a crowded street."

"Assault with Deadly Magic, maybe Criminal Negligence as well, Endangering the Statute for dead certain. Lethal magic in a street full of muggles." Big John summed up.

"A good defence lawyer could get his sentence knocked down for extenuating circumstances, argue about intent." Jane said thoughtfully. "It's what we have. Only way we get any more is if we interrogate Black."

"Prosecutor's business, none of ours. If they want to cut a plea bargain or drop a charge altogether, we've nothing to say about that." Big John said definitely.

"Well, let's get the report written. We make sure it's right and put it up through DMLE's office to the Prosecutor's office."

The report actually went out three days later. DMLE's office sent it back twice for tweaks to the wording. There were a couple of suggestions that the report should be watered down. Jane listened politely and ignored them.

Chapter 25: Chapter 25 Truth to Power

Chapter 25 To Effect an Arrest

Author's Note: Several reviewers have pointed out that you can take the Floo up to Hogsmeade and get transport to the school itself. You can. What you can't do is save any time doing that. An explanation has been added to this chapter.
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The pretty much expected request that she couldn't refuse for the Lead Investigator to go see Harry Potter at his office in Hogwarts was waiting on Jane's desk as a memo from the Director MLE when she got in the next morning.

"Wish me luck, Big John." She said, checking to be sure that she had everything that she thought that she might need. She closed and locked the leather case.

Jane took a train up to Hogwarts. These days it was the only way. There had formerly been a Floo connection there. Apparation had never been possible. The nearest Floo was in Hogsmeade now. The cause was well known if unspoken. Dumbledore's Army showing up unannounced in the Wizengamot Chamber had tightened down security on the Ministry complex by a lot. Making sure that the DA couldn't just pop down for tea was another reason that was understood but not talked about.

Hogwarts security had been tightened down by a lot, too. It didn't save you any time to take the Floo up to Hogsmeade. Once there, you had to send a message to the school stating your business, wait for them to grant permission and lower the wards, then ride a thestral cart to the school at its usual speed of taking its sweet bloody time. The manifest for the Express went up to the school ahead of time and it went through the wards without even slowing down. Unless you wanted an excuse to sit on your arse drinking Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks for half the morning, you took the train. The Administration Office at the Barn was very well aware of all that.

The formerly secret passages between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade were sealed off, as well. The arguments as to whether they should be destroyed altogether were, according to the Barn's rumour mill, ongoing.

The train was a short one, not the long one that everyone knew from their years there at start and end of term. There weren't many people on it, and none that she recognized. Jane spent the time reviewing the papers in her case, making sure that they were all organized so that she could lay her hand on what she needed without fumbling about. This was going to be as tough as a hearing before a particularly demanding judge.

Jane took a thestral cart from the Hogwarts Station up to the castle proper, stopping to show her badge at the castle gate. Normally she would have revisited some memories of her own school days there, but right now she had more pressing thoughts on her mind. Jane wondered if she should get her herself a cup of tea in the Great Hall, but the dragon's den was not going to get any more pleasant for putting it off.

Jane went up the steps to the teacher's offices. She got lost along the way. It seemed like a long time since she had been a firstie here. There were students coming and going as they had from time immemorial. Getting lost a few times until you found your way around was a rite of passage. Now it just put off something she was not looking forward to at all.

She had to show her memo to the painting of a fierce looking knight in armour before being allowed into the office area for the teachers. That was protocol. You didn't just walk up to the office of the Warlock, Boy-Who-Lived, etc., or any of the other teachers for that matter.

Potter's office had the seal of the Defence Against the Dark Arts on it, with its coiled dragon and the motto of Tueri Lucem. She knocked on the door and heard a very irritated voice say "Come." very loudly. Jane entered.

Professor Harry Potter was sitting at his desk with an open file folder in front of him. Jane was willing to bet any money that it was her case report. He did not ask her to sit down. Jane thought about doing it anyway, seeing that she wasn't a student being called on the carpet, but decided not to. Potter was looking angry already and that was not going to get any better.

"I have read your report." He said. "How dare you? My godfather spent twelve years in Azkaban without a trial for a crime he did not commit. Now you have the audacity to say that he should be put back there because you say he committed other crimes. Who put you up to this?"

Jane, oddly enough, was no longer feeling apprehensive. This was going to be as bad as she had thought, and she was just going to get through it. She was starting to feel angry in her own right at the implication that her report had been falsified.

"Professor Potter, at our last meeting you charged me to find out the truth. What is in that report is the truth, or at least as much of it as I have been able to discover given that relevant information was withheld."

"Withheld. By who?" Potter said, nearly shouting.

"By you, Professor." Jane said, coolly. He had just used up the slack she had cut him last time.

"What?" He said, still angrily. "I am supposed to do your work for you?"

"As a law-abiding subject of this Realm, you are supposed to uphold the law by cooperating with an investigation into serious crimes. Instead you have consistently withheld information. You gave me a bare bones written statement instead of a far more accurate and detailed Pensieve memory. You have used your office and your influence to gain access to information about this investigation that you had no need to know. You have been consistently unresponsive to requests for additional information."

She made a dismissive gesture. "I was not going to get that memory except voluntarily. I don't know that I would be able to trust it anyway. Professor Harry Potter the highly trained Occlumens would certainly be able to edit it to suit his own purposes."

"How dare you accuse me of lying?" He demanded.

Jane's own temper was getting up a pretty good head of steam, and she wasn't going to back down for this arrogant pretty boy. She had put her career on the table at the start of this whole case. If Potter used his power and influence to destroy her career, then he did.

All she had ever wanted was to be an honest cop who protected the innocent, and if she couldn't have that she would resign and go clerk in a store somewhere. She was starting to think that all the noise about reforms was just that.

Depose the tyrant, become the tyrant. She thought bitterly. They teach you that in History of Magic, or did you re-invent it for yourself?

"You have not lied to me, Professor. As far as I know." She said, her tone unyielding. "Your arrogant and uncooperative attitude has made this investigation far more difficult than it had to be. If you actually wish to see this investigation conclude, if you actually want the truth told, that is easily done."

"What are you saying?" He demanded.

"If you do not know where Sirius Black is, you certainly can get in touch with him. If you want his side of the story told, let him come in and tell it. He was there. No one else still alive was."

"He is supposed to trust you?" Potter asked contemptuously.

"He does not have to trust me, Professor." Jane said, very carefully making sure that she kept from shouting right back at him. "He can trust you."

"What are you talking about?" Potter demanded.

Jane bit her lip. Very hard. When she had control of herself, she continued. "Professor, if Sirius Black surrendered himself for trial, he would have the influence of the most powerful wizard in the Realm to ensure that he got a trial and that it was a fair one. You have done that before, as is well known. I am an Auror. I seek out the truth as best I can. Justice is not in my remit. The courts of the Realm dispense that. Has he been the victim of injustice? I certainly think so. If you want justice for him, that will have to come from a court. That cannot happen until he appears before one."

Jane had been certain that that home truth would not sit well with Potter. She had been right on the galleons about that. He just sat there, looking angry.

"He fought against Voldemort. He was one of the Order of the Phoenix. Where were you when Voldemort was raising an army and the Ministry was sitting on its hands?" He burst out.

Potter was still angry and not listening. So much for the legend of the Just Man. Jane refrained from saying that. It was not going to help. It wasn't easy, either.

"That can be presented at the trial, if you wish to do so. It has nothing to do with his guilt or innocence of what happened on that night." Jane said, careful to keep her voice calm as she would with an angry victim.

Potter could be as angry as he wanted. It didn't change the facts. Oddly enough, the famous golden crown wasn't visible on this occasion.

"Get out!" Potter snarled.

"Gladly." Jane replied contemptuously. She turned on her heel and left.

She headed down stairs and directly to the train station. The return run wasn't for over four hours, but she'd lost her taste for revisiting the memories of her old school days. She needed to sit quietly and get herself calmed down. Right now she was too angry to think straight. She was also not in any mood to go cap in hand to the school administrative office to get a thestral cart to Hogsmeade.

Jane had been sitting for a couple of hours, and she wasn't comfortable. The Hogwarts train station didn't have a building, just benches with roofs over them to keep the rain off. It was springtime in the highlands of Scotland, getting on toward the end of term, in fact. That didn't guarantee good weather by any means, and it wasn't good weather today. It was a grey chilly day, and there was a light rain, hardly more than a mist, to ensure that damp was added to chilly as it blew in under the shelter of the roof. Jane had never liked that sort of weather. The damp cold crawled into your bones.

When she got home she was going to go to the Auror's mess for some hot toddies before going home for a long hot bath. Then she was going to take some of her overtime in time off and do sweet bloody damn all for a few days. She'd known this was going to be a fool's errand from the start.

Her mood quickly come to match the weather. She was willing to bet that the gossip would be flying around the Mess by the time she got back. Twelvetrees had over stepped the mark, and the people she'd pissed off over this case would be sharing a pint and a gloat. It didn't take very long for Potter to break people who pissed him off. Benjamin Bulstrode had gone from Head of a Ministry Department to disgraced suicide inside of 24 hours.

She glanced at her watch. It was about two hours to go before the train left, but she would be able to board the train as soon as it arrived at the station, about an hour from now. It would be warmer in the passenger car, anyway.

"Ma'am." Came a polite young voice. "Are you Auror Twelvetrees?"

Jane looked up to see a student. Ravenclaw by the robes and a prefect by the badge. A nice looking young lad, with a well-scrubbed boyish look. He looked relieved at seeing her.

"Yes, I am." Jane said, biting off several irritable comments, starting with "Who the Hell else would I be?". Taking her irk out on a kid because she was cold and miserable would make her no better than Potter.

"Professor Potter presents his compliments to Auror Twelvetrees, and asks that you meet him in the Headmistress' office." The prefect said carefully, clearly repeating a memorized message.

Potter was being polite. Of course, the last summons had been polite, too. Well, if he wanted to yell at her some more in front of witnesses, she could deal with that now that she'd had a chance to get a grip on her temper. Or maybe he wanted to explain to her in person just how ruined she was. Whatever. It wasn't as if today could get any worse.

Jane followed the prefect over to a thestral carriage, and they rode back up to the castle. The boy led her in through the front entrance and straight on up to the Headmistress' office. He gave the password at the famous stone staircase, and it turned around and brought them up to the Headmistress's office. Jane looked around. She'd heard of it and seen pictures, but as a student she had never been called up there. The portraits of former Headmasters were all around the stone walls. Various plaques and historical artifacts sat against and on the walls. Yes, that was the actual Sorting Hat on a shelf, there.

Minerva McGonagall was sitting at her desk, looking just as formidable as Jane remembered her being. Potter was standing to one side of the desk. He didn't look angry this time.

The prefect said, "Auror Twelvetrees, Professors."

McGonagall inclined her head and said, "Thank you, James. Well done."

The prefect took his cue and left. Jane decided that anything she said was going to be the wrong thing, so she said nothing.

Potter bowed politely. The golden crown of the Warlock was now visible on his head. "Auror Twelvetrees, I was inexcusably rude to you, I insulted your professional competence and integrity without cause, and I hindered your investigation for my own selfish ends. I apologize for doing so. I was wrong, and I ask that you forgive me."

Jane was silent for a moment out of total gobsmacked surprise. As her brain started to work once more, she decided that it was a genuine apology, no weasel wording or evasion, and she was going to accept it. "Apology accepted, Professor Potter."

Jane looked back and forth between Potter and McGonagall, trying to figure out the dynamic here. Had McGonagall threatened to fire him as a teacher if he didn't apologize? Or had Potter just wanted a witness that he'd done the right thing to avoid he said, she said? Jane decided that she didn't know, she wasn't going to know, and it didn't matter.

"Thank you. As some small amends, I have written a letter to the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, commending your thorough and professional work on this case, to be placed on your personal file." Potter continued formally.

*Deeds, not words. That's better.* Jane thought, feeling a little more kindly disposed. She had, after all, dumped some pretty God-awful news on him, and she'd seen older and more experienced people lose it worse than he had. It would never have occurred to most of them to apologize, much less actually make amends.

"Thank you, Professor." She said.

"You earned it, Auror." He said. "There is one last thing that needs to be done. If you could take my arm, please?"

He held it out. Jane wondered what the Hell was going on here. That was normally an invitation to Side-Along Apparation, but everyone knew that you couldn't Apparate in Hogwarts. Well, there was no harm that she could see in doing it, so she took two long steps over and did as he requested. No sooner had she done so than she felt the familiar sensation of Apparation go through her, as if she was being pulled at great speed by a hook in her navel.

Jane looked around at where they had arrived. They were in the front hall of a house. There was a fireplace a few steps away. It had the look of an old house, the ancestral home of an old wizarding family. One that had fallen on hard times, though. It looked down at heel and neglected. There was a large portrait on the wall, with a black cover stretched across it.

"You can't Apparate in Hogwarts." Jane protested. "Where are we, anyway?"

Potter smiled a little and took off his glasses, then put them back on again. "That is the rule, but it has its exception. I'm the exception."

He bit his lip, and went on. "I do not excuse my actions, but you are entitled to know why I did what I did. I lost my parents when I was very young. My relatives …" a look of remembered pain crossed his face. "Did not treat me well. Sirius was the very last I could call family, a symbol of all that was taken from me. I wanted to protect him."

*Well, snap my wand.* Jane thought. *I might have done that in his place.*

She had always been protective of her younger brother and sister, especially after her parents had lost their business. They'd both had to work long hours just to make ends meet and she had to look after them. It was easy to look at what Potter had gained in wealth and power, and forget what had been taken from him. There was a rule in MLE that you did not investigate your friends or family. There was a good reason for that rule.

"I have had good influences in my life, too." He went on. "Friends and protectors who taught me about integrity and honour. They have a price, and often a heavy one, but the cost of losing them is far worse. I put a foot very near to that line, and you prevented me from stepping over it. I owe you a great debt, Jane Twelvetrees, for having the courage to speak truth to power. I do not think you will ever need your honour saved, but if you ever need help you have but to ask."

He smiled like someone who had a weight taken off his back, and visibly returned to the present.

"As to where we are, this is 12 Grimmauld Place, once Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and the ancestral home of the Noble and Ancient House of Black. The current head of the family resides here, and he will be back shortly."

Jane took a moment or two to collect herself from open-mouthed gobsmacked surprise. "Sirius Black lives here?"

"He does, Auror." Potter replied. The smile slipped from his face. "You were right, about many things. Justice needs to be done. It is long overdue. It is my turn to make atonement for injustice done."

At that moment green flames flickered to life in the fireplace, and a man appeared within them and stepped out in front of it. He was of medium height, with brown hair and beard. He was casually dressed, and would not have attracted much remark on the muggle or wizard side of the street.

"Hello, Harry." He said, then looked startled and apprehensive. "Who's this?"

"Auror Jane Twelvetrees, meet my godfather, Sirius Black." Potter said.

Black looked totally gobsmacked, causing Jane to think, *Lot of that going around today.*

Jane moved quickly to take advantage of Black's astonishment. She spun him around to face the fireplace, cast *Incarcerous* to bind his hands, and searched him. He was carrying two wands, one in his robes and the other in his left boot.

"Something you need to know, Auror." Harry added. "He is an unregistered Animagus. His form is a large black dog."

"Sirius Black." She intoned. "You are under arrest for 13 counts of Murder, one count of Assault with Deadly Magic, one count of Criminal Negligence and one count of Endangering the Statute of Secrecy. You are cautioned that anything you say can and will be taken down and used in evidence against you."

Black looked back over his shoulder at Potter, looking utterly betrayed and forlorn. "You too, Harry?"

Chapter 26: Chapter 26 Due Process

Chapter 26 Due Process

Author's Note: Because Harry is not seen to be protecting Sirius, does not mean that he is not protecting Sirius.

Harry Potter stood silent, looking grimly through the one-way glass into the reception area for the detention cells. Sirius was being processed into detention. He had been searched, by a non-invasive spell only, his personal possessions cataloged and stored, and he was escorted to a cell by himself. He spoke not a word and made no resistance. The expression on his face said that he was a man walking through a nightmare.

"I put him there." He said in a low voice. "I could have warned him, got him to surrender himself."

Jane Twelvetrees stood beside him, silent until now and watching the process as carefully. "I was the one who put him there. If you had warned him, would he have come in?"

"No." Harry said, heavily. "He'd have run. He was in Azkaban for twelve years. He'd rather die than go back there."

She looked at him, seeing the guilt and fear on his face. "How long are you going to stay here?"

"As long as it takes to make sure that no one mistreats him." He said.

"You don't trust the system, do you?" She said, gently.

"No, I don't. I've not had much reason." He replied.

She nodded, and said in an understanding tone, "You want to protect your family. I understand that. Standing here and torturing yourself won't do that."

Harry never stopped staring through the window. "Being here for him is all I can do."

"You don't trust the system." She replied evenly. "All right. Can you trust me?"

He looked back at her, shaken out of his dark mood momentarily by surprise.

"He's my prisoner, Harry. This is my case. I am not going to have it tainted by some gaoler overstepping the mark. I'm going to be here all night anyway. Parchmentwork. Bane of every Auror's existence. I'll be looking in on him from time to time."

She paused, watching his face. "There is something concrete you can do to protect him, if you want."

"What?" He said, like a man snatching at a shred of hope.

She nodded toward the door. "Get him a lawyer, a good one. He's entitled to one, and the sooner he has the chance to retain and instruct counsel the sooner this process can get moved along. It's no kindness to amputate a leg slowly, Harry. You can protect him by getting this done quickly and making sure that he has every bit of due process. Letting him sit in a cell is not going to do him any good."

It's certainly not going to do you any good. She thought, looking at the controlled pain on his face.

She watched as conflicting emotions chased each other across his face. He nodded slowly. "A lawyer. Yes, I can do that. Who's the best?"

"Aloysius Darrow." She replied. "If you could get him. He's the best in the Realm, and he knows it, and he sets his fees accordingly. He takes the cases that interest him."

She glanced at her watch. "You could probably catch him at his office if you hurried. He keeps long hours."

Harry made a gesture like a man brushing off a fly. "Damn the money. I'll empty out my vault if that's what it takes. I think I can convince him that this qualifies as interesting."

He headed toward the door, then turned back toward her. "Thanks, Jane."

"No thanks necessary, Harry. I'd like to see the end of this case, too." She replied, evenly. "You go. I've got this."

Aloysius Darrow's secretary, Stella, was a statuesque redhead, expensively dressed, seated behind a large desk. She looked up as someone entered, then recognized him after a moment. No one in the Realm could fail to know the face of the Boy-Who-Lived and Warlock.

"Can I help you, Mr. Potter?" She said, in the neutral tone she used for walk-ins. She was secretary to the best lawyer in the Realm, so she was past being particularly impressed by celebrities. Even handsome ones.

"I need to see Mr. Darrow." Harry replied brusquely.

"You and a lot of other people, Mr. Potter. He doesn't see anyone without an appointment. Lack of an appointment on your part is not urgency on ours."

Harry took off his glasses, bit one of the stems and put them back on. "I am given to understand that Mr. Darrow takes the cases that interest him."

"That is correct, Mr. Potter." Stella replied. She was a little surprised. Potter was not trying the usual "I'm important because I'm famous." that she was all too familiar with.

"Please ask him if he's interested in defending my godfather, Sirius Black." Harry replied.

"Sirius Black is a wanted fugitive." She said, warily.

"He was a wanted fugitive." Harry replied evenly. "I will discuss further details with Mr. Darrow."

"Please wait here, Mr. Potter." Stella replied, and went on into the inner office, closing the door behind her.

Aloysius Darrow was a plump man who only needed a beard to look like Father Christmas. His robes were colourful paisley, and the hat on the hat stand behind him was eccentric even by wizarding standards.

"Stella, my dove, what do we have? Please tell me it's something interesting. Ancient and Noble Houses feuding over inheritances and bastardy are thin gruel at best." He said, jovially.

She smiled. "We have a walk-in."

"He charmed his way past you, Stella. That puts him in a fair way to be interesting. Who is he?" Darrow replied, interest added to the joviality.

"Harry Potter. The Harry Potter. He wants to know if you are interested in defending his godfather." Stella replied, enjoying the moment a little. It was pretty hard to surprise Aloysius Darrow, but every once in a while she managed it.

"Well, well, well, that does sound interesting. At last report Sirus Black was holding on to his title as the only absconder that Azkaban has ever had." Darrow replied. His smile got a little more cherubic.

"From what Potter said, that has changed. Further details he would only discuss with you." Stella replied.

Darrow clapped his hands together gently a couple of times. "A touch of mystery. Well played, Mr. Potter. Stella, the strict rule of the office must be observed. Why don't you make him an appointment for, oh, five minutes from now, then shoo him in."

Five minutes later Harry was shown into the office. He looked uncertain at seeing the plump jovial looking figure behind the desk. "Mr. Darrow?"

"The same." He replied, like a kindly father. "Why don't you have a seat and tell me what brings you to my office."

Sirius Black woke from a troubled and uneasy sleep. He woke slowly, and realized where he was and that this was not a bad dream. He had lived as a hunted fugitive for years, and this nightmare had always been just over his shoulder. Harry … he had never in the world expected that. He shut his eyes again at the pain of that memory.

"Mr. Black." The voice was firm, unyielding.

Sirius opened his eyes to the hard reality of the steel barred detention cell. The uniformed guard was standing outside the bars. Sirius slowly swung his legs over the side of the bunk and sat up.

"You have a visitor, Mr. Black." The guard continued. "You'll want to make yourself presentable."

He was escorted to the washrooms. Half an hour later he felt better, physically at any rate. He was washed, shaven, and allowed to dress himself in clean clothes that fit. Breakfast was brought to him in his cell and he found that he actually had some appetite.

He was escorted to a small room with a steel door and seated in a chair at a steel table. He was mildly surprised that he was not restrained and that the guards left again.

The man who entered was a total contrast to this bleak environment of bars and locks and uniforms. He was short and plump, dressed in robes that were a riot of colour. He smiled reassuringly.

"Good morning, Mr. Black. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Aloysius Darrow. I'm retained as your defence counsel." He said, his manner suggesting they were meeting over tea in a drawing room.

Sirius took a moment to recognize the name. He had expected some court-appointed hack. "Who retained you?"

"Not the most important thing, Mr. Black." Darrow replied. "Suffice it to say that you have powerful friends and you are not alone."

His manner turned businesslike. "Have you been treated properly?"

Sirius nodded. "No complaints. Clean clothes and a decent breakfast help. Freedom would be better."

Darrow smiled. "Good. Let's see if we can't get it for you. We will start at the beginning."

Sirius quickly found that the amiable Father Christmas exterior hid a razor sharp mind and a photographic memory. Starting at the beginning was not a bromide, either.

"Harry Potter to see the Minister." The Minister's Assistant said formally, as befit a meeting of the powers of the Realm. Harry nodded his thanks and entered. The Assistant closed the door behind him.

Harlan Greengrass, Miranda Greengrass, Amelia Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt were waiting for him. Tea was offered and poured.

Harlan Greengrass led off. "I will take it that this is about Sirius Black."

"That's right." Harry replied. "As I am sure you know, he was arrested and is now in detention."

Nods around the table accepted the obvious as the prelude to the business at hand. All at this table had read Jane Twelvetrees' report.

"The question I am faced with here, Minister, is what constitutes justice in this case. I am finding that a very difficult question." Harry said soberly.

Amelia Bones adjusted her monocle slightly. "I have dealt with these matters for many years, Mr. Potter. I don't find that a simple question, either."

She put her hand on the desk and tallied points one at a time on her fingers. "It is now proven that he is innocent of Peter Pettigrew's murder. He did not throw the Blasting Curse that caused the gas explosion, either. He was certainly imprisoned without a trial, and not for a trivial amount of time, either. On the evidence, he did try to kill Pettigrew, but did not succeed. I could see my way clear to let those two issues cancel each other out, and petition the Wizengamot for a Pardon for him."

She gestured to Miranda Greengrass, who nodded agreement. "Politically, I can assure you that would be quite possible. This is one of the unpleasant messes left over from Fudge's tenure, and I can say with confidence that there would be strong support for putting paid on this and moving on."

Harry sat back in his chair, looking sad. He took off his glasses, looked down at them, then put them back on. "That is a very tempting offer, ma'am. It would give me a much better chance that my godfather would actually speak to me one day. I wish I could take it, but I can't."

He fiddled with his glasses again, then sat up straight and said, firmly, "As you have told me, I hold a unique position of trust. I bear the Crown of a Just Man. I have the obligation to live up to that, not just when it is easy but when it is hard."

Harry pointed his hand toward Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had so far sat silent. "Full credit to you and yours, sir. The Aurors have done their part without stint. There has been a full and complete investigation, done without favour to anyone of any rank. If we are to have justice here, then it must be seen to be done. The Auror who conducted that investigation has set an example of integrity. I for one intend to follow that example."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter." Kingsley replied gravely.

Harry made a gesture of finality, and moved on. "There is also the matter of his good name. Right now, as far as the rest of the Realm is concerned, his name begins with 'escaped mass murderer'. I don't think adding 'politically well connected' to the front of that will help to restore that."

The Minister steepled his hands thoughtfully. This he had not expected, but then Potter was not a predictable man. "If he is to be exonerated, then there must be a trial. If it is a fair and open trial, then its outcome will not be predictable or controllable. He might well be sent back to prison."

"Yes. There is that risk. Honour and integrity matter, too. I have decided that restoring his good name is worth taking that risk." Harry replied.

"Surely that is for the Head of the House of Black to decide, Mr. Potter." Miranda Greengrass said, dubiously.

"Yes, it is. I am the Head of the House of Black." Harry said.

Miranda opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again and ran through the permutations. Sirius was the senior member of the family, but as an accused murderer and fugitive he could not hold the office. Narcissa Malfoy had married out of the family, and could only be reinstated by the current Head. The rest of the claimants were dead. There was case law to support Potter's claim, and certainly no one in a position to dispute it.

There were magical tests that could be made to confirm his status, and she was not willing to wager a worn knut against Potter passing them, if he had not already. She nodded agreement.

"What do you want done, Mr. Potter?" Miranda said. They were at ways and means now, and that was her specialty.

"This must be done. Let it be done quickly, and all at once. Schedule his trial before the High Court, as soon as his lawyers can prepare the case. Get this over with." Harry said. His expression was grim and set, like someone waiting to have a wound cauterised.

The people at the table looked to the Minister of Magic.

"Very well. Let justice be done. See to the arrangements." Greengrass said.

Chapter 27: Chapter 27 The Trial of Sirius Black

Chapter 27 The Trial of Sirius Black

The Visitor's Gallery and the Press Gallery of the Wizengamot Chamber were packed to capacity, with all the seats full and every bit of space crowded with standees. There was a continual hum of excited comment and speculation. Rumours had been flying at the speed of magic for a week now, and today was the day when all would be discovered.

The Members filed in, all wearing their most formal robes, and took their seats. The Acting Minister was next. The Speaker called the Chamber to order.

The Tradition of the Wizengamot was that the Speaker needed to be a lawyer, preferably a judge, because he might have to serve as such if the Wizengamot sat as the High Court. Greengrass had been a judge. Arlen Whiffletree had never been a judge, but he had been an exceptionally hard-nosed Prosecutor in his time.

Immediately, Amelia Bones arose and was recognized by the Speaker. "Mr. Speaker, as Minister of Public Safety I must inform the Chamber that a criminal case of more than ordinary significance is now ready for trial, and to that end I move that the Wizengamot sit as the High Court of the Realm to hear it."

"Do I hear a second?" The Speaker said. The motion was seconded at once and passed by a wide margin.

Pages moved at once to move furniture to convert the Chamber into a courtroom. When they were done, the Speaker ordered, "Bring in the prisoner."

There was a louder chorus of astonishment and excitement, which only died down when the Judge ordered, "Silence. Or I will order the Galleries cleared."

Jane Twelvetrees brought Sirius Black in to the courtroom and seated him at the table for the prisoner, then stood behind him with her hand close to her wand. She was dressed in her most formal Auror's robes. Big John entered behind her and stood at her side.

Jane watched as Harry walked in the front door of the Wizengamot Chamber. Her immediate reaction was that Sirius Black dreaded this trial less than Harry Potter did.

"Counsel for the Prosecution?" The Judge said.

A tall, lean man with iron grey hair and beard, dressed in plain black robes, rose and said, "Isaiah Cromwell for the Prosecution, Your Honour. We are ready to proceed."

"Counsel for the Defence?" The Judge said.

The man who rose from the Defence table was Cromwell's polar opposite. He was short, almost roly-poly and dressed in robes that were a riot of colour. "Aloysius Darrow for the Defence, Your Honour. We are ready to proceed."

The Judge struck his gavel and said, "The Prosecution will identify the accused and state the charges against him."

Cromwell rose and spoke in a deep commanding voice. "The prisoner at the Bar is identified as Sirius Orion Black. The charges against him are as follows. Thirteen counts of Murder in the Second Degree, one count of Assault with Deadly Magic, one count of Criminal Negligence, and one count of Endangering the Statute of Secrecy."

The opening statements pretty much repeated, from different points of view, the events of that fateful night in High Holborn Street.

"Mr. Cromwell, call your first witness." The Judge ordered.

"The Prosecution calls Auror Jane Twelvetrees."

Jane came up to the witness stand and was sworn. "Auror Twelvetrees. You are the Lead Investigator on this case, correct?"

At her assent, he continued, "Please tell the Court how you came to commence this investigation."

Jane went through how they had found Pettigrew's body.

"What indicated to you that the body was that of a Death Eater?" Cromwell asked.

"The first thing I observed was the Dark Mark on his left arm. It was burned into the flesh. He had also a missing right hand, which had evidently been replaced by a magical construct. The outline of that construct was burned into the floor of the room. The magic involved in both was very similar according to a standard diagnostic spell."

She paused to see if Cromwell would say something, then continued. "Sergeant Crusher then turned the body over and recognized the face as being that of Peter Pettigrew. At that point Sergeant Crusher recused himself as the Lead Investigator, which role then fell to me."

"Are you not rather inexperienced for such a responsibility?" Cromwell asked.

"One of my first acts was to notify the Deputy Chief of Investigations that I was reopening the case. He attended to the scene and confirmed me as the Lead Investigator." Jane said steadily. She'd expected that question, but from the defence, not the Prosecutor.

"And then?" Cromwell asked.

"I called in the Forensic Magic Squad and had them do a full workup of the scene, with particular emphasis on the positive identification of the deceased. Sergeant Lawson confirmed to me that the body was indeed that of Peter Pettigrew."

Cromwell turned to the Defence table. "I can, if the Defence wishes, call Sergeant Lawson to attest to the identity of the decedent."

"No need. The Defence stipulates the identity of the decedent as being Peter Pettigrew." Darrow replied smoothly.

Cromwell turned to the Judge. "The Prosecution moves to have the count of the murder of Peter Pettigrew removed from the indictment against the prisoner, as being unfounded upon new evidence."

The Judge struck once with the gavel and said. "Granted and so ordered. Clerk of the Court, make it so."

In the Press Gallery, Jonas McShine, the senior political and criminal reporter for the Daily Prophet, nodded as his theory was confirmed. Jonas had returned to his old desk from exile abroad during the shakeup that had followed the arrest of Umbridge and the fall of Fudge from power. The younger reporter who was his assistant and apprentice on this beat, looked puzzled.

April Sunshine, "Sunny" to her friends, said, "I don't understand. That spell was never going to cast and everyone knew it. Why bother? Cromwell make a mistake?"

Jonas shook his head definitely. "Not a chance. Cromwell's a chess master. So's Darrow, as far as that goes. These are the two best lawyers in the Realm. You heard Darrow's opening statement. 'Oh my God, an innocent man got sent to Azkaban for twelve years without a trial and spent years on the run.' Cromwell has just established that Black's not an innocent victim. He just didn't murder Pettigrew. He has also rubbed in everyone's face that he's going to try Black on the evidence, not on emotion, and that this is just the first entry on a long laundry list. Pulling the charge himself instead of letting Darrow make the motion makes sure that Darrow can't play that card."

"So, who's going to win?" Sunny asked.

The older reporter chuckled. "This isn't a stage play. Make sure there's lots of ink in your quill, kid. We're going to be here for a while. One more thing, kid. Take a look at where Potter's sitting."

The younger reporter looked, and looked puzzled again. Potter was sitting quietly in a chair set precisely midway between the Defence and Prosecution tables, not speaking to anyone or doing anything except taking notes. "He's right in the middle, not with either side."

The older reporter nodded. "Yes, he is. What does that say?"

"Says he's impartial, but ... Black's his godfather." Sunny protested. "The only real family he has left."

"Yes, he is. Interesting, don't you think?" Jonas replied.

The next witness was Big John Crusher, to testify about the initial crime scene. A lot of evidence from the original investigation got entered into evidence, too. Darrow hammered at him, trying to get him to say that the twelve muggles had all died from the blast. Crusher explained, several times, that there was no way to know that because of the condition of the bodies and because they had no access to them, since the muggle authorities had done the cleanup. He went into enough graphic detail, with pictures, to cause some faces to turn sickly in the Gallery and the Wizengamot benches.

Darrow hammered at him some more on assuming that Pettigrew had been dead without seeing a body. Big John replied stoically that he had made a mistake, and that he'd been inexperienced then and would not have made that same mistake today.

"Why is he on about that?" Sunny asked. She was very much aware that she was on probation here, but if she didn't ask she wasn't going to learn.

"Inexperienced investigator then, inexperienced investigator now. Doubt is where you find it." McShine replied, making notes.

Jonas watched as Crusher was excused, and looked thoughtful when the next witness was called. It was Twelvetrees again, explaining the next steps she had taken in the investigation. Darrow had her explain the reasons for all her actions. He was evidently probing for weaknesses, but didn't seem to find any worth talking about. Twelvetrees came across as methodical and credible.

The older reporter made careful notes. "Right interesting, that is."

"What's interesting?" Sunny asked.

"Darrow didn't move to dismiss the murder charges. He'd have got it, too. The original Prosecutor dropped the Quaffle right off the toss. For murder you need intent, and Black was trying to kill Pettigrew, not the muggles. Manslaughter, that would have worked. Reckless disregard for human life. Twelve counts would still have put Black away for a long time. With the new evidence, they're dragon fodder. Who actually cast that spell? Could have been either."

"Why didn't he? And why didn't Cromwell withdraw them?"

"Good questions. We'll see how it comes out in the end game. Best lawyers in the Realm. There's a reason."

Then Cromwell called Sergeant Reginald Lawson of the Forensic Magic Squad. His testimony took quite a while, but no one complained. He was first qualified as an expert witness, which included having his service record and qualifications, both impressive, read into the record. Then he explained how the new spells worked to list out the spells any wand had cast, when they were cast and by whom.

Darrow went after him hammer and tongs, obviously looking for some way to cast doubt on the new methods, but at the end they were accepted into evidence. After all the preliminaries, the heart of his testimony was short and devastating. Pettigrew's wand, with Pettigrew's hand on it, had definitely cast the Confringo Maxima.

The Judge let the chorus of surprised exclamations run its course, then gavelled for silence.

"I don't get it." The young reporter said. "That evidence just absolutely exonerated his client, but Darrow did his level best to discredit it and get it excluded."

"That's right. Hang on to your broomstick, kid. This ride isn't over." Jonas replied. "Now we know why Cromwell kept the murder charges. They were his hook to get the wand evidence in without tipping his hand to Darrow. Darrow saw it coming anyway."

At that point the Judge looked up at the clock, struck his gavel and said, "Court is adjourned for the day, and will reconvene tomorrow at nine o'clock."

The two reporters were at the courtroom over an hour early. They walked down to the Ministry building from the Prophet's offices past the news dealers with front pages displayed showing the headlines of Trial of the Century and Wrong Death Eater.

The initial formalities preceding the trial didn't take long. The press weren't the only ones who were looking forward to whatever new revelations the day might bring.

The Judge's gavel fell, and the trial resumed. Cromwell called Twelvetrees, and had her describe the process of finding Black's wand, and then had the wand itself entered into evidence. Darrow objected immediately, and questioned every step of the process, starting with how they had obtained Black's property.

"Overruled, Mr. Darrow." The Judge ruled. "The Governor of Azkaban has the lawful authority to release evidentiary materials to law enforcement officers upon reasonable cause."

Then Cromwell excused Twelvetrees and called Lawson. There were no preliminaries this time.

"Sergeant Lawson." Cromwell said. "Please list for this court the spells cast by the wand entered as Prosecution Exhibit 53 during the confrontation between Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew on the day in question."

Lawson replied precisely, "At 8:01 and 27 seconds, this wand, with Sirius Black wielding it, was used to cast a Reducto Maxima. At 8:02 and 13 seconds, this wand, with Sirius Black wielding it, was used to cast a second Reducto Maxima."

Cromwell nodded to Darrow. "Your witness."

Darrow got up. "Sergeant Lawson, what did those spells hit?"

"I have no means of knowing from the wand analysis what those spells hit or where the wand was when they were cast. I can only speak to when and by whom they were cast." Lawson replied in a careful, measured tone.

"No further questions." Darrow said, and sat down.

Lawson stepped down, and Cromwell called Twelvetrees. She took the stand, and Cromwell took out his wand and cast a spell. In response, a very large sheet of parchment unrolled itself and stood in the air so that the Wizengamot members could see it clearly.

Darrow leaped to his feet, and his shout of "Objection!" could be heard throughout the Chamber.

"State your objection, Mr. Darrow. At a more moderate volume, if you please." The Judge said.

"Apologies, Your Honour. I was disagreeably surprised. This ..." He pointed accusingly at the parchment. "Was not disclosed to the defence."

"Counsel will approach." The Judge said. Both lawyers walked up to the bench. The theoretical privacy that afforded pretty well stopped with the Court Reporter pausing her quill. Both lawyers had carrying voices.

Darrow made to speak, but closed his mouth again at the Judge's emphatic gesture. "Mr. Cromwell. Why was that diagram not disclosed to the Defence?"

"There was no requirement to do so, Your Honour. The law requires that all evidence against the accused be discovered to the Defence, and all of it was. This is merely an aide memoire, a summary to ensure that Auror Twelvetrees can testify to this court accurately and concisely. I do not think that any court will dispute her right to consult her own notes. I will call Your Honour's attention to Rex vs. Weinstein, the financial fraud case where the Prosecution summed up a series of financial transactions in a diagram, which was accepted without discovery."

"It still should have been discovered." Darrow said, stubbornly. "How do I know that there is not new evidence in the complexities of this ... diagram?"

Cromwell replied, amiably, "The distinguished Counsel for the Defence is quite welcome to examine it for himself. It is not that complex, and was designed for clarity."

"Your Honour, I request court be adjourned until tomorrow morning so that I may conduct that examination." Darrow said, clearly back on balance.

"I hardly think so much time is required." Cromwell replied, mildly. "Mr. Darrow is, after all, one of the premier legal minds in the Realm."

The Judge nodded. "Mr. Darrow, you are granted a recess of one half hour to examine this diagram for yourself. At the end of that recess, unless you have positive evidence that there is something undisclosed here, this trial will proceed."

Darrow spent every second of that half hour looking at the diagram, checking each entry against his case file.

"Mr. Darrow. What are the results of your examination of that diagram?"

Grudgingly, Darrow replied, "I have found no undisclosed evidence in this diagram, Your Honour."

"Trial will proceed. Hereafter, Mr. Darrow, if you allege that evidence has been suppressed, ensure that you have proof to back up that allegation." The Judge replied sharply, and gavelled the Court to order.

Jane sat in the witness chair, watching Darrow and hoping that he would not find some error or omission that he could use to damage their case. This had been a hard grind. One more sprint to the finish, and it would be done.

Cromwell asked the question, and she walked through the results of all the skull sweat and shoe leather and hard work that had gone into this case, using her wand to light up one entry on the timeline after another.

Then she had to do it all over again for Darrow, who picked at each step trying to find a mistake or a discrepancy that he could make into a mistake. Darrow clearly wanted to go over it again when they came to the end, but the Judge shut him down. All told, from beginning to end that confrontation had taken only a few minutes, but its consequences had echoed down the decades.

"The witness is excused." From the Judge were the sweetest words she had ever heard. Jane stepped down, went back to sit at the Prosecution table, and gave a deep sigh of relief. Looking at the clock, she saw that she'd been up on the stand for over three hours. It had only seemed like a couple of lifetimes.

"Why did Darrow have his wand out for that diagram?" Sunny asked.

"Because it was effective. The jury was going to remember it a lot better than a recitation of events. Now there's a High Court decision as precedent for using it. You'll see it used again." Jonas replied.

He paused, then added, "Chess masters, all right. Now I see the play with the murder charges. Darrow left them because he wanted the vote to start off with twelve acquittals. Makes them more likely to vote an acquittal when it gets to the real charges. Cromwell was sending the message to the Chamber that he's not going to do their job for them. They have to decide."

The closing arguments were a more detailed reprise of the opening arguments. The two lawyers rested, and the Judge called for the vote.

The vote was called on each individual charge. The twelve murder charges were all voted Not Guilty unanimously, as expected. The Assault charge was voted by individual members, and the vote was to convict by a two to one margin. Black was acquitted on the Criminal Negligence charge, but only by a margin of three votes. He was convicted of the Endangering charge by a wide margin.

Black sagged into his chair, the picture of utter frozen despair.

"The prisoner at the bar will rise." The Judge ordered. Darrow had to help Black to his feet to comply with the Judge's order.

"Sirius Orion Black, you have been convicted by the High Court of the Magical Realm of Britain of Assault with Deadly Magic and Endangering the Statute of Secrecy. Thereto you are sentenced to ten years imprisonment for Assault with Deadly Magic and 2 years imprisonment for Endangering the Statute of Secrecy. You may be seated."

Black collapsed into his chair as soon as Darrow let go of his arm.

Darrow turned to face the Judge, and if he was defeated he did not show it. "Your Honour, the Defence calls the attention of the Court to the recorded fact that my client was confined in Azkaban for twelve years prior to this trial, which is therefore pre-trial confinement. I therefore move that the period of pre-trial confinement be applied against his current sentence."

The Judge looked down at Darrow and Black for a long, long moment. Then he cracked down the gavel into the silence that had fallen in the Chamber.

"Motion is granted. Let the record show that the prisoner Black has completed his sentence and is therefore to be released."

Sirius sat back limp in his chair with his head back, the picture of a man soaking in the relief of being free after a long ordeal.

The Judge gave it a minute or so for Black to recuperate, then cracked his gavel sharply. "Sirius Orion Black. Your trial before this Court is complete, and you go forth from this Chamber a free man. Do not think that you are vindicated. You remain a convicted criminal in the eyes of the law. You may not be the Head of a Noble Family or hold other responsible office. This Court imposes no conditions on you at this time, but reserves the right to do so. If you are brought before the Bar of this, or any other court in the Realm, be sure that it will go very hard with you. You are free to go."

The gavel came down one last time. "The High Court is adjourned."

Chapter 28: Chapter 28 Messages

Chapter 28 Messages

The pages came out and removed the furniture that made the Chamber into a courtroom. The Speaker resumed his seat and said, formally, "Is there any other business before this Chamber?"

Harry Potter had remained seated while the pages worked around him, and now he stood up and spoke for the first time that long day. "Mr. Speaker!"

"The Chair recognizes Harry Potter, upon the privilege of the Warlock." The Speaker replied.

"Privilege of the Warlock?" Sunny whispered to Jonas.

He nodded. "Warlock has the right to address the Chamber, just as if he was a Member. He doesn't vote, though. Dumbledore only ever did it once, but Potter has done it a lot more."

"Mr. Speaker, I wish to speak on behalf of Sirius Orion Black. As all in this Chamber have seen, Sirius Black has erred grievously and broken the law. Yet also he has paid for those errors, as the High Court of this Realm has found. Error and injustice there were in those years, and as is now well known the burden of them fell on him. In the years when he was a hunted fugitive he might have turned against the Realm and joined the foes of the Realm, but he did not. Rather he fought against them, standing with the valiant few of the Order of the Phoenix against the return of Voldemort."

Sirius had started to walk toward the exit, but when Harry began speaking he turned to listen, his face swiftly assuming an expression of shocked astonishment.

"Atonement he has made, and now I petition this Chamber, the highest authority of the Realm, for a Pardon for Sirius Black, in recognition of hard and dangerous service to the Realm in the years when the power of Voldemort was rising and peril was come upon us all."

The Speaker turned and addressed the Members. "The petition of the Warlock is submitted to this Chamber. Do any wish to speak to this petition?"

"Mr. Speaker." The voice was that of Amelia Bones.

She continued after being recognized. "Justice is a celestial ideal. Law and due process are the imperfect tools by which fallible mortals seek to realize that ideal. In the past we forgot that quest, as we have been reminded this day. Sirius Black was denied that due process. I believe that we, also, need to make atonement. I speak in favour of this petition."

Two more Members spoke to the petition, both in favour. The Speaker called the vote, and it passed by a two thirds majority.

"Sirius Black, be it known to all the Realm by these present that you are granted Full Pardon for past offences in recognition of your services to the Realm. Your good name is restored and all rights and privileges that were formerly yours are now returned to you."

The Speaker turned back to the Members. "This sitting is adjourned."

Harry took a deep breath and turned to go. Today was done. However tardily, he had made good on his pledge to speak out and to act where he saw injustice. It had been more complex and far harder than he had ever imagined when he had made that pledge. He decided that he was going to have dinner before he Apparated back to Hogwarts. Tomorrow was another day of teaching classes.

Harry turned as a hand touched his shoulder. It was Sirius, looking whipsawed and baffled, not the sad betrayed look that Harry would never forget. Harry had retained the hope that Sirius might speak to him again someday. That didn't mean that this was going to be "All is forgiven."

"Harry, what ...?" Sirius simply ran out of words for the questions that were boiling in his mind.

"Harry, why didn't you just tell me how it was going to come out?" He said, after a moment.

"I didn't know, Sirius." Harry said quietly. "I wasn't there to tell them how to decide. I was there to make sure you got due process. Injustice has to be answered with justice. Justice has to be seen to be done."

"Harry, he betrayed your parents!" Sirius said, his voice pleading.

"Tell me about it." Harry said drily. "You wanted vengeance. When you set out for vengeance you dig two graves."

"He deserved to die!" Sirius said angrily.

"Perhaps he did." Harry replied quietly. "What about the innocent people in that street? Did they deserve to die?"

"Pettigrew killed them." Sirius said defensively.

"It could have been you just as easily. We don't know who killed them, we can't know who killed them. You didn't care about them any more than Pettigrew did." Harry said, still quietly. "You would have killed Pettigrew in cold blood while he was pleading for his life, but you missed. By the grace of God you are not a murderer."

Harry decided that he needed sleep more than anything else, but there was one thing more that needed doing. "Take my arm, Sirius."

Sirius took Harry's arm, then realized that he had obeyed that quiet order without question. He opened his mouth to ask where they were going or how it was even possible from the Chamber, but the sensation of Apparation took him before he could.

They arrived in front of the gates of Hogwarts, the castle outlined against the setting Sun. Harry held out his hand in a welcoming gesture. "You once told me that you wanted to walk through these gates as a free man. Walk with me, Sirius."

They walked together through the gates of the castle into the courtyard, and Sirius watched the ebb and flow of the life of the school continue as it had when he was young, as it had for so many centuries.

A young student with a prefect's badge came up to Harry, looking breathless. "Professor Potter. The Headmistress' compliments and she asks to know if you will be teaching classes tomorrow."

"Yes, I will, James." Harry replied gravely. "My business in London is done."

"I will tell the Headmistress, Professor." He said. "Good to see you back, sir. It's not the same without you."

Sirius watched the boy head off on his errand. By years Harry was but little older than that student, but the unforced respect that the prefect had shown him was not always given to teachers of much greater age and experience. He watched as the news spread across the quad at the speed of magic as it had when he had been a student, and the looks of relief and pleasure that followed it.

Sirius took a deep breath of the free air, standing in the quad of his old school as he had so often dreamed of doing during so many dark days and nights. Now it was real. Now he had time to recover himself a little from the crushing despair and soaring relief of this day.

Recklessness had been Sirius' weakness since the days of the Marauders, and now he was faced with the uncomfortable fact that he had not changed much. He had risked his own life and those of others heedlessly many times over. Mad-Eye and the others had reproved him for that repeatedly, but he had ignored them.

He realized that Harry had spoken the harsh and exact truth. He truly had not cared for the innocent bystanders in his rage at Pettigrew's betrayal. By luck, undeserved good fortune, he had escaped the consequences of that recklessness - again. Whether there was innocent blood on his hands was not knowable, but now he had stared down into the abyss of dire consequences for that fault.

Harry gestured wide at the sunlit quad. "By the decision of the Court you are a free man with your good name restored. Don't waste that gift."

Sirius followed that gesture. Now he could hope that his own children could be part of that cycle of life. This was only one of the many treasures that life held, that he had come so close to throwing away for a moment's bloody satisfaction.

Time to grow up, Sirius. He thought. You have left it very late in the day.

Harry looked over at Sirius. "I will, if you feel up to it, resign the office of Head of the House of Black to you. You are again eligible to hold it."

Once, and not very long ago, he would have accepted that without thinking and considered it his by right. Now, he thought about it. The Head of an Ancient and Noble House should be the one best fitted to hold it. That one was not Sirius Black.

Sirius bowed his head. "The Head of the House of Black is a just and powerful man. I do not see that the House would benefit by a change."

Most fathers hope their sons will live up to them. I have the rest of my life to try to live up to my son. He thought.

Jonas McShine looked over his cluttered battered desk at Sunny. "Hell of a message someone sent today. I don't think it was just Potter, either."

"Message?" The younger woman replied. This was obviously a teachable moment in her apprenticeship. It was also a test to see if she could keep up.

"Figure it out. Was Black some nobody off the street?" Jonas said.

"Not even close. Scion of an Ancient and Noble House, family money, war hero, godfather of the Warlock." Sunny replied at once.

"Right. That money hired one of the best lawyers in the Realm to defend him. The Warlock was right there in the courtroom. What did that get him?" Jonas continued.

"Acquitted of what he didn't do or couldn't be proved, convicted of what he did do and sentenced to Azkaban time." Sunny said, slowly. "But how do we know it wasn't stage managed? Sentence him to time served and let him walk?"

"Good question, kid. You're learning. The Criminal Negligence charge. How close was that?" Jonas said.

"Near as a toucher." Sunny replied. "There was doubt there."

"Just enough, as it turned out." Jonas replied. "He got the maximum on the other two charges. The max on Criminal Negligence is five years."

"Potter still could have moved to have him Pardoned." Sunny maintained.

"Sure. After he did his time. It was a High Court decision. Wizengamot can't overturn its own conviction. Custom of the Wizengamot doesn't allow it. If they were going to do that, it would have been tried at the Assizes, not the High Court." Jonas replied.

He shook his head, and continued. "Trying to stage manage a High Court decision is dicey at best. Fudge tried that with Potter's trial over the Dementor attack, and it blew up in his face. Too many factions, too many moving parts. Greengrass is too smart for that. Whiffletree is a hardcore law and order type. As far as he's concerned Potter is a loose dragon. He wouldn't give Potter the time of day."

At the older man's gesture, she continued. "The message is that money, family and clout get you a fair trial on the evidence and that's it."

The older man nodded, and gestured again for her to continue.

"Black was on the run for a long time." The younger reporter said slowly. "How hard were they actually looking? He was a pretty convenient bogeyman for Fudge. As long he was on the dodge this whole thing could just be let lie."

"Good. Twelvetrees." The older man said.

Sunny didn't have to think about that. "She didn't give a rats for the politics. She found Black, took him in, and put together the case that convicted him. Nobody had the clout to shut down her investigation, either. Darrow went up one side of her and down the other and got nothing."

The older man smiled grimly. "You want that one coming after you?"

"I'll pass, thanks all the same." Was the dry reply.

"Me, too." The older man said. "The trial vote. That went down as slick as goose grease. Was that an accident?"

"Well ..." Sunny said uncertainly, then broke off at the other's head shake.

"There are no accidents in that Chamber. Cock-ups, yes. This wasn't either. Someone whipped that vote. Potter, you think?"

"I don't see it. He's apolitical." Sunny said.

"Comes across that way." The older reporter said, skeptically. "More to the point, he doesn't have the network. Greengrass does. He was the Speaker. Wouldn't have been a hard sell. There were a lot of people who wanted this behind them. Wand work still had to be done. Take a lesson, kid. You need to know the Chamber on this beat. Memorize every seat in that room and the occupant of them, and know who the serious players are. That includes some people who don't have a seat. Miranda Greengrass isn't just the Minister's arm candy, she's his wand hand and enforcer."

"So you've got the Minister and the Warlock backing up the Aurors on the street and keeping a hard eye on the courts to make sure they stay on the straight." April said, slowly. "Hell of a message, all right."

Chapter 29: Chapter 29 Foreign Policy

Chapter 29 Foreign Policy

"You are excused, Mr. Weasley." Rufus Scrimgeour said, abruptly.

Percy Weasley lost no time in leaving the small conference room Scrimgeour was using to systematically and comprehensively grill everyone in the Ministry who'd had direct contact with Cornelius Fudge. Well, they hadn't broken out the Veritaserum, and he'd been junior enough and ignorant enough of Fudge's activities that he still had a job. He'd walked past the dragon's den and lived to tell of it, but not by any good management or ethical choices of his own.

Being put through the mill and ground and bolted had given him plenty of opportunity to realize what an overambitious boot-licking bloody fool he'd been. He'd destroyed his relationship with his family for the prospect of riding on Fudge's coattails. He'd been quite willing to sell his soul, but no one had bought it because it wasn't worth enough. What the trial of Umbridge had revealed had opened his eyes to the precipice he had been blithely walking past.

He walked slowly back to his desk, trying to stop the shaking from the ordeal he had just been through. His desk was a small battered old one, used by generations of Junior Undersecretaries like himself, new in the Ministry and starting their careers. It was clean, not because Percy was particularly inclined that way but because every piece of parchment had been taken by the investigators before he'd had his turn on the griddle.

Percy had been sitting for almost long enough to feel relaxed again, though good was still a long way off. So much for all the promise of a bright career in the Ministry. He'd had all the right credentials. Head Boy at Hogwarts, well connected among his father's colleagues, good marks across the board, all the right recommendations. That was now replaced by "one of Fudge's toadies".

He wasn't neglecting his work, at least, because he didn't have any. He was without assignment pending the outcome of the inquiry. Now that it was done, he would be transferred somewhere. He didn't have high hopes of some sort of plum assignment. He would take what he could get - as if he had a choice on that. Leaving the Ministry would be out of the dragon's cave and into the basilisk's.

He had a long road back, both professionally and personally. His dark brown study was interrupted by one of his desk mates, Alison Harding. "Ah, Percy, I think this is for you."

She was holding a memo, still folded, which she handed to him.

"Thanks, Alison." He said, more gratefully than he normally would have for a small courtesy from a co-worker. Misdirected memos happened all the time down here. Right now he was grateful that anyone at all would speak to him. Alison was one of the people he'd snubbed in his blind scramble to try to gain Fudge's favour.

He was even more grateful when she actually stayed to talk with him. "Escaped from the dragon's den, did you?"

"More like too small a morsel to bother with. Not complaining. I'll take what I can get and be grateful for it." He replied.

"Well, the good news for us miserable and downtrodden is that there are some vacancies opening up. Magical Cooperation certainly has some." She said.

That gossip had spread through the Ministry like Fiendfyre in dry grass. Arthur Weasley's reputation had gone from amiable nonentity to avenging angel in the wake of it. The Director and his Undersecretary hadn't been the only, just the first. Some people had gotten off comparatively lightly, finding it expedient to retire or take a transfer.

"There's that." Percy agreed, with the private reservation that he had no bloody hope in Hell of any such appointment. He might, eventually, find some way to get back on speaking terms with his father. If he was lucky.

Alison headed back to her own desk and Percy opened the memo with his wand.

The memo was very short. It was headed "From the Desk of the Director, International Magical Cooperation." It said, "Come see me. A.W."

A summons from on high. A summons from his father. Percy didn't know whether to be hopeful or terrified. The one thing he did not dare to be was late. He got up from his desk, checked himself as best he could in the small mirror he'd kept for when he was dealing with the Minister's office, and headed down the stairs to the seventh floor and the offices of Magical Cooperation. He made sure to have the memo with him. One didn't just casually drop in on the office of a senior Director. Well, not unless you were a family member in good standing, which Percy ... was not.

The Director's Assistant was a starchy looking lanky man who Percy didn't recognize. The sign on his desk said Alaric Wishbone. Bulstrode's Assistant had almost certainly been one of those who had not prospered in the new environment.

"Good morning." Percy said politely. "Percy Weasley to see the Director."

Percy had been ready to show the memo if needed, but it was not.

"Very well. He will see you now." The Assistant replied, with a nod toward the Director's office.

Percy took a deep breath and walked toward the door. It was closed, so he knocked, gently.

"Come in." Was the reply. The voice was familiar, but it was not the cheerful welcoming tone that he had been accustomed to hear from his father. Percy opened the door and walked in.

Many things had changed in the Ministry. Percy realized that his father was one of them. He was more formally dressed, and his expression was serious, authoritative. He looked very much at home behind that desk.

"Percy. Have a seat." He said. The tone made a courtesy into an order. Percy obeyed silently. He had no idea what this might be about and he was deathly afraid that anything he said might be the wrong thing. God knew he had said enough wrong things to his family already.

"I am given to understand that the Ethics Committee enquiry cleared you of wrong doing, despite your association with Cornelius Fudge." His father said, coolly.

That would normally have been good news. Percy had thought that very likely, given that he hadn't been fired or arrested, but a Director at his father's level would have the definitive verdict if he wanted to ask, which apparently he had.

"Thank you, Father." He replied carefully, watching the reaction as a prisoner might watch the Judge's face before the verdict was rendered. His Father's face remained stern.

"What plans have you?" Arthur asked in that same cool tone.

"I'm without assignment at the moment. I hope to be able to find something. I expect that I'll have to take what I can get, and hope to work my way out from under the cloud." Percy said.

He wasn't going to pretend over this. Cleared of wrongdoing wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement of his merits as a potential subordinate.

"You do intend to stay in the Ministry?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, Father." Percy replied. He searched his father's face for some idea of what this was all about, but he came up with nothing. This was a side of his father that he had never seen, and he wondered just what else about his father he did not know.

"I have it in mind to offer you a place in this Department." Arthur said. "Your intelligence and work ethic are not in question. Your judgment and loyalty are. Do you think that you did well over choosing to associate yourself with Fudge?"

To say that I chose badly is like saying that Voldemort has been temporarily detained. Percy thought bitterly, before it hit him that he was being offered a position, or at least the opportunity of one.

"I was a blindly ambitious fool who tried to boot lick his way to preferment, Father." Percy said humbly. "It was a horrendous mistake that cost me dearly, and at that I was let off lightly. I could be on the street without a character, or waiting trial. Personally, I ask the forgiveness of you and my family."

It was nothing he had not thought a hundred times after the fall of Fudge and the trial of Umbridge. It was hard to say it, all the same.

Arthur Weasley's face did not change. "Very well. I have an assignment for you. If you complete it satisfactorily, then we will speak again."

He took a file folder from his desk and handed it to Percy. "This is a report that was written to satisfy a requirement for this Department. Review it, familiarize yourself with it so that you can answer questions, and make note if you find any deficiencies. Send me a memo when you are done."

"Yes, Father." Percy replied, and picked up the file folder. "Thank you."

"It remains to be seen if you will have anything to be thankful for." The Director - very much the Director - replied.

Percy took that for dismissal and left. He went down to his desk and sat behind it, then opened the file folder.

The report inside was a thick one. "Russian Foreign Policy: Ways and Means" was the title. The first thing that he noticed was that it was old. It had been written a little over two years ago, before Bulstrode had been promoted to Director. By the look of it, that report had gathered dust in a file cabinet since then. He made the first note of his memo. Two years was a long time. Things could have changed. They probably had changed. Many things had changed in the Realm in the last two years.

The notes that followed tended, he noticed after a while, to feature the name of one man. That name was Dmitri Veronoff. The question that he wrote down, then underlined, was exactly what Veronoff had been doing in the last two years. The memo ran long by the time Percy was done. There was what Veronoff had been doing these last two years, who he had been paying off in the ICW besides those named in last years scandal, and what aim they might have aside from being generally disruptive and and obstructionist over just about anything the ICW might do.

What connection Veronoff might have had with Bulstrode was another question. Ministry gossip had come up with about a hundred reasons for Bulstrode's abrupt fall from grace. Taking bribes from the Russians had been just one of them. Percy was now very inclined to think that it was the right one.

The morning after Percy dispatched his memo to his father it came back with a brief note appended. "Come see me to discuss this. A.W."

Percy took the elevator to Magical Cooperation with the same mixture of hope and fear churning about inside him. He made sure to take his working copy of the report with all of its annotations with him.

Percy was admitted with a nod and a greeting from Wishbone, rather than the one cut below hostility that he had met before. That didn't mean he was in favour. It meant he wasn't an interloper.

"Good morning." Was the greeting from his father. The tone was at about the same "not an interloper" level that he'd had from Wishbone. "I received your memo. Tolerably complete. Let's go over the main points, shall we?"

Percy reckoned later that the grilling that followed lasted an hour and a half. It seemed a lot longer. The toughest of his NEWT's had been less demanding. In the course of it Percy had his eyes opened to some things that made him wonder if he was striking for a position in a Ministry Department or a role in a high-magic spy thriller.

Bulstrode selling out to the Russians, and not just selling information but actively sabotaging Britain's position in the ICW. The covert meeting between the Warlock and the Canadians before the ICW Security Council vote. The subject of that vote was enough to make his hair stand on end once he realized the implications.

Portkeys on dragons. He imagined a flight of dragons arriving literally out of thin air over Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley or, Merlin forbid, Hogwarts. Percy had never imagined that there could be a worse threat than Voldemort, but this could be. Voldemort had been building an army to rule Britain. The Russians were building the means for Britain's total destruction.

As he left his father's office to sit at the temporary desk that he had scrounged in a corner of the Magical Cooperation offices, he began to reckon up the number of people who knew about this information. It had to be a short list. The Warlock himself, the Minister, Director Magical Cooperation, plus whoever they might trust with such information. Now, Percy Weasley was added to that list.

He had just gone through one test, and now he realized that this was another. If any part of this information was leaked to the Ministry grapevine or the Prophet in defiance of his father's admonition that this was to be held in strict confidence, he suspected that he might envy Benjamin Bulstrode by the time he was done.

A memo swooped in and landed on his desk. "Percy. Please have the re-write of the Russian report on my desk by close of business Friday next. Put together a working group to help you. A.W."

Here was yet another test. A tight team of competent people, working like house elves, might make that deadline. He glanced at his watch. It was mid-morning of a Tuesday. He started making a list and a plan.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Percy was on the train to Hogwarts with his briefcase on the seat beside him. It held one of the three copies of the Russian report in existence. One had gone to his father, one to the Minister, and this one was to be delivered to the Warlock.

His marching orders on that had been as blunt as a wand tip. "If that report is taken from you by anyone but the Warlock personally, you are not to be alive to explain why."

He sat by himself in a corner seat and had his wand hand free. What he would not long ago have laughed off as playing at spy vs. spy he now considered to be good sensible precaution. The frightening part about those orders was not that he had been given them. The frightening part was that he agreed with them.

The Russians had bought Bulstrode hoof and hide. Who else they might have bought was a question that had no answer. His father's housecleaning had made sure as it could ever be that Magical Cooperation was clean. The rest of the Ministry was a decided question mark. The Russians pretty clearly did not want the ICW deployment to happen.

As the working group had gone through the process of working through the ramifications of the Warlock's vote, the more he had realized just how pivotal the Warlock's decision at the ICW Security Council meeting had been. The response to the Russian threat could have gone two ways. The one that was now to be tested in the real world was to put up defences against it. The Warlock's decision to support that measure was going to define the Realm's foreign policy for decades to come.

The other response would have been to convert their own dragon reservation into just such a weapon of indiscriminate mass destruction. Had the Council vote failed, that would have been the only option. Harry Potter had not known, nor had any way to know, all of this. He had made the decision on his own sense of right and wrong. Bulstrode and the Russians had gone to great lengths to ensure that he was kept in the dark.

Percy had had made very clear to him Arthur Weasley's grim determination that that was never going to happen again. His father's words rang in his ears.

"While I am Director, the single most important task for this Department is to ensure that the Warlock's requirements are met. Professionally, this Department let him down very badly. Personally, this family has a father because of him. Never forget that."

He debarked from the train and took a thestral carriage up to the castle. Professor Potter was teaching classes, so he had some time to browse around among the memories of his school days. He glanced at his watch, and set off up the stairs to the teacher's offices.

Of all the tests that he had undergone in the last days, this would be the sternest. He was going to have to make his manners to Professor Harry Potter, Warlock of Britain.

Chapter 30: Chapter 30 Trust

Chapter 30 Trust

The meeting convened in Minerva's office. Much had changed in that office. Much had not. Harry pulled himself away from the memories there, to the business at hand. There were some things to hash out.

They were six at the table. Harry himself, Arthur Weasley and Percy Weasley, Miranda Greengrass, Minerva and Hermione. Percy was there as his father's assistant. Miranda Greengrass was there as the Minister's representative. The rest were there because he trusted them to give him good advice.

There were no formalities. Harry started. "There are a lot of people who are complaining about the DA. They want it disbanded, they say it's my private army and I'm going to overthrow the Ministry, on and bloody on. Some of them sound like Fudge, for God's sake. Where do I stand on that? Am I doing something illegal?"

Miranda Greengrass fielded that one. "The short answer is, no you aren't, Harry. Do you want the long answer?"

"Yes, please." Harry said. This business of being the Warlock had surprises at every turn. He had a hard time believing that Fudge or the Wizengamot would pass a law saying anything like that.

"The government of the Realm has evolved over time, many centuries. What has come out of that is a three cornered balance of power. The Minister, the Wizengamot and the Warlock. The Minister has a lot of power in a lot of areas, but there are areas where he doesn't, and the Defence of the Realm is one of them. That's the responsibility of the Warlock. He's the Guardian of the Realm. With that responsibility go some powers to meet it. Where you see a threat to the Realm, you have the authority to raise a force to meet it. So the DA was a rebel army until you became Warlock, at which point they were the Household of the Warlock, and perfectly legal." She said, precisely.

"So, why didn't Dumbledore just raise an army and go after Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"Bearing in mind that I wasn't privy to Dumbledore's thinking, I'd say there were a couple of reasons. First, he was trying to stop a civil war, not start one. Find a way to take out Voldemort, and his rebellion falls to pieces, as it did in the event. Second, money and popular support, or rather the lack of them." She replied.

"Money?" Harry said, puzzled.

"The Warlock has the right to raise a force. The Wizengamot holds the purse strings. To keep a military force in being gets expensive, quickly. Fudge and his supporters weren't going to give him any money or support him in recruiting people. The opposite, which was why they went after him and you, using the Prophet and other news organizations. He was reduced to recruiting secretly, from people who were loyal to him personally."

"The Order of the Phoenix." Harry said. Greengrass nodded agreement.

Was that a mistake? Harry thought. Certainly Dumbledore had made mistakes, bad ones. Or was he doing the best he could with what he had?

Harry had had this crushing job long enough to realize that if it looked simple, it was complicated and if it looked complex it was incredibly so. That was the past, anyway. He had the present to deal with.

She continued. "The people who don't want to see you maintain the DA are complaining about it, hoping to nag you into disbanding it, and in the longer term figuring that without money, which they aren't going to give you, you'll have to disband them whether you like it or not. It really bothers them, because the DA isn't subject to the civil law."

"Hang on. Not subject to the law?" Harry said.

"I thought you knew that, Harry." She said. "Let me explain."

"Please do." Harry replied, sharply.

"The Warlock's Household are, by tradition that goes right back to Merlin, exempt from civil law. They're a fighting force, and they have to be able to fight if they need to. It's the responsibility of the Warlock to maintain discipline and deal with any wrong-doing. The Warlock can choose to rescind that protection and turn someone over to the civil authorities, but that's his decision, not anyone else's. The legal phrase is high, middle and low justice. You bear the Crown of a Just Man. That includes the responsibility to deal justice to your followers. There is no appeal from your decision. You can delegate that authority to people you trust, which effectively you've done with Hermione."

Bloody wonderful. Harry thought. One more thing on my plate. He was going to have to think about that. Really, though, it didn't change much. He'd been responsible for the DA and what they did from that day when they had risen against Umbridge. He given the job of running the DA day to day to Hermione because he trusted her.

"Money. Where are we with that?" Harry said. He hadn't even thought about that.

Minerva weighed in at that point. "It's not an immediate concern, Harry, though it will be eventually. Right now the DA are students at Hogwarts, so their housing, sustenance, and their training facilities are taken care of out of our budget, which the Wizengamot does not control. The Board of Governors is divided on this issue, and so are inclined to leave well enough alone. If there is a problem, you will know about it."

"Trust. There are people who don't trust me with the DA." Harry said. At Greengrass' nod of agreement, he said, "Too bad for them. The DA stays."

Hermione nodded. "I've kept them training, largely to keep them out of trouble. They'll be going home for the holidays at end of term."

Arthur Weasley gestured to call attention, and said, "I don't dispute your right to make that decision, Harry, and in fact I agree with it. It does mean that some countries that don't trust us much now will trust us even less."

"How's that?" Harry said, puzzled. He couldn't see what Britain did internally was any other country's business.

"We send every wizard child to Hogwarts, and they get Defence Against the Dark Arts as a required course, right through the OWL and NEWT levels. You've just finished taking that to a new height. Most countries don't do that. They teach the rudiments, and that's it. Advanced training is for Aurors or the well connected."

"They don't?" Harry had just assumed that the other magical schools were similar to Hogwarts.

"No, they don't. There are reasons, depending on the country, but most of them boil down to the fact that they don't trust their own people with such training." Arthur replied.

"We do. What's the problem?" Harry said.

"We have one of the largest populations in the wizarding world, and it's also the best trained. The Warlock is the most powerful wizard in the world, and he has the right to raise as large a force as he sees fit, which could be very large indeed. Larger, in fact, than any other nation. They see that as a threat, and now there's a force in being that doesn't look like going away any time soon."

"The Russians think that if it snows in the winter it's a plot against them." Harry said dismissively.

"Very true." Arthur replied. "There are a lot of reasons why what they're afraid of is not going to happen except in the face of a direct threat to the very existence of the Realm, but they don't see that, or believe it if they do. Nothing we can do about that, but I'm keeping my eye on it."

Fair enough. He trusted Arthur to do his job. He was going to leave that with him.

"Do you want an update on the politics?" Miranda asked.

"I don't know about wanting it," Harry said, heavily, "but I'd better have it."

"Right now, it's looking as if Harlan's Ministry is going to last longer than we thought. The process is that the Wizengamot votes for the offices of Speaker and Minister. The Speaker was elected quickly, but the Minister vote is harder. In order to get the majority vote that you need, you need to line up the support. The caretaker Minister is barred from campaigning for the job, so in the normal way of things, he doesn't get elected and someone else does."

Harry nodded. That made sense. "So, where are we in that process?"

"Pretty well stuck to the floor." She replied. "The Custom of the Wizengamot requires that all the seats be filled before a Minister's election takes place. Right now, there are five vacancies. The Malfoy seat is vacant, with no valid claimant in the direct line of descent. There have been two resignations and two suspensions as a result of the Ethics Committee investigation. The elections will take time, and the wrangling over the Malfoy seat will take even longer."

"What sort of wrangling?" Harry asked.

She made a conciliatory gesture. "Sorry, Harry. I live with this, so I forget that it's not obvious to everyone. The Wizengamot is a mixture of elected and inherited seats. How it got to be that way goes back into history. Originally, they were all inherited. Over time, some of the families died out for one reason or another. The compromise that came out of that was that if there was no heir to a seat, it was put up for election. Right now, the Chamber is about half of each."

She paused, and Harry nodded for her to continue.

"Now, there several electoral seats vacant, because people have resigned or been suspended by the Ethics Committee investigation. Elections will be held, and they'll be filled. It will take some time, but it's not a problem. The Malfoy seat is the problem. There's a lot of argument as to whether that seat has been vacated, and should be put up for election, or whether Draco Malfoy is still a viable heir."

"He's in Azkaban, for God's sake." Harry said. "What kind of potions are these people on?"

"So he is. The people making that argument don't give a damn for him. They don't want to see another seat go electoral, because that erodes their power and influence. I think that common sense will eventually win out, but in the meantime Harlan will stay on as Minister. There's also the point that there's not a lot of trust in the Wizengamot at the moment, so getting the votes to actually elect someone is going to be hard."

Harry chewed his lip and nodded agreement. Trust. He'd never really appreciated just how important it was. Dumbledore had trusted him with the Crown. He trusted the Council of Merlin to keep Voldemort out of his mind. Hermione ran the DA because he, and the members trusted her to be fair. The Wizengamot couldn't get things done unless they trusted each other.

Defending the Realm required trust in him as the Warlock that he would do what was best. He remembered the campaign that Fudge had waged to undermine Dumbledore's position of trust. That had made it much tougher for Dumbledore to do anything constructive against Voldemort.

He looked around the table at the people there. They were there because he trusted them to tell him the truth. Without them - he remembered how alone he'd felt over the ICW vote, knowing so little and hoping that he wasn't making some disastrous mistake. Without trust, you didn't have a government - or a country.

Chapter 31: Chapter 31 Pre-Deployment

Chapter 31 Pre-Deployment

Harry shook his head. "Just one bloody thing after another." He said to no one in particular.

The school year was done. The House Cup had gone to Ravenclaw this year. The Gryffindor Quidditch team had come second with Ginny Weasley as Seeker and team Captain. Harry had written his own OWL's with respectable to good marks. Potions was a lot easier with the helpful Professor Slughorn teaching it rather than Snape's constant hostility. Defence he was already qualified for.

The marks that Harry had been most concerned with hadn't been his own, but those of his Defence students. The members of the DA had all done well, as he had pretty much expected. Overall, as he was now reading in a rather long report from the Standards committee, the standard of the OWL and NEWT marks had been well above what it had been for about the last five years. Of course, beating out Umbridge's performance required him not to be her. Still, he had finished out his contract and delivered on the requirements. The programme was, at least, better than he had found it. Whether he would be offered a renewal for next year, and whether he would take it if it was offered, was something that he would decide when he got there. He put the report into his Out basket.

The next one in the stack was one that was the answer to a pretty simple question that he'd asked Arthur Weasley.

"What does Veronoff want, anyway?" He had asked.

The answer to that question was a two finger thick sheaf of parchment titled "Russian Foreign Policy: Ways and Means". It did not make pleasant reading. What Veronoff had done over the ICW Security Council vote was pretty much business as usual for the Russians. Living in the magical world with the Russians was a lot like attending school with Draco Malfoy, except that there weren't any teachers trying to keep order.

What was worrying was that there didn't seem to be a discernible reason for their current round of plotting and scheming. What was very worrying were the ramifications of the Russians putting Portkeys on dragons. Harry had not thought through those ramifications. There were a lot of them, and they were not comforting.

There was even a section on what a system similar to the Canadian one would look like for Britain. Harry wasn't optimistic about getting the Wizengamot to pay the cost of something like that. The Canadian Ministry had only done so with the wand point of a very present threat pointing at them.

Percy Weasley had lost none of his starchy irritating manner, but he had laid out those effects very competently. Harry could work with that, and he made note to say as much to Percy's father. He had made that decision in the blind, and he had Arthur's word, backed up by actions, to ensure that was not going to happen again. Considering the stakes on this complex three dimensional chess game he was now having to play whether he wanted to or not, that was a very good thing.

When he was done with that, he had a piece of homework waiting for him that made the stiffest assignment that he had ever had from Snape look like a little light reading - by his standards, not Hermione's. The book in front of him was as thick as his fist. The title on the scarlet dragon skin cover said, "Operation Order, Force Northern Shield." The top and bottom of the cover said, "Warlock Only". That was not a suggestion. That book would open to the Elder Wand in the hand of Harry James Potter, Force Commander. Period. It had been delivered to him by the hand of Logan Hillier.

The parchment pages were divided up neatly by sections, with helpful tabs so that he could go to any particular section if he wanted to. There were a lot of tabs. Harry had gotten a lot better at going through a long document and pulling out what he needed to know. This was still going to be a lot of work. Before he dove into that job, though, there was something else he had to deal with.

He said, "Come!" at the knock on the door. He would have liked to do this somewhere else, but that would not have been appropriate. Ron Weasley walked in the door and stood in front of his desk. He did not look as if he was glad to be talking to an old friend again.

"Have a seat, Ron." Harry said.

"I'll stand, thanks. I'm packed to go home and I don't want to miss the train." Ron said in a surly tone.

"Give my regards to your family." Harry said, ignoring the attitude. "I'd like to look in on them and say hi, but I'm going to be away for a good part of the holidays."

"Really. Don't have time for the Weasley family. There's a shocker." Ron said, in that same surly tone.

Jealous and stubborn, and overprotective of his sister. That had been the exact truth. As if you could speak anything else in the Room of the Round Table.

"So, who are you snogging these days? Little Miss Perfect?" Ron said, still surly.

Ron and Hermione had been an item at one point, and off and on since. Clearly they were currently off, and Harry wasn't sure if on again was going to happen. The Hogwarts grapevine was always up to the second on who was with who, but he was a teacher now and didn't get that gossip. Not his business in any case.

"No one, Ron. No time, and no opportunity. If I was ever alone with a female student the Prophet would crucify both of us in a heartbeat. True or not wouldn't matter. I've been there. No bloody fun to be had there, bet your life on that. I gave up a lot to take this job, like Quidditch for a start." Harry replied patiently.

Ron's mouth set hard. Harry knew that expression. He wasn't going to admit that Harry was right even if he was.

Harry changed the subject. "Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk about. First, I wanted to congratulate you. You won the Top Wand competition. That makes you the senior Team Lead in the DA. You worked very hard for that and you deserve it. Leading the Weasley family Team isn't a job I'd want myself. You've done it well."

"Thanks." Ron said. The tone was still grudging, but less so. Harry had been utterly sincere about the last part. The Weasley family members at Hogwarts comprised one entire Team of the DA. They were very effective, which didn't mean orderly. Fred and George were ... themselves, as they always were. It had been unexpected that the leadership had gone to Ron, but he had done well with it.

As peace returned to the corridors of the school, the DA had had less to do. Hermione's solution to that had been training for the DA, as hard as a World Cup Quidditch team. The Top Wand competition had been part of that training regimen. There had been training on the Alley, and in fighting from a broomstick as well. There had been no effort to hide it. It was an unspoken reminder to the Wizengamot and the Ministry that they still needed to mind their p's and q's.

Harry returned to the present. "I haven't been able to do justice to the job of leading the DA for a while now, so I've decided to step down from it. I can't do everything, and I'm not going to try. I'm going to be away for a time, anyway." Harry said, leading into where he had to go with this.

"What's going to happen to the DA?" Ron said warily. "We've worked hard. You just going to tell us to go home?"

"No. The DA is a volunteer organization. If someone wants to leave, I'm not going to stop him. I still think that the Ministry needs watching. Eventually, maybe it will be time for that, but not now. There's still a need for it."

"So, who's going to step up, then? Little Miss Perfect?" Ron said, still grumpily.

"No. Hermione is stepping down as the second in command, too, and leaving the DA. She thinks it's time."

"What, so you two can have more snogging time?" Ron said sarcastically.

"Oh, sure, we just have loads of laughs. Never alone together, of course. The Prophet would crucify her as quick as they would have done for anyone else, and all it would take is one closed door. There's the whole thing of keeping the DA organized, her being a prefect, and all the stuff for this ICW deployment. Not to mention actually studying for OWL's and fun stuff like that." Harry said, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum.

Hermione had done a tremendous amount of work in keeping order in the DA and organizing the training that made them as formidable a fighting force as the Realm had ever seen, while still getting straight O's on her OWL's. Harry wasn't going to hold his breath waiting for her to get the thanks and recognition she deserved.

"So, who then?" Ron asked.

"You, Ron, if you're willing to take the job. It's like being a Team Lead, but less fun." Harry said.

"Me? Why me?" Ron said, astonished.

"It has to be someone I trust not to abuse the position. Someone who's respected and who the people will follow. That's a short list. You're the best candidate on that list." Harry said, evenly. He left unsaid that Ron was going to have to get over his jealousy and insecurity. He'd come quite a way on that, but he still had more to go. Of course, so did Harry.

"What, you're going to throw a bone to an old friend?" Ron said uncertainly.

"I'm glad to hear that we are still friends, Ron." Harry said evenly. "You should make time for your friends. I haven't done that, and that's on me. This doesn't have anything to do that. You're the best one for the job."

"Who would be the second in command?" Ron said.

"Whoever you decide, Ron. I trust you to do what's right. You'll have some time to think about it. Everyone is headed off to the holidays."

"All right." Ron said slowly. "I'll do it."

"Thanks, Ron. I'll send a letter to everyone to announce the changes."

Harry watched Ron go out the door, then tapped the cover of the book with his wand. He hoped he was doing the right thing, but he could only do as he thought was right. Trust, again. He couldn't do it all, so he had to trust people. People with flaws and shortcomings, like Ron.

He turned up the tab for the Deployment Plan. He shortly found himself taking notes. A wizard for every node had sounded simple. It wasn't.

Staging bases for all the wizards where they could be welcomed, stay in comfort, be briefed on their individual node and how they were going to get there. Shelter at the node itself in case of a delay. Wards to ensure that any wandering muggles saw nothing they shouldn't.

Deployment was by broomstick. Harry looked at the pictures of the tundra and found it hard to disagree. Trying to visualize a particular spot to Apparate to in that featureless wasteland would be … really hard. Nothing was left to chance. Each wizard was going to be issued a McLaughlin broom with invisibility and voice communications. There would be CMAF guides to make sure that no one got lost. If someone did get lost, they could call for help on their broom wireless. If someone did get lost, didn't call for help, and didn't show up on time there would be a search. There was a whole tab in the book dealing with that, which was a plan in itself.

Harry's first reaction that surely this was overkill was tempered by a memory of his own. The day that the troll had gotten into the castle, there had been a plan, which Dumbledore had ordered carried out and which had been carried out. On first look, sound enough. Deal with the monster, and get the students to safety. The Devil was in the details. No one except Harry and Ron had missed Hermione, and Percy Weasley hadn't noticed when Ron and Harry had darted away to find her. The failure of that plan had wound up with three first years squaring off against a mountain troll.

He looked at the letter in the front of the book. Until he signed that letter, this plan and all the work that had gone into it was a suggestion. Once he signed it, that book was his personal order to the ICW Force of more than two hundred wizards. A hole in the plan that no one had spotted could lead to another mountain troll kind of moment, and that would be on him. He wasn't a reckless first year any more.

He got himself another cup of tea, and dug in. Voice communications was going to be vital. That was another whole plan in itself. The Canadians had taken the magic of the Wizarding Wireless beyond anything he had ever heard of. Every broomstick could talk to every other broomstick, or to a select few or just one. Everyone on the network was assigned a simple, pronounceable name, a call sign to use when on the wireless. He looked at some of the names of the Indian wizards, and thought about trying to pronounce them while flying a broom, and nodded agreement. His callsign was Warlock. He set himself some problems, such as how he would talk to a wizard in West Command to tell him that his node was changed, and they came out right. He initialled that section, and went on to the next.

There was a plan to deal with wandering muggles near one of the nodes, which was pretty straightforward. So was the one to deal with a forest fire near one of the nodes. Not all of them were on flat tundra. He made a note that who would be Obliviating muggle fire crews, if that were needed, was not clear. The search plan was solid. Whoever had worked that out could give Hermione some points on attention to detail.

There was a plan to deal with a loose dragon, if one showed up. A CMAF flight would be scrambled - Harry thought that an odd word choice - to take it out. Harry didn't think they would need it, but the plan itself was well worked out. No surprise there. The CMAF had been doing this for decades.

It was well past midnight before he was done. He didn't sign the approval letter. Instead he wrote another one, outlining the changes he wanted and the concerns that he wanted to raise. He decided that he was going to run it past Logan Hillier before he sent it out.

For all of its detailed thickness, Harry took away a basic and important lesson from this piece of homework.

Have a plan. Assume that something will go wrong, and plan for that. If something goes wrong that no one thought of, then the Force Commander makes a plan on the spot. Harry thought, and shook his head. I was barking bloody mad to take this job.

Chapter 32: Chapter 32 Treachery

Chapter 32 Treachery

Harry looked out on the broad tundra of the Arctic and felt the chill wind in his hair as he stood at the entrance to Central Command Headquarters. The brief Arctic summer was already on the wane. He had felt like a fraud as two men old enough to be his grandfathers had presented the progress of the deployment to him at the daily meetings. There were reports on the plan, and then there were the preparations for the plans that went into effect if something went wrong. So far, they had not needed any of the contingency plans.

"Looks as if things are going according to plan." Harry remarked to Logan Hillier. The CMAF had detachments at as many nodes as possible to execute all those if-something-goes-wrong plans. There was a heavy presence here, at the keystone node of the entire system. Hillier led the detachment here at Alpha One node.

There was a steady stream of reports coming in over the Wireless network as wizards reported in. Harry listened with one ear, but there was no indication of a problem, so far.

"Hope so." Hillier replied, scanning the sky. "Of course, if everything seems to be going according to plan, you've got to wonder what you've overlooked."

Harry turned and walked back into the Headquarters building, with Hillier at his elbow. It was almost time. The wizards were moving into position. The Sorcier Supréme had arrived at the last minute, but she was there and there would be no delay.

Harry's glance fell on a dark-robed silent figure sitting in the corner. The Russians had insisted on sending observers to ensure that whatever dark sinister scheme they thought was going on didn't happen. Harry had quickly learned to dislike Vladimir Petrov. His best mood was dead silence. The Canadians hated him venomously and had as little to do with him as possible.

"Warlock, this is Lion. We are fully deployed and standing by." The report was in Commander Sheret's unmistakable deep voice.

Harry looked up at the big map on the wall that showed where every wizard in the Force was. This was a gigantic version of the Marauder's Map, based on the network of nodes that would, when fully activated, form the Portkey ward. The Archmage had cast that spell. Three American wizards did nothing but maintain and operate it. They were very close to having everyone on their node and ready to cast. The entire Indian contingent was on station ten minutes early.

"Lion, this is Warlock. Understand full deployment. Well done."

It felt a little pompous coming from him to such an imposing man as Sheret, but it was well deserved. Harry had learned a lot in the last hectic couple of months. That ten minutes meant a lot of things going right instead of wrong.

"Warlock, this is Citadel. All wizards on station, ready to cast at your command."

Hillier's bass was just as recognizable as Sheret's. Eastern Command now was completely ready to energize their nodes. They were five minutes ahead of schedule.

"Citadel, this is Warlock. Understand full deployment. Well done."

"We are at two minutes to full deployment, Warlock." That was another thing that made Harry feel like a fraud. Hillier had assigned an officer as his assistant. Major Yves Belzile was a quiet, easy-smiling man with fifteen dragon kills. Apparently it was a sought-after job to do Harry's work for him and get none of the credit for it. Certainly he did it very competently. Harry had had few decisions to make and good information to make them on.

Harry was scanning the map yet again when a movement caught his eye. The Russian observer stood and walked toward Harry with an envelope in his hand. Belzile took three long strides to confront him. That the Warlock did not have bodyguards did not mean he was unprotected. The word had been passed, quietly but emphatically. That a Russian's wand was under the Vinculum Pacis spell did not mean he was harmless. The most powerful of wizards could fall to a single knife blow.

"I have a message for the Warlock." Petrov said coolly.

"I'll take that." Belzile replied. The Russian opened his mouth to reply and started to pull the envelope back. He was too late. Belzile was a dragon hunter. He could have been a Seeker on any Quidditch team in the world. His hand snapped out and took the envelope from the Russian's hand.

The force with which Belzile had taken the envelope had cracked the seal on it. The envelope vanished in the green flash of a Killing Curse. Belzile fell to the floor, dead instantly. Harry had seen that green flash before, and his reaction to the deadly peril it betokened was instant. Those reflexes had been grained into him in all those sessions on the Alley.

Harry spun to face Petrov with the Elder Wand in his hand. The Russian was raising his wand, somehow having broken the Vinculum Pacis, and his mouth was open to speak. Harry beat him to the cast.

"Diffindo! Diffindo!" Normally the double tap would have punched a hole through the Russian's shield and ended the duel. When that spell had the power of the Warlock channelled through the Elder Wand behind it, normally didn't apply. The spells slashed through the Russian's shield, through him and through the heavy stone wall behind him. The smells of blood and death flooded through the room.

Everything that Harry had been told of the Russians since he had arrived here flooded through his mind. Mostly it had been about their cruelty and cunning and treachery.

This isn't all of it. He thought with cold certainty.

Harry took a long step and slammed his hand down on the voice rune. "Treachery! The Russians …"

That was as far as he got before a chaos of shouting erupted on the net.
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Riddle waited at the entrance to the stone corridor and plotted which approach he might use to trick some bit of information from one of the guardians. They seemed to take it by turns. Potter's mind was his road to power, and he would have it. He had all the time in the world and nothing else to spend it on, after all.

Quite suddenly it was as if an earthquake rocked the corridor. Its very substance rippled fluidly. Riddle grasped at once what was happening. Potter's entire attention was taken up by some supreme effort. He was fighting for his life or doing something else comparable to that. Even the greatest master of Occlumency might have his control slip at such a time, and the instability of this visualization showed that was what had happened. Here there was opportunity.

Riddle came around the corner and cast *Legilimens* while fighting to keep his feet as the floor of the corridor rippled and twisted beneath him.

This guardian was a man of medium height, plainly dressed in black robes with lace at the neck and sleeves and a gold chain of office. His hair, beard and moustache were also black, tinged with grey. Whoever he was or had been, he was a skilled and dangerous opponent. Riddle's probe was turned back on him, and only by great effort did he keep it away from his secrets. That effort cost him a second or two, and the duel.

"Petrificus Totalus." Riddle found himself bound and helpless. His only escape was back to the endless agony of a body perpetually at the brink of death.

"Master Merlin. I have a matter of import for the attention of the Conclave." The guardian said in an even, controlled tone.

Riddle found his petrified body floating down the corridor to the only stable point in it, the door at the end. It opened onto a chamber of the same stone construction. At the long table within it sat the guardians he had already encountered and more besides. Most he did not know, but the hated face of Dumbledore he recognized instantly.

The old man who claimed to be Merlin sat in the high seat at the end of the table. "Sir Francis, the Conclave is assembled. Speak thy mind."

"Master Merlin, there hath been a great disturbance in the magic of the Realm."

"I have felt it, Sir Francis." Merlin replied gravely. "The Warlock goes forth to battle in defence of the Realm."

"Ah, then time presses." Was the reply. Riddle noted the name for consideration. There was a clue there. This one was or had been a powerful wizard in his day.

"To this," Sir Francis gestured at Riddle's petrified form, "Twas naught but the chance to renew his treachery and infamy."

Merlin nodded gravely. "The command of the Warlock was that he be offered the chance to sue for mercy, did he yield up the knowledge he holds. That knowledge the Warlock requires to deal with a threat to the Realm."

"The command of the Warlock is to be obeyed." Sir Francis replied in the tone he might have used to say that magic worked.

He sent a hard, merciless look at the rigid form of Voldemort. "Yet mercy is not endless, save if it be divine. That choice hath been put before the prisoner not once but time and again, by thou and I and others, and as often hath he spurned it. I submit that the command of the Warlock stands fulfilled, and moreover he poses still a threat to the Realm which it is our duty to counter."

Dumbledore's mellow voice spoke. "I would speak to Sir Francis' proposal, if I might. Such wisdom as resides in this chamber has often been purchased at the cost of error. In my tenure as Warlock I erred twice on the side of mercy, and the cost of those errors was great. Many people suffered in both the magical and muggle worlds as a result. Grindelwald was my friend, so I was long blind to his descent into evil. The rise of Voldemort also occurred during my tenure. I saw a schoolboy who might yet be turned away from the Dark, not a threat to the Realm."

"Cogent points, well made." Merlin replied. "Yet the need for the knowledge that he holds remains as pressing as ever."

"Why then, Master Merlin, if he will not yield it up willingly, then he needs must yield it up despite himself." Sir Francis replied.

"How then would that be done?" Merlin replied. "He is already at the extremity of physical torment."

Sir Francis gestured at the petrified body of Voldemort. "The prisoner hath some skill at Occlumency, Master Merlin, if less than his arrogance would make it. Thus he retains somewhat of his sanity amid torment. I have tested his abilities. Against one or two he might hold his defence for a season. He would fare less well against a score."

"Let it be so, Sir Francis." Merlin replied. "An thou happen upon evidence of his other crimes, let those be recorded also. To know the fate of lost loved ones is but cold comfort, but it is better than the fears of the unknown."

Riddle watched helplessly as a phalanx of wizards formed behind the one called Sir Francis and raised their wands. "Legilimens!" Cried twenty voices.

Chapter 33: Chapter 33 Assassination

Chapter 33 Assassination

In West Command Headquarters, Sheret stood watching as the plan unfolded. The Sorcier Supréme was in position and the wizards of the West Command nodes had reported their readiness to cast as well. It was all going smoothly.

Then all Hell broke loose. Potter's voice came over the wireless in a shout, "Treachery! The Russians ..." before other shouts drowned him out. Sheret spun around to see that the Russian observer was standing with his hand in his robes.

"Ghabarā'uṇā!" Sheret's voice rang out. The Household Wizards of the Sorcier Supréme were only a heartbeat behind him in casting their spells. The impact of the Stunning Spells slammed the Russian back against the wall. The green aura of a Killing Curse surrounded him and he fell bonelessly to the floor.

"Kātala." Sheret snarled. To be Sikh was to be a soldier. To be a soldier was to have honour. Sheret had understood that - had lived it - since he could walk. Assassins forfeited all claim to honour for themselves and for those who had sent them.

A half dozen wizards, Indian and Canadian, stormed in with wands out. "You, and you." Sheret barked at the first two through the door. "Investigate that thing."

He pointed at the body of the Russian in the corner. "Very, very thoroughly and very, very carefully. It had an artifact with the Killing Curse embedded in it."

They nodded and began setting up wards. Strong wards.

The confusion of shouting on the voice net was cut off by a voice that could have belonged to an angry god. "SILENCE!"
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In the Eastern Command Headquarters, the Archmage stood in the centre of a complex of runes and wards. The master node of the Portkey network was two long strides away. At the moment he was ensuring that the Map would be stable through the transition. The Archmage's bodyguards were four silent men in dark robes, his Detail from the Sorcerous Service. They had put up shields around the Archmage while he was working and were tracking all the persons in the room impartially for any indications of a threat.

The Russian observer, Sasha Alexandrovich, was of particular concern to Jack Daniels, the Head of the Archmage's Detail. He knew far less about the man than he was comfortable with. When he came out of the alcove where he had been seated, Daniels was immediately aware of it and moved to intercept him.

The threat was mitigated, though, by the requirement that the Russian observers have a Vinculum Pacis spell cast on their wands so that they could not be drawn or used. Jack Daniels had seen to that personally, and a flick of his wand checked that it was in place and active. The Russian had an envelope in his hand.

"I have a diplomatic message from the Politbureau for the Archmage on this most auspicious occasion." He said smoothly.

"I will deliver it to the Archmage." Daniels replied firmly, reaching for the envelope. Alexandrovich was holding it oddly, in a two finger grip.

Alexandrovich shook his head and moved his other hand in a gesture that caught Daniels' eye for a moment. In that moment the Russian's other hand flicked and the envelope went spinning through the air toward the Archmage.

"Wand!" Daniels shouted by reflex, as his foot moved in an arc to put the Russian on the floor. A second later the Russian had been slammed to the floor and he was pinned immobile. The agents of the Sorcerous Service trained with many weapons, including the ones they were born with.

The other agent outside the shield snapped out his hand, but the envelope was out of his reach. He watched in horror as the envelope sliced through the shield as if it wasn't even there. The two agents inside the shield moved different ways, one to tackle the Archmage and the other in a leap to grab the envelope. The Archmage was slammed to the floor with bruising force, his spell cut off in mid-syllable. Agent Luke Bodrov of the Sorcerous Service died in the line of duty as his fingers closed on the envelope and the green fire of a Killing Curse spread across his body.

Daniels turned to look at the Archmage and a wave of relief went through him. He had not failed. The Archmage was alive. It was followed by rage as he saw Luke's limp body on the floor. With one flip the Russian was face up instead of face down. Daniels' normal lack of expression turned predatory. Diplomacy be damned, this bastard would …

The vacant stare of a dead man looked back up at him. I didn't hit him that hard! Daniels thought. Then a whiff of bitter almonds hit him and he stood hastily.

Somewhere in the background there was a shout over the wireless. "Treachery! The Russians ..." followed by confused shouting.

No shit. Daniels thought bitterly. The professional part of his mind added, This was planned, coordinated.

"You didn't kill him. Simple pin. What did?" Agent Jim Allard was two paces back, wand levelled at the suspect.

"Cyanide." Daniels replied. "Stay back."

"What kind of a spell is that?" Allard said.

"Not a spell. It's a No-Maj poison. He walked in here with it in his mouth. All he had to do was bite down." Daniels said.

"Dragon shit." Allard said. "Suicide mission."

"Yeah." Daniels said. It was not a comfortable thought. Another bad thought followed that. The Sorcier's Detail was a couple of fancified French aristocrats, and the Warlock had no bodyguards at all. If they had come this close to the Archmage, were either of them still alive?

"Jack." Allard said in the tone of a man having a bad thought, "If he walked in here expecting to die, what else is on him?"

The easy answer that he had been thoroughly scanned died on Daniels' lips. Those same scans had missed that envelope. And the poison.

"Good question, Jim. You're detached. Ward that thing and get it out of here. Very carefully." That was a lesser of two evils decision on Daniels' part. Moving the body might trip something. Not moving it might give a booby trap time to activate.

Allard nodded and began casting spells. Daniels turned back to his other responsibilities. By this time the off-duty members of the Detail had arrived, some of them half dressed, all of them fully armed.

The shouting on the voice network was suddenly cut off by a shout of "SILENCE!"
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Harry looked down at the body of the man who had died defending him, and swore to himself that there would be retribution for this. The babble of confused shouting came back into his attention. If he'd learned anything of late, it was that confusion and disorder were the prelude to disaster. That was undoubtedly exactly what the Russians wanted. They weren't going to get it. He was supposed to be in command. Time to act like it.

He put the tip of the Elder Wand on the voice rune and called upon the power of the Crown. "SILENCE!"

Shocked silence fell across the entire Force. "Lion, this is Warlock. Report." That, he'd learned, was the proper military way to say "What the Hell is going on there?"

"Warlock, this is Lion." It was Sheret. Lion was his personal callsign. "Your warning was in time. The Russian observer is dead. There are no other casualties here. We are checking the body for other threats. Your orders, sir?"

"Stand to, Lion. This isn't all of it." Harry said.

Stand to was the economical phrase the Canadians used to say that attack was imminent and every wand should be out to meet it. The Russians were going to try something else in the confusion, he was sure of it.

"Yes, sir. Lion done." That conversation was over. Harry looked up at the big map and it ... wasn't there.

Shit, shit. Harry thought grimly. What the Hell is going on? Is the Archmage still alive?

"Citadel, this is Warlock. Report." Harry snapped.

"Warlock, this is Citadel." Hillier's unmistakeable voice replied, to Harry's relief. "The Russian is dead. Poison. We lost one of the Archmage's Detail. There are no other casualties. We are stood to at this time."

"Remain stood to. I need to talk to the Archmage." Harry said.

"Archmage here." Dulles' voice was measured, controlled.

"I need the Map back up." Harry said.

"Understood. Two or three minutes." Dulles replied.

A thought hit Harry. "Does the map show dragons?"

"It doesn't now. It can. Take a little longer." Dulles replied.

"Do it." Harry said.

"On it. Archmage done."

Harry looked around the big room and wondered what else he hadn't thought of that needed to be done.

Logan Hillier looked at Harry with dawning comprehension. "Dragons. Shit, of course. Sir, we need local patrols in the air."

"Do it." Harry said, thinking He's right. Merlin, I should have thought of that.

He hit the rune again. "Lion, Citadel, do you have local patrols aloft?"

"Yes." and "Yes." were the immediate answers.

Of course they do. Harry thought. They were doing this when Harry Potter was a gleam in his father's eye.

He turned around at a sharp command. "To the fallen, salute!"

Harry turned and saw that Belzile's body had been placed on a stretcher, laid out reverently and raised shoulder high by four wizards, two Canadian and two Indian. Harry snapped his wand down to his side, then across his body to his shoulder in the Canadian wand salute. He'd learned it because it was discourteous not to return a salute. He still felt uncomfortable that veterans twice his age were required to salute him.

He watched as the wizards bore the body out of the room, and sheathed the Elder Wand when he saw the others do so. Holding the salute and watching Belzile's body borne out at the slow march had given him time to think, starting with, There but for the grace of sheer dumb luck go I.

It was followed by a slow burn of frustrated anger. How many people have died fighting while I hid in a corner? His parents, Dumbledore, now Belzile. It had been as near as a toucher for Arthur Weasley.

After that, there was guilt that he knew so little of the man. Belzile had been at his side for these past weeks, always helpful, knowledgeable, competent, endlessly good-natured and hard working. Harry realized that he didn't even know if the man had a family. He'd never asked.

"Let me know if there's anything I can do for his family." Harry said heavily to Logan Hillier, hoping that was the right thing to say.

"You killed his murderer and you made sure no one else died, Sir. That's something." Hillier replied as soberly.

Harry nodded. That was something, he supposed. It didn't feel like enough. Harry noticed that the medwizard team that had attended to Belzile was now at the body of the Russian observer.

"Healer." He said, belatedly remembering what he had been told by Sheret and Hillier.

On the score of making sure no one else dies. He thought. "At least one of the others had poison on him. Merlin knows what else there might be. Be careful."

The medwizard nodded, and at his emphatic gesture his assistants stepped back from the body. "Thank you, Sir." He said, and began casting spells. Even with the extra precautions, it was not long before the pieces of the Russian's body and the pool of blood had been gathered up and removed, leaving nothing but the slashes in the wall to show that a man had died there.

"Map's back up, Sir." Came a voice from behind him.

Well, some good news, anyway. Harry thought as he turned to look.

Harry's voice was one of a chorus on the wireless and in the room. "Dragons!"

Chapter 34: Chapter 34 Dragons!

Chapter 34 Dragons!

Harry stared at the map. Dragons. A lot of them. They were scattered all across the map, some in groups of up to half a dozen, some singly. There didn't seem to be any sort of pattern. The dragons were shown as neat small icons that showed the breed, gender, and a date. The one nearest them had a flag that said, "Ironbelly, Male, 20 Jan 1976." One and all they were homing toward the nodes of the Portkey ward and the wizards there. That was the nature of dragons. They preferred to prey on magical creatures, but they'd eat anything. Fried.

Harry gritted his teeth and thought quickly. There was a plan for that, but it would be a drop of water on FiendFyre for this.

We thought we had planned for every eventuality. He thought grimly. He bit his lip, and forced himself to think clearly. When all plans fail, the Force Commander makes a new plan.

He looked again at the map. There were a lot of dragons on it, scattered all across the width of a continent. As he watched, new ones popped up on the map. The CMAF patrols couldn't fight so many dragons. Every wizard in the Force would be none too many.

Every wizard in the Force it would have to be. The Canadians had dragonhide armour, training, experience. The other wizards had wands and brooms. No one had imagined this. The one card they had was the Map, thanks to the Archmage. It was a good one. If you knew exactly where the Snitch was from the toss of the Quaffle, it was a short Quidditch game. Of course, these Snitches had teeth. There were a Hell of a lot of them, too.

He put his wand on the voice rune. "All stations, this is Warlock. We are under massive dragon attack. Here's how we're going to do this. All wizards will form into teams, with Canadians as team captains. We'll tell you where the dragons are. Hunt them and kill them. Work as a team and don't give them a chance. This isn't sport, this is survival. We win, or we die. Now grab your brooms and hit the sky. Warlock done."

Harry looked around. People were filtering into the room. In Canada as in Hogwarts the rumour mill operated at the speed of magic. One of them caught his eye, a scarred old man in faded red leathers with a prosthetic arm and leg. He reminded Harry of Mad-Eye Moody.

"Who are you?" Harry said. His first idea had been to try to run this himself. He had changed his mind. He didn't have the experience for this. He was going to have to draw on the experience of others, and this man had a long lifetime of it. That was written all over him.

"Hardass, Warlock. They don't let me fly any more. I still can." Just like Mad-Eye, all right. Moody's idea of retirement had been the Order of the Phoenix.

"Your luck is out today, too." Harry said. "Sit yourself down. Your callsign is Seeing Eye. You watch the Map, you call the plays. Put teams on dragons and make sure dragons don't sneak up on teams. Your word is my order. Make it happen."

"There's an Ironbelly inbound on us." Hardass pointed on the map.

"I've got that." Harry said. "Ready!" His MacLaughin came to his hand and he mounted as he went through the door.

"Dragonshit." Hardass said, then sat down and hit the voice rune. "All stations, this is Seeing Eye. Warlock is aloft. Firewhiskey, Champagne, form on Warlock. Ironbelly male inbound, Warlock's twelve o'clock high."

He kept on talking. The only saving grace here was the limits on broomstick speeds and dragon speeds. A MacLaughin topped out at 200 mph, faster than a Firebolt thanks to a charm like a muggle windshield. A dragon did about that well in a dive, half that in level flight.

Harry caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. Two Canadian dragon hunters dropped down to fly formation on either side of him. Form into teams, he'd said. Good. One of them cast a spell on himself, then pointed ahead and up. Harry looked in the direction he had pointed and saw a small speck in the sky. Right, the Supersensory spell. Its use was banned in Quidditch, but as he'd just finished pointing out to all and sundry, this wasn't Quidditch.

The speck grew larger quickly. It was an Ironbelly, all right. Big, grey scales and menacing looking. He glanced over at the two dragon hunters on either side of him, but they seemed content to follow his lead. Harry wondered if this was some sort of test. Probably. No doubt there was some complex sophisticated Canadian tactic that allowed you to reliably take out a dragon without being fried to a crisp in your own lard. Dragon hunters discussed tactics and kills the way Quidditch players talked about plays and goals. Harry was going to make a close pass and hit the damned thing as hard as he could. He drew the Elder Wand and held it straight ahead like a knight's lance.

Dragons were tough. Always before he had been concerned to limit and control the immense power of the Wand and its ability to draw on the even vaster power of the Crown. Now there were no more limits. He summoned all of that power and forced his will upon it, calling it to action.

For the first time since it had come into his possession he felt the Wand awaken fully and knew its savage merciless nature as a weapon of war. It reared against him like a restive warhorse and he exerted his will to control it. Strength it demanded of its Master, and it cared for nothing else. If he fell to another then it would serve him as being the stronger.

Such ruthlessness was not in Merlin's nature, and now he knew that Merlin had not crafted it. He had taken it from the dead hand of his most implacable and most powerful enemy.

Wait for it. Battle is coming. He thought sternly.

There wasn't much time for subtlety here, but he could make life a little harder for the damned thing. As he'd learned during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, dragons were fast but he was faster. The dragon's menacing shape grew larger with incredible speed, and Harry could see the triangular grey head and its smouldering red eyes turn to bear on him. He climbed just a touch and saw the dragon's head follow the movement. It would breathe flame any moment.

Now! He dove and then pulled up and saw the head of the dragon huge in front of him. The flare of dragon fire reached out toward him and he felt the searing heat as he flashed through the edge of the fire bloom. "DIFFINDO MAXIMA!"

Champagne and Firewhisky exchanged glances as they closed in on the dragon. Warlock had stones, you had to give the kid that, but it was going to be up to them to make the kill. There were few vulnerable points on a dragon, and the ones on the head were the smallest and hardest to hit. Nobody was that good his first time out.

Dragons were tough. They were physically tough and magically very tough. That dictated everything about the training and tactics of dragon hunting. Punching through the thick tough magic resistant hide of a dragon took the best spell you had, usually Diffindo or Reducto, compressed down as tight as you could do it. You might get a hole as big as your fist at best. To actually do enough damage to cripple or kill it you had to put that hole into a vital spot. Killing and Imperius Curses didn't work. No one knew why, and wizards had died finding that out. Cruciatus just annoyed them. Invisibility was no help, either.

Eyes were good if you could hit them without getting fried. The hunter's triangle at the base of the back of the skull had the spinal cord and vital arteries, but it was small and elusive, though a certain kill if you could hit it. The main wing joints had much thinner hide over them and nerves and arteries running along them. They were the easiest targets, but not a certain kill. A crippled dragon went into a glide and couldn't maneuver, so it was a much easier target for a second pass.

Firewhisky made the plan with the language of signs that dragon hunters had used before voice communications. Firewhisky would curve up to the left and come down on the dragon, aiming for the vulnerable target of the main wing joint. Champagne would curve down and to the right and come up from underneath, going for the wing joint on that side. Standard two man tactics. Best shot at the wing joint depended on where the wings were in their stroke. One of them would get a good shot, made easier by the fact that the dragon would be focused on Warlock.

Firewhisky called the play with a slashing gesture and they curved off from Warlock to commence the manoeuvre, losing sight of the dragon and relying on training and experience to bring them into position for a good cast. Firewhisky came down on the target ready to cast. It wasn't there. He searched around and saw ... the Ironbelly's head and half its body go one way and the rest of its body the other as it fell to Earth.

Potter had also looped around after his pass. By the habit of training Firewhisky and Champagne formed up in a tight element of two and headed over to form up on him. Firewhisky said automatically, "Seeing Eye, Firewhisky. Ironbelly is down. Warlock's kill."

The two of them shared a Can you believe that? look. They had been briefed that the Warlock was the most powerful wizard in the world. Seeing that in front of your eyes was something else again. They swooped in to join Potter.

"You cut that a bit close, Warlock." Firewhisky said, seeing scorch marks on the hem of his woollen robes.

"Yeah." Potter replied. "Big bastard."

"Warlock, Seeing Eye, flight of three dragons at your nine o'clock high." Came over the wireless. Harry looked up to his right and cast Supersensory Ocularis. The three specks in the sky, tiny against the towering clouds, leaped out at him. Not Ironbellies, this time, but Chinese Fireballs. There was a big one in the centre.

"We have business." Harry said, pointed, and Warlock flight curved off in a climbing turn.

"Female and two young adults." Firewhisky shouted over the rush of wind. "Female's the alpha. Fireballs have a longer fire range. Watch for that."

"Got it." Harry said. "I'll take the alpha."
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The Sorcier Supréme looked at the dead body of the Russian in the corner with the expression of a woman making a note to reprove her butler for sloppiness. The rest of her Household Wizards had stormed into the room and stood in a ring around her with their wands drawn. Their normal expression of languid detachment was notably absent.

She listened to Potter on the wireless and nodded curtly. "The new Warlock shows promise. En avant, mes enfants."

She strode toward the main door with the wizards of her Household around her. Sheret called his broom to him and followed. He came up to her as she stopped, scanning the pale blue Arctic sky.

"Sorcier, honour demands that I protect you." Sheret protested, scanning the sky for threats.

"And that is best done aloft, Sheret." She replied evenly. "Go. Do what you must."

He nodded, mounted his broom and was gone.

"It would appear that these salaud have forgotten the might of France." She snapped, turning to the wizards and witches of her Household. "Should you see something suitable as a reminder, call it to your vieux Grandmére's attention. Now go, my children. Uphold the honour of France."

The scions of the oldest wizarding families in France seized their brooms and mounted them, mounting to the sky as fast as a MacLaughlin could take them. They formed up on the muggle-born son of a farmer and the half-blood daughter of a dragonhide tanner.

"Thunderbird flight, Seeing Eye. Dragon close, your six o'clock." crackled over the wireless.

Shit, shit, dragon shit. Thunderbird thought. "Break, break, break!" She shouted, hoping that these elegant aristocrats could figure out the first lesson in Tactics 101. The flight scattered as a gout of flame blasted past them. Thunderbird pulled through a hard loop and looked down from above the formation.

Shit. Thunderbird thought again. One of the flight was spiralling down, smoke streaming from his broom and robes. "Seeing Eye, Thunderbird. Man down!"

There was a plan for that, if the Frenchman whose name she didn't even know was still alive and could make a survivable landing. If there was anyone left to carry out that plan … the fight was on and there was no time for ifs.

One of the other Frenchmen came around in a hard turn and flashed past the dragon with his wand out. If he cast or hit anything Thunderbird didn't see it. Well, at least the survivors had the sense to reform on the flight lead.

Well, they have some skills. Thunderbird thought, grudgingly. The Frenchmen had fallen into formation on her with the precision of a World Cup Quidditch team. That didn't make teaching tactics in the saddle much easier.

"All right, people." Thunderbird shouted over the wind rush. "Payback time. You have to hit them in the right spot on the pass."

"That one is done, Thunderbird." The French witch on her left said grimly. "Small enough vengeance for my cousin, the Vicomte d'Orleans."

"Pretty flying doesn't do it." Thunderbird snapped. "You never touched it."

"I marked it for future attention, Thunderbird." She replied. "Watch."

Thunderbird's head snapped around as she heard a rising roar approaching from behind her. A long spear of flame, with eyes and a raptor's cruel beak, was homing on the dragon like a snake on a field mouse. It struck with deadly precision, wrapping the dragon in coils of flame.

"Le Feu d'Enfer." The French witch replied, watching the cremation of the dragon in the coils of flame with cold satisfaction. "You would say FiendFyre."

"Impossible." Thunderbird said. "No one can control FiendFyre like that. Most wizards can't control it at all."

"Tell that to Grandmére, Thunderbird. Then Apparate. She is not in a mood." Was the dry reply.

Thunderbird looked at the flaming bones of the dragon as they fell away toward the Earth.

Note to self. Be polite to the Sorcier Supréme. She thought. Aloud she said, "Good to know. I'll take your word for it. Any other tips?"

"Stay clear while Le Feu d'Enfer is feeding. It's hungry." Was the cool reply.

Thunderbird factored that into her tactical plan. It wasn't the whole answer, but it was going to be a help. Putting FiendFyre into the middle of a furball would get people killed, and they'd - she had lost one man already.

"All right, people. Singletons we mark and leave for the Sorcier. Multiples we do old school. Take your best spell and narrow it as tight as you can. The wing joint is your best shot. Go for an eye if you're feeling lucky. Watch where the head is looking. There are a lot of dragons out there. People are relying on us. Don't get careless."

The wireless crackled on all their brooms. "Thunderbird flight, this is Seeing Eye. Flight of five, your seven o'clock high."

Thunderbird looked around at her new flight. She saw the predatory smiles and the expectancy in the body language. Well, these elegantly dressed and made up French aristocrats had one essential requirement to be dragon hunters. They were one and all dragonshit crazy.

Who knows? She thought as she led her flight in a climbing turn. We might even win this thing.

Chapter 35: Chapter 35 The Turn of the Tide

Chapter 35 The Turn of the Tide

Hardass stood back and looked at the map. He had quickly realized that trying to hold this whole vast battle together was beyond one man's abilities. He had conscripted help as fast as people filtered into the HQ, and sent out a call for experienced people.

The Canadian Wireless Corporation had managed to get permission to get a commentator in here, and Hardass was ignoring what he might say as an irrelevant distraction that he could not afford. He wasn't getting in the way, and Hardass would settle for that.

Things were a little better now. There was a controller for each of the Commands, doing the tactical picture. There were limits on what they could do, but it was getting done. Once the intercept was made, it was all up to the wizards. The Controllers couldn't even see what was happening. The Map only showed a confused ball of wizards and dragons during an intercept. That had already been christened a "furball". It was as good a name as any.

He had set trainees to keeping track of the Man Down calls, where they were and when they had happened. That list was already too long and getting longer. If a wizard was wounded instead of dead and made a surviveable landing, they could get out search parties - eventually. Right now every broom and wand was committed to the battle. That was going to cost lives of people who might otherwise be saved, and there was no help for that.

There was a Kill Count board, too. The CMAF wizards kept track of kill counts as a breathing level reflex, but it was more than that. They had to know how many dragons they had killed and how many were still left.

Hardass had made a plan to try to give some of the flights a break as opportunity might offer, give them a chance to land, catch their breath, and get a drink and a bite to eat. Every time he thought he might be able to start putting that plan into effect, more dragons appeared.

Hardass was grimly aware that human endurance had its limits. Right now they were just about holding their own. That didn't mean they were winning. He could only hope that the Russians were going to run out of dragons before the Force ran out of wizards. Right now, there was nothing in it. The tide of the battle could turn either way.

The appearances of dragons on the Map seemed to be random, or at least if there was a pattern he couldn't see it. The Canadian Ministry didn't have the resources of the wealthy and powerful Realm of Britain, so they had never been able to solve the problem of exactly how the Russians were using Portkey magic to move dragons. Attaching a Portkey to a dragon was rather the equivalent of the old muggle saying about belling the cat. Somehow they had solved that problem.

Hardass flicked that thought away as a new cluster of dragons appeared on the Map. He held his peace for a moment, then listened as the East Command Controller reported, "New flight of dragons, designated Raid W-13, tracking South-South-West."

Hardass watched as the line on the map grew longer, and estimated by eye where it might be headed. A chill went through him. They were headed for a node near the muggle city of Iqualuit. It was the largest city in the area, and everyone in it was now in mortal peril, leaving on one side that the Statute of Secrecy was now in the same deadly danger.

"East Controller, W-13 is now a Priority Red track. Inform Citadel." Hardass ordered quietly. One of the procedures that Hardass had cobbled together on the spot was a system to decide which Raid would be engaged first, where they had the ability to do so. A Priority Green Raid was a long way away from any inhabited area. A Priority Yellow Raid was closer to one. A Priority Red Raid meant many people were in imminent peril and had to be engaged now. If they could.

"Citadel, this is Seeing Eye East. New Raid, designated W-13, Priority Red. 8, say again 8 dragons inbound Iqualuit. Your intercept course is North North-West." The controller said.

"Citadel, copy that. Divert two nearest flights." Was the immediate reply in Hillier's gravel bass.

"Copy that, Citadel. Banger Flight, Beaver Flight, you are diverted to track W-13. Banger flight, steer North West. Beaver Flight, steer North East."

Hardass watched as the courses changed. They had just pulled flights off two Priority Yellow Raids to engage this one Priority Red. There were no good decisions here. He could only hope that this was the least bad one. The Commanders in the air leading the fighting from in front was not a good situation for them making the best decisions with all the information in front of them, but that was just one more of the hopefully least bad decisions that had been made this day.
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Citadel Flight was a mixed bag. There were two CMAF wizards, an Indian whose callsign was Hanuman, and two Americans, callsigns Bronco and Mustang. There had been two others, but they had gone down in two of the previous fights.

"Flight of eight." Hillier sent to the rest of the flight. "Pick up your visual scanning. Check your six."

He laid himself low along his broomstick and called for every last bit of speed that his decades of experience could squeeze from a McLaughlin. If they engaged the dragons before they reached the city then they could buy time for the other two flights to come up.

They made the intercept just in time. The city was actually visible from their altitude. Hillier made his tactical plan, such as it was, in an instant. They had the altitude advantage, and they could use it for the first pass, which was always the best one. They would have the advantage of surprise and the ability to get a good clean cast as they sliced down through the formation of dragons. With luck and skill they could even the odds.

After that, it was the furball and you did what you could. Normally, Hillier would have ordered the attack with the language of hand signs that the CMAF had used before wireless. When there was someone else to talk to, which wasn't always the case. Most of his flight didn't know those signs.

"Citadel flight, this is Citadel. We have the height advantage. On my go, we dive through the Raid. Pick your target and make your cast close in. This is your best chance for a kill. Use it."

"Copy that." Came from the rest of his flight.

"Go!" Citadel Flight nosed over into a steep dive, wands out and searching for a target. Hillier cast Supersensory, then homed in on the Alpha of the flight. Taking out the Alpha of a multiple was good tactics. Without him there was a good chance that the dragons would scatter. Then you could swarm them and pick them off one by one.

It was a good setup, with a good angle. They were coming down out of the sun, and he could see the back of the dragon, with the huge muscles driving the great leathery wings in the beats that kept it going through the air. He focused in on the hunter's triangle at the base of the neck. It got larger and larger until he could see the shape of the individual scales, and their rhythmic movement with the wing beats.

His wand came up and he held it rock steady, waiting as the dragon came close and closer still. He just hoped that the dragon wouldn't notice and maneuver at the list minute. That happened, sometimes.

Now! He thought. Diffindo Maxima!

A skilled dragon hunter could compress a spell down to the width of a man's fist, which was enough to punch through the incredibly tough scales and hide of a dragon. Antoine Hillier could compress his spell to the width of two fingers. That slim rapier blade of magic sliced through the scales, the hide beneath it, the spinal column and the internal carotid artery.

Hillier did not see where the cast went, because he was fully occupied slamming his broom to one side to miss the dragon's neck. He missed hitting it by the bare margin of a couple of yards, then was fully occupied with the business of not passing out during a high-gee pullout that would prevent him from making a Hillier-shaped hole in the tundra. He was able to miss that, too, by much less of a margin than was good, much less than he would normally have managed.

Somewhere in that maneuver he heard, faintly and far away, the crackle of the wireless as someone said "Seeing Eye, W-13 Alpha down, Citadel's kill. Man down, Bronco."

You're getting too damned old for this, Antoine. He thought as his broom carried him back up into the sky and he fought to get the breath to keep on fighting. He knew the signs. He was tired. Too damned tired. Tired meant mistakes, and it didn't take much of a mistake to kill you when you were hunting dragons.

"Banger Lead, in hot!" Crackled over the wireless. Hillier kept climbing. That call meant Banger Flight was going to be slashing through the dragon formation even as they had, and it was a warning to clear the area if you could so they didn't risk collision or a wand on wand. He would have a couple of minutes to catch his breath. That would help a little. It would be enough. It had to be enough.
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Dimitri Veronoff sat beside a Wizarding Wireless set. That the Canadians were broadcasting the details of the battle even as it happened was, to any Russian, the sheerest midsummer madness. Other nations did not share the deep grained Russian instinct to secrecy, and he would take full advantage of that now.

To be sure, that news was not what he had hoped for, expected. The assassins had all three of them failed, albeit by the narrowest of margins. He had always considered the Archmage to be the long spellcast at a venture. The tight security of the Sorcerous Service was formidable even by Russian standards. The Sorcier had been a much better hope, and he had counted on taking out Potter, who had no bodyguards at all.

He had underestimated Potter, again, and that error had brought the whole plan to the verge of disaster. The announcer had made much of Potter's whiplash speed in responding to the attack. His speed with a wand had been followed by a quickness of decision that made him far more dangerous to Russia. The plan called for, counted on, an ICW force thrown into confusion by the death of its leaders and ripe for an overwhelming attack.

That had not happened. Instead the battle hung in the balance, with a defence that was united, determined and getting better organized with every hour that passed. If they did not break that defence, and soon, then Russia would lose everything. With the ICW force destroyed, they would be able to levy tribute on the nations of the Magical world for all their needs and wants. If they failed, then all of those nations would be rallied against them, and there would be no mercy.

He turned to the silent man beside him. "Send more dragons."

"Those are the last reserve. There will be none left after that." He replied.

Veronoff did not raise his voice or threaten as he would normally have done. "Send them."

The man nodded acceptance and vanished.
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Hardass looked up at the map at the report of the Central Controller. Six more flights of dragons, all in the Central Command area and all not far north of the Command HQ. He looked at the Map, and despair bit deep in him. There was nothing to send against them. Even had he been able to pull flights off other Raids, they could not get there in time, nor could they fight so many dragons, tired as they were.

Hardass fought back the urge to take a broom and die fighting. That would do no good, and leaving his post would leave the wizards of the Force blind and lost. He gritted his teeth, and forced himself to give the next order. He would stand his post to the end. They would kill as many dragons as they could, do their best to make the Russian victory a hollow one. That was all there was left.

Hardass looked at pulling one or two wizards out of each of the nearest flights to cobble together some sort of blocking force for the HQ itself. It might buy a little time, though time for what he had no idea. He discarded the idea. Wizards in the heat of a fight would pay no attention to such a wireless call even if it actually got their attention at all, and they would be right.

He hoped that the dragons might be diverted to some other source of magic, but no luck there, either. Their tracks were ruler straight toward Central Command HQ, which made deadly good sense. It was by far the largest source of magic in the area.

The tide of the battle had turned against them. It had all been for nothing.
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Ditri Veronoff listened to the commentator on the wireless, and hope rose within him. It had taken everything they had, but the tide had turned in their favour and victory was close at hand. His mind ran on to the plans for the next phase.

They had no dragons left, but the ICW would not know that and with a crushing victory in hand they could hold the threat of further dragon attacks over their heads to force them to submit and pay tribute.

That threat would not be wholly empty. There was one last card he could play, if it was needed. The Cheka was a sword as well as a shield, and the security of the ICW nations had grown lax during the years of peace after Grindelwald's War.
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Business in the Realm, and every other activity up to and including Quidditch, had come to a grinding halt as everyone huddled around Wizarding Wireless sets to hear the running commentary of the Battle of Canada.

"This is Canada calling. East Command has reported that they are hard pressed to keep a major flight of dragons away from the muggle city of Iqaluit. The Warlock has ordered two flights from Central Command to reinforce East Command. They are pushing hard to get there in time to save the city."

There was a pause, then the commenator's voice came back on, sounding grim. "Six more flights of dragons have appeared to the north of Central Command HQ, and they are homing on the Headquarters. We do not know if they will be able to stop them."

Two of the few exceptions to that rule were in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts, packing and arguing with equal energy. "Miss Granger, you are not a qualified mediwitch. The call from the ICW specified medical personnel with experience in treating dragon fire injuries."

"Medical personnel includes assistants and orderlies, Madam Pomphrey. Since you have neither you will need to accept qualified volunteers. I am volunteering and I have assisted you before, during the Tri-Wizard Tournament." Was Hermione's tart reply while carefully but rapidly packing potion bottles into a case.

Poppy Pomphrey looked at Hermione's set, determined face and decided that she did not have any more time to spend on an argument she was not going to win. Granger could give Potter points for cold determination, and men and women were fighting for their lives in the skies over Canada.

"Pack the rest of the potions. Carefully. We will be making multiple Portkey transits."

"Yes, Madame Pomphrey." Hermione said, and set to work.
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Hardass kept staring at the Map, trying to find a way out of the cold fact that there were too many dragons and not enough wizards to fight them, when a voice from behind him interrupted his concentration.

"Sorry we're late. Heard you could use a hand." The voice was cheerful, genial even, and it came from someone who was not fighting exhaustion.

Hardass swung around to see a red-haired man, dressed like a Quidditch player, with a broom over his shoulder. He was not a Canadian. The accent was authentically British.

"Ron Weasley." He said in that same genial tone. "Commander of Dumbledore's Army."

Hardass looked back at him, hardly daring to hope. "How many?"

"Thirty. Six teams. We always fight in teams." Weasley replied. "Where do you want us?"

Hardass watched as people crowded in through the door of the HQ, brooms over their shoulders.

"30 McLaughlins, now!" Hardass shouted. People darted away to obey that order.

"We brought our own brooms, you know." Weasley said, reasonably.

"McLaughlins have wireless and a compass. That way we can steer you in. This isn't a Quidditch pitch. If you don't get a course to steer from us, you'll never find the dragons to fight them." Hardass replied rapidly.

"Makes sense." Weasley said agreeably, then raised his voice. "All of you, stack your brooms. You'll be getting new ones in a minute. Team Leads, up here."

He returned his attention to Hardass as six people shouldered their way to the front after putting their brooms in a rack. "All right. Tell us what we've got here."

Hardass briefed them rapidly, assigning Raids to teams as fast as they received their brooms. He let them pick their own callsigns, making sure that there were no duplicates. They paid focused attention to the quick lecture on dragon-hunting tactics, particularly the emphasis on teamwork and the need to hit the vulnerable points. He watched them bullet out the door and head North. Hope. He actually had some of that, now.
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Dmitri Veronoff sagged into his chair as the hope of victory went out of him, dashed from his hands.

He scarcely heard the excited voice of the commentator on the wireless, nor did he need to. None of what he was saying was hyperbole, unfortunately. Dumbledore's Army, the picked personal Household of the Warlock, young and tough and fit, trained superbly. He had known of that threat, and had encouraged through his remaining agents the calls to disband them.

Potter had left them behind in Britain, which for a Russian was simple good sense. A leader campaigning abroad had to watch his own back for plots to unseat him. He had given them no further thought, until now. Until it was too late.

Fresh rested reinforcements meant that the wizards who had been fighting could be given the one thing he had been desperate to deny them. Rest. He had fed more and more dragons into the battle to ensure exactly that, but now he had no more to send. The tide of the battle had turned again, this time against him. It had all been for nothing.

Chapter 36: Chapter 36 Finishing the Job

Chapter 35 Finishing the Job

The reporters were ushered in to the Operations Room at Central Command Headquarters. The news had broken over the Wizarding Wireless that there had been an outbreak of dragons in Canada. The wireless reports that the Warlock was fighting them had the Prophet and most other news organizations scrambling for Portkey reservations to Canada.

It had taken some negotiation with the Canadian Ministry of Magic before they had been been allowed in here, under the stern admonition that they would remain quiet and not interfere with people who had vital work to do.

There was a giant map across the front of the big room, showing a swath across northern Canada. There were a lot of markers on it. There were several people busy talking on the wireless runes under the supervision of a white-haired man in scarlet leathers with a prosthetic arm and leg. Large white boards were being updated by young people in red robes. One was headed KILL COUNT, another was titled DOWN.

The scarlet clad officer who had been assigned as their shepherd used his cane to gesture at the map. "This is a real time map of the operations area. The attack began with an attempt by the Russian observers to assassinate the Warlock, the Archmage and the Sorcier Supréme at the same time using objects with Killing Curses imbued into them. It was timed for just before the activation of the Portkey ward."

He waited out the undertone of exclamations and continued. "The Warlock, as Force Commander, assessed that the assassination attempt was the lead of a larger attack. The map you see here was generated by the Archmage at the direction of the Force Commander, modified to show dragons."

"And upon what basis did the Force Commander …" The already snarky tone of the British accented male voice gave the title an extra twist of sarcasm. "make this assessment?"

The old officer looked at him as he would look at a trainee who hadn't buttoned up his robes. "You would have to ask the Commander that. I will point out that making instant and correct decisions is a required skill for a commander in war."

"This isn't a war." A female voice protested.

"These dragons," The old man gestured with his cane. "are weapons. They literally appeared out of thin air. They were sent here using Portkey magic, set loose to kill and destroy without restraint. If a group of them descend on a muggle city, what chance would there be of covering that up? That was never done even during Grindelwald's War. They targeted an ICW force led by and including members of the ICW Security Council. This is not simply an attack on Canada. This is an attack on the ICW and the Statute of Secrecy itself."

There was a shocked silence, followed by the sound of quills on parchment.

The officer continued. "The battle escalated over hours, with more and more dragons appearing. The object of the Russians was most likely to try to overwhelm the defence and destroy the ICW force."

"What did you do to provoke them?" Came another voice, in a tone that assumed fault.

"Nothing." Was the flat definite reply. "The Force was specifically forbidden to go into or even approach Russian territory, and those orders were obeyed even during the battle."

"There must have been some reason." The same reporter persisted.

"Why don't you ask the Russians?" The scarlet clad officer replied curtly.

"Why didn't Dumbledore's Army arrive sooner?" Was the next question from another reporter.

"Commander Weasley and the DA were were not ordered or even asked to come to our aid. They came of their own initiative, and that they arrived in time to turn the tide of the battle speaks volumes about their discipline and training. I will point out that they arrived ready to fight before you did, and all you had to do to get ready was to pack your quills and ink."

The officer directed a cold look at the reporter, and added, "I don't know how things are in Britain, but here in Canada they are heroes, and to be honoured as such."

Another voice said "Can we get a statement from the Force Commander?"

"Warlock led the Force into the battle and he now has nine personal ..." He broke off as Hardass rapped his prosthetic hand sharply on his desk and held up five fingers twice. A trainee moved quickly to update the KILL COUNT board. "Pardon me, that's ten confirmed dragon kills."

He bent a cold look on the reporter who had asked the question, and added in the tone that one would use to explain to a young child, "That is a no. He is a little busy right now."
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Warlock Flight rode high in the cold skies of Northern Canada as the long Northern summer day wore on toward sunset. Harry was cold and bone tired. He had lost track of how many hours they had been up here or how many dragons they had fought. No doubt Seeing Eye was keeping track of such things. For his own part he was trying to keep some idea of how the battle was going overall and where the greater need might be, when he wasn't fighting for his life.

The arrival of the DA had given the Force a welcome and much needed respite. The last dragon attack had been the last. There had been no more new Raids since, and flights were being rotated out for a rest as they finished engaging their Raids. Seeing Eye had inquired, three times now, when Warlock Flight was going to do the same. Harry's reply had been, "When the people have."

Harry felt guilty about having dragged Ron and his friends into this, and for not even thinking about him. That the tide of the battle had turned did not mean that victory was assured. There had been hard fighting still, and Ron and the DA had been in the thick of it.

"You don't have to do it all yourself, you know." Hermione had said to him, and she had been right, as little as he had wanted to pay attention to it. He did not even know if they had lost anyone. He didn't know their callsigns, and there had been too many wizards in the air fighting for him to be able to tell who was who. As for who might have been hurt, that was almost a given in this battle. He and his broom mates had cast first aid spells on each other more than once.

"Seeing Eye, this is Warlock. Report status." Harry said, wearily. He had also lost track of the number of times he had made that call.

"Warlock, this is Seeing Eye. West Command reports clear. All dragons down. East Command reports two dragons remaining, now being engaged. Central Command, clear. All dragons down. Flights not engaged have landed at nodes, and are at fifteen minutes notice to launch."

Harry shut his eyes and scrubbed his hand across his face. Rest. Sleep. Food. They sounded very, very good right now, as good as the first feast at Hogwarts to a boy who had gone hungry more often than not. It would be easy to say that they were done. They had won the battle, at a terrible cost. People had died. Others were in hospital. The search for some still went on. It would have been easy to give up after killing the basilisk, too.

"Seeing Eye, Warlock. Report when the last two dragons are down."

They swept through the sky in a long oval, adjusting to each other like the fingers of a hand. Firewhisky and Champagne kept station on Warlock and waited and watched. Warlock had been quicker than those treacherous Russki bastards this whole long brutal day. If he was waiting for something they would wait with him, and have his six while they did.

"Warlock, Seeing Eye. All dragons down." Crackled across the wireless at last.

Harry took a deep breath and scrubbed his hand across his face again. "Warlock to all. It's been a long day and a hell of a fight. We're all tired. I'm tired, too. We have one more thing to do. We have to put up the ward. I don't know what else those treacherous bloody bastards have up their sleeve. I'm not about to be caught napping. All hands to nodes. Let's get this done. Warlock done."

The reporters watched - quietly, for once, as the double doors to the Headquarters swung open to show the red sky of the Arctic sunset. A wave of chill air flooded across the floor, then three men strode through with their brooms on their shoulders. They saw everyone on the floor who did not have his hands on an urgent job stand straight and give a crisp wand salute to the three battered tired-looking men. The one in the centre returned it sharply.

"Warlock flight, in." Logan 'Firewhisky' Hillier reported.

"Hardass." Potter said in a tight, controlled tone. "The people. Where do we stand?"

"Ten confirmed down, Warlock." Was the sombre reply. "Another twelve still missing. Search parties are going out. Casualties, there are seventeen serious cases, stable for the moment. That won't be all of them. Flights are still coming in. ICW medical volunteers are arriving and setting up. We have a lot of walking wounded."

Potter's jaw and his fist clenched, but his tone remained level. "Inform me when all the nodes are manned."

There was a twenty minute silence except for the undertone of people carrying on with their work. Hardass turned to Potter and said formally, "All nodes manned except for the Archmage. He requests permission to dissolve the map."

"Granted." Potter replied. Hardass passed the command along, and shortly after that the map vanished. There was a pause, then Hardass reported, "Archmage in position."

Potter took three long strides to the master ward of the system, its complex curves carved into a great slab of Canadian granite laid into the floor.

"On three. One, two, three … Cast!" He raised the Elder Wand and a blinding blue-white flash lit up the entire chamber.

Chapter 37: Chapter 37 Councils of War

Chapter 37 Councils of War

Harry slammed his hand on the table. The impromptu ICW Security Council meeting had been going on for an hour. The first order of business had been to summarily remove Russia from the Council and brand them a rogue state.

After that, the meeting had consisted mostly of people talking across each other saying how angry they were at this outrage. He was angry, too, and it was an outrage. His own robes had scorch marks from dragonfire. He was tired, too, exhausted. If they were going decide something, he wanted it to be done before he fell on his face.

"Ladies and gentleman, yes this is an outrage, yes something needs to be done, and we are all angry about this. What we need are concrete suggestions as to what that something might be. I believe the military maxim fail to plan, plan to fail applies here. The Portkey ward is up, so there will be no more dragon attacks. We have time to think and to plan."

In the startled silence that followed, the Baroness looked across the table with surprised respect. "The youngest among us makes the best sense. I move a recess while we consult advisors, get something to eat and obtain medical care for those who need it."

Her stern look rested on both Harry and Commander Hillier at the end of the sentence. Harry was not disposed to argue the point. The burns on his arm and leg had spells on them to numb the pain and prevent infection, but they were starting to wear off.

The meeting broke up quickly. Harry found himself walking down the hall from the meeting room side by side with Commander Hillier.

"What are you going do, Sir?" Hillier asked.

"I need to talk to some people, then I'm going to see the Healers." Harry replied. The Healers had been swamped when he had come in, and he had decided to come back later after the serious cases had been dealt with.

"No, sir, you need to see the Healers, then talk to some people." Hillier replied firmly.

"The Healers are swamped," Harry said reasonably, "and they told me I could come back later."

"They've received reinforcements, and this is later, sir." Hillier replied.

"Where are you going, Commander Hillier?" Harry asked, as close to sternly as he could manage to a man twice his size and old enough to be his grandfather.

"I'm going to see the Healers, because it's later." He replied.

They went down to the small area next the Map Room that had been set aside as a First Aid station. It had now been expanded by three very large tents to the size of a large hospital. They were received at the tent entrance by a red-haired middle-aged mediwitch under a sign that said TRIAGE.

"Names?" She said briskly.

"Antoine Hillier."

"Harry Potter."

She flicked her wand and two clipboards floated in front of her. "Hillier. Dragonfire. Six percent of body area, second degree." She raised her voice. "Bay Three, dragonfire case. He's had First Aid only." A gurney rolled out with two mediwizards, and he was loaded on it and whisked away with the clipboard hanging off it.

The mediwitch switched her attention to Harry. "Potter. Dragonfire, ten percent of body area, third degree burns." She raised her voice again. "Bay Four, dragonfire case, he's had First Aid only. Stat."

"Why weren't you wearing your leathers?" She asked sharply, looking at his scorched robes.

"Didn't have any." Harry said.

"You were told to come back later." She said sternly.

"This is later." Harry replied, defensively.

"No, this is much later." She replied tartly.

At that point the gurney rolled out and Harry was loaded on it and whisked into an area surrounded by white curtains. Three mediwizards were moving around him in a complex dance, trading professional jargon he didn't understand. Someone cast a spell and he blacked out.

Harry woke up again in another area, on a bed rather than the gurney.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed and hugged him briefly. "How are you?"

"I'm all right." He said slowly. He did actually feel much better, though still tired.

"I'll be the judge of that, Harry." She said firmly. She held up three fingers and asked Harry how many, then asked some other questions to see if Harry was fully awake and knew who and where he was.

Hermione tapped her wand and said, formally, "Mr. Potter's awake."

Harry made to get out of bed. "No, Harry." She said firmly. "You aren't going anywhere until you've been checked out by a mediwizard."

Harry reluctantly lay back in bed. He had heard that tone from Hermione before. He could waste his breath arguing the toss, but it wasn't going to get him anywhere.

He relaxed into the bed again. "It's really good to see you, Hermione. Hang on, how did you get here?"

She smiled. "Madam Pomfrey answered the call for volunteers, and she needed an assistant, so I volunteered."

And God's pity on the fool who tried to stop her. Harry thought. Aloud he said, "I've really got to get going, Hermione. There's a meeting that I have to go to."

"It's been postponed until you and Commander Hillier are pronounced fit."

"What time is it, anyway?" He asked.

Instead of looking at a watch, she glanced down at the end of the bed. "It's 9:03 in the evening."

Following her look, he saw that the foot of his bed had a large frame that held a sheet of parchment. It looked rather like a Marauder's Map, except that this one was titled Harry James Potter, Force Commander (12 kills).

It displayed a continuously updated summary of the internal and external state of play for Harry Potter. The diagram of his body showed where his burns and other injuries were. Other parts of the display showed his heartbeat, breathing and a lot more. It also showed the time.

At that point a black haired mediwizard brushed aside the curtain around his bed and entered. The name tag on his robes had the wizard in flight logo of the CMAF and identified him as Hr. J. O'Donnell, Flight Surgeon.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. You've had a busy day. Let's see how you are." He said briskly.

He tapped his wand against the frame of the map and changed the display several times. Some of what came up Harry could follow. Closeup views of his various injuries got careful scrutiny. Other things that he brought up made no sense to Harry.

O'Donnell nodded judiciously and turned to Harry. "All right. We've debrided your wounds and used Rapid-Grow Potion and healing spells to treat your burns. You also had a green-stick fracture of your right arm. That's been repaired. You need to be very careful of the healed areas. They will be tender and easily injured. You need to eat and drink a lot. Your body will be using a lot of energy to heal. You are cleared for light duty only, and that means sitting at a desk, lifting nothing heavier than a quill, and not even looking at a broomstick."

He turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, in lieu of keeping Commander Potter here another day for observation, I will have you keep him under close observation and call me if there is a problem. Will you do that?"

"Of course, Healer O'Donnell. Nothing I haven't done before." She replied wryly.

"Good. Good." He replied. "If I had my way all these lunatics would have a keeper. Watch him. He's worse than most."

O'Donnell brushed aside the curtains and left.

"I suppose you'll want some clothes, Harry?" Hermione said.

"Yes. Thank you." Harry said. He was wearing a white cotton hospital robe and nothing else. He cautiously sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot.

He patted where his pockets would normally have been, then looked concerned. "My wands!"

"Right here, Harry." Hermione replied. She handed him a small case of red leather, containing his old wand and the Elder Wand. It radiated a sense of satisfaction. He was reminded again that the Elder Wand was first and foremost a weapon of war, and it existed for battles such as he had just gone through.

"What about Ron and the rest?" He asked, as that thought struck him.

Hermione smiled a little sadly. "No one killed, Harry. Some pretty bad burns, some worse than yours. They'll all recover. I've just come from visiting Ron. He'll be in hospital until tomorrow. He said to tell you that he's fine."

"Is he?" Harry asked.

"He's enjoying all the attention and being interviewed left, right and centre. He's fine." Hermione said wryly.

Harry nodded, and made a mental note that he should visit with the members of the DA and thank them, as inadequate as that was as repayment.

Hermione turned her head and raised her voice to a carrying pitch. "Mr. Farrell, you can come in now."

"Commander Potter, Sir?" The speaker was young. He would have been a firstie at Hogwarts. He was dressed in red robes and was bouncing with energy. "Trainee Farrell, Sir. I have your robes and boots here. You can change right over here."

Farrell led him over to a small curtained area. "I checked with operations and I had your kills sewn on. Twelve confirmed, sir. That is just awesome!"

Harry thanked him and got dressed slowly, then emerged feeling a little more human. He looked down at his sleeve. Twelve dragons. Well, he hadn't been sitting in a corner letting others do the fighting. There was also a snake marker along with the dragons.

"Operations said you have a basilisk, too." Farrell said, brightly.

"That's true, Mr. Farrell. Thank you." Harry said carefully. He hadn't been on a broom at the time, but to the Canadians a kill was a kill.

"Wow! Is there anything else you want, sir?" Farrell asked eagerly.

Stop bouncing so much. Came to Harry's mind. Farrell reminded him of Colin Creevey in his first year. That would be unkind, though.

Then another thought came to him. The Sorcier and the Archmage were going to be consulting with their advisers. He had a source of advice he could call on, too.

"Yes, please. I need a room with a solid door where I can be alone."

"Right away, Sir." They went down the corridor of the hospital tent and on into the main building. Farrel led them to a storage room.

"Is this all right?" He asked anxiously.

"Yes, this is good." Harry said. He decided that he was going to err on the side of caution for what he was about to attempt. The size of the room wouldn't matter, he was pretty sure of that.

Hermione looked at him suspiciously. "What are you up to now, Harry?"

"I'm just going to talk to someone, Hermione. Nothing to worry about." Harry said reassuringly.

"In a broom closet?" She said. "What are you doing?"

Harry didn't even think about trying to explain what he was going to be doing, not only for lack of time, but also because he wasn't sure it was going to work.

"Hermione, Mr. Farrell." He said seriously. "I set you here to guard this door and not allow anyone to open it until I come back out. No one, for any reason whatever, no matter what you may hear or who they may be. Understood?"

Farrell's eyes went wide. "Yes, sir! You can rely on me, Sir!"

Hermione just nodded and put her hand close to her wand.

"I know I can, Mr. Farrell." Harry felt a bit guilty about trading on the boy's hero-worship and Hermione's friendship, but this was important.

He went in and closed the door, and stood in the semi-darkness and the smells of soap and dust. He drew the Elder Wand and held it up. He really hoped this was going to work. "The Warlock requires the advice of the Council of Merlin."

For a moment nothing happened, then the room began to grow and change, filling with torchlight. In a minute or so it had transformed into the Room of the Round Table, with Merlin and the Council seated at the long wooden table.

"Master Potter. How may we assist the Warlock?" Merlin said.

Chapter 38: Chapter 38 Advice From A Spymaster

Chapter 38 Advice From a Spymaster

Harry sighed with relief. It had worked. "Master Merlin. I have a great decision to make, and I don't know enough."

"Tell us all thy tale, Master Potter, and such wisdom as we have is at thy service." Merlin replied.

"I don't know if I have enough time. I have a meeting soon." Harry said worriedly.

Merlin stood, raised his staff, moved it in a complex pattern, and struck the floor with it once. "Be at ease, Master Potter. Time runs differently in this Room if need be. Thou hast all the time needed."

Harry felt a little of the pressure on him lift. There was a comfortable chair at the end of the table and he took it, then began telling what happened. There were centuries of experience in this Council. Perhaps they could make sense of all this.

Harry came to the end of the account of the Battle of Canada. "We are secure against further dragon attack for the time being. The Portkey ward is up. The question now is, what do we do next? What might the Russians try next? I'm not sure we could withstand another such attack, and I have no idea what else they might try."

"Sir Francis Walsingham." Merlin said. "I believe this lies in your sphere. What advice hast thou?"

Harry's eyes widened. He knew that name, and not from the history of the Magical realm, but from his muggle schooling. Sir Francis Walsingham had been Principle Secretary to Queen Elizabeth I, and famously her spymaster as well. The teacher had spent a lot of time apologizing for him. Ruthless, relentless, merciless, a hard man even by the standards of an age of hard men. Brilliant, certainly that. One of the greatest spymasters in all history. Warlock in his time, too, as Harry now knew.

The man addressed was of medium height, dressed in dark robes with touches of lace at the neck and sleeves. His hair and beard were black, tinged with grey. He smiled gently. "I see that my reputation runs before me still after all these years. I could plead that I did what needed doing in perilous times, but rather I will ask thee to think upon what they will teach of Harry Potter in some classroom in Hogwarts generations hence, amid the peace and security that thou hast fought to establish."

He smiled briefly and continued in a professorial manner, tinged with disapproval. "Killed a man when he was eleven, a basilisk when he was twelve, the man who marched an army into the very chamber of the Wizengamot, sent how many to Azkaban, leader of the greatest slaughter of dragons in all history."

He chuckled briefly. "Thou'lt have thy critics, Master Potter, never doubt that."

It wasn't like that! Harry thought angrily. The dry factual recitation of the things he had done left out the reasons, the compelling necessity that had driven him to act. Certainly he had made enemies doing what he had to do. He had paid a price for those victories, too. His friends had paid, too. He didn't know how many of the DA were badly hurt, and it had been only luck none had died.

Walsingham met his eyes squarely, and a flicker of a smile came and went across his face. Harry asked himself if people who had grown up in peace would understand that he'd done what he'd had to do. He remembered how quickly his own school mates had been willing to think the worst of him. Perhaps, indeed, his portrait in history would be painted as darkly as Sir Francis Walsingham's.

Harry decided that he was going to leave the discussion of ethics to another time and listen carefully to the advice of one of the greatest spymasters in history. "Say on, Sir Francis. I am listening."

"I will take it from the fact that the Russians managed complete surprise that none of the powers of the ICW had agents within Russia to give knowledge of their designs and forewarning of their intent." Sir Francis continued.

Harry thought about that, and nodded. Everyone had been caught off guard.

Walsingham made a dismissive gesture. "The Crown was better served in my day, but the world is what it is and not as we would have it. To such men the truth is a dispensable luxury, so trust not their speech at all."

"How can we know what they really want?" Harry asked. If you couldn't believe anything someone said and didn't have any spies within their ranks ...

"If you wish to know where a man keeps his valuables, Master Potter, cry cutpurse and see where he claps his hand. Actions speak true when words lie. They tried to assassinate the three most powerful wizards in the world. All three were well guarded by trusty men. A risky gamble at best, apt to failure."

"I didn't have any bodyguards." Harry said.

Walsingham smiled. "The guards of Good Queen Bess were not always visible, but they were always there. I saw to that, without bothering Her Majesty with such petty details. The Aurors of England were sore pressed, so you taxed them not with the burden of thy protection. Wast thou ever alone in Canada?"

Harry opened his mouth, and closed it again. He hadn't been. There had always been someone around, and not just any someone. Veteran dragon hunters like Belzile, who wore their attitude toward Russians along with the dragon kills on their sleeves.

"I should say that a vote of thanks is owed to one of thy friends, Master Potter. Twas well organized." Walsingham said, in the manner of a master craftsman assessing a journeyman's work and finding it worthy.

Organization, thy name is Hermione. Harry thought. Thanks doesn't begin to cover it.

Hermione, Ron, the wizards of the Force who had trusted him with their lives and fought under his command. That debt was literally beyond reckoning.

"Even had they succeeded," Walsingham continued. "The gain would have been far less than the cost. The Crown would have come to another, and that tale would have been retold with the Sorcier and the Archmage in their own ways."

Harry looked puzzled. He hadn't nominated anyone as his successor. He hadn't even thought about it. Walsingham smiled. "The Crown is privy to thy memories, so that one day thou wilt come to sit at this table with us. Is there one whose wit is greater than thine and whose integrity thou trust absolutely?"

"Hermione." Harry said, without even having to think about it.

"An thou would spare thy friend the burden of the Crown, have a care to thy safety. Think you she would be inclined to mercy on thy murderers?" Sir Francis said dryly.

"No." Harry said immediately. The people who thought Hermione was just a bookworm didn't know her at all.

Sir Francis nodded crisply. "That speaks to desperation, Master Potter. A man being carted to the gallows will snatch at any chance of escape and not reckon the cost. What hath he to lose?"

"Desperation?" Harry said. That was a new thought. He had assumed that the Russians were powerful and dangerous if they could do something like this and think to get away with it.

"Indeed, Master Potter. They wish all to think that they are powerful, to inspire fear."

He shook his head decisively at Harry's puzzled look. "If they truly had the power they claim, they would not hide it. They would use it, flaunt it for all to see. Their secrecy hides weakness, not strength."

"Weakness? They threw a huge number of dragons at us." Harry protested.

"Dragons, yes." Sir Francis replied coolly. "Expendable, as much a danger to them as to thee. Of the lives of their own, how many did they risk?"

"Three." Harry replied thoughtfully. "Only three."

"Just so, Master Potter. Such as they seek to inspire fear, because the counsel of fear is invariably bad. The fearful mind runs readily in the direction of flight and submission. Thus secrecy. Fear sees peril in every shadow, when it is oft not there. The irony that they themselves are driven by fear is lost on them."

That made damned good sense once you stepped back and stopped thinking the way people who wanted to rule by fear wanted you to think. That had been the Dursleys, actually. They were terrified of the power of magic and had no defence against it, so they had tried to terrorize him into submission.

"Desperate men, driven by fear." Harry said. "What are they afraid of?"

"So far deduction takes us and no farther. The actions of fearful men are often irrational. Consider, for example, the actions of Cornelius Fudge." Sir Francis replied.

Harry did, and again he could not disagree. Fudge had been terrified of Voldemort's return, but instead of rallying people against him he had frantically tried to silence the messengers, Harry among them. He had punished, not supported, Voldemort's enemies.

"The Council members wish to send a force into Russia to punish them for this outrage." Harry said. He had misgivings about that, though he could not say why.

"Thus speaks anger." Sir Francis said. "Hath anyone considered that to do so might well be to court disaster? One carefully laid trap hast thou escaped already, barely and at a cost. Hasty action might well run thee headlong into another. Weakness and desperation do not preclude that."

That hit Harry like a punch in the gut. "No. No one considered that." He said softly. "Thank you, Sir Francis."

Walsingham added, "Twere well to ensure that thy guard is not dropped. One traitor in thy Ministry was discovered already. Traitors are like rats, Master Potter. One seen may speak to more hidden in the wainscotting. Twas unfortunate that Bulstrode was permitted the chance to commit suicide ere he could be interrogated. Dead traitors answer no questions."

Walsingham paused, then added, "If there has not been a searching inquiry into his associates, activities and personal effects, twould not be too late to order it. In thy place, I should have it done quietly, by trusty folk."

Sir Francis paused to let Harry absorb that, then continued. "The Warlock decides as he will, Master Potter, but my advice would be to ensure there were no daggers at thine own back ere thou come to swords points with thy foe."

"Quietly?" Harry asked. He did not doubt that there was a good reason for secrecy, but he didn't see what it was.

"Dead traitors answer no questions, Master Potter. Neither do fugitive ones. If they know the hunt is up, they will flee." Walsingham replied.

Harry thought about that, and nodded. He could have Hermione get in touch with the Minister and Amelia Bones. It would need to be done by someone whose integrity he trusted and who, also, he trusted to be unrelentingly thorough.

"One last matter, Master Potter, unrelated to the issue in hand. Riddle." Sir Francis added after a short pause.

"What about him?" Harry replied. His mind was already fully occupied with juggling his current crises. Hopefully there was not going to be another.

"As we are charged to do, we maintain the watch on the portal of thy mind, and there is no threat to be apprehended from that quarter." Walsingham replied firmly. "We continue our efforts to gain the information concerning his horcruxes, but he remains obdurate on that subject. Some information we have gained of his many and brutal crimes against innocents."

Harry could well believe that. He also had no time to deal with anything that was not an immediate crisis. They had just fought a battle such as the wizarding world had not seen in many generations. The Russians were still a menace. He had a better idea of the nature of that menace, but it still had to be dealt with.

"Deal with that as you see fit." Harry replied. "I don't have the time for that right now."

Harry glanced at his watch, then remembered what Merlin had said. "I need to go now. Thank you for all you have done."

"Tis but our duty, Master Potter." Merlin replied gravely, then gestured with his staff. The great wooden door behind Harry opened, and he strode on out.

Chapter 39: Chapter 39 Information and Deduction

Author's Note: Thanks to Hippothestrowl for his suggestion that the Horcrux hunt should go in a different direction. I agree. The death traps that surrounded the Horcruxes were very evidently aimed at Dumbledore, and going into them was (IMHO) a deadly mistake in Canon.

Chapter 39 Information and Deduction.

Warfare of the mind was visualized in more familiar and concrete terms. So it was that Sir Francis Walsingham led a force of twenty against the walls and battlements of a frowning castle of dark stone, its gates shut and barred. He held up his hand to order a pause before this attack began.

They had not expected gaining the information from Riddle's mind to be easy, but it had proved far harder even than they had expected. The idea that wrenching Riddle's secrets from his mind could be done relatively quickly had proved to be over-optimistic. Very much so. They had explored some of the corridors of Riddle's mind, and harvested some of his memories, but there was still much to be done.

What he could see of that mind was a horrible sight. Sir Francis had seen such minds before, but this was the worst he had seen in his very long experience. He was not even sure that worse was possible. A mind in this condition would normally have sought the surcease of death long since, or collapsed into unknowing chaos. It was twisted and warped, the parts of it standing at crazy angles. The sullen crimson of hate and the dead black of fear were shot through and through it. Its centre, the core of will and personality and self, was twisted and eroded, near to collapse. There was a high cold keening sound surrounding it that would send a shiver through the strongest, the sound of a soul in continuous torment.

Where a normal mind had outworks that represented trust and caring and relationships with others, this one had only scorched ruins. All of that had been destroyed by the lust for for power, dominance and control. The main gate was high and heavy, banded with heavy iron straps.

"Have a care, people." He said, reminding them of what they had learned already. "Breaching the outer defenses will be the beginning only. Expect tricks, traps, false passages and misdirection. We have much still to gather. Of how he created his Horcruxes we know only that it involved the murder of innocents. We will in any case have to harvest as many of those memories as we can."

They split up and used different approaches. The main gate would undoubtedly be the best guarded of all. It was where Riddle attempted to invade the mind of the Warlock. Sir Francis and the others avoided it. They spread out to different weak spots and began methodically to smash their way through the walls, attacking the gaps and weak spots. They were careful to avoid routes they had used before.

Sir Francis pushed open the door to a chamber, pushing hard against the stubborn resistance of the door. Slowly and grudgingly it yielded, the rusty hinges screeching and groaning. There were memories here, like bands of silk swirling to the eerie saraband of torment. Sir Francis began gathering them, one at a time. He did not attempt to see their contents. The crimson highlights were enough to tell him of the hatred and violence contained in them. Winnowing the crimes from this harvest of evil could be done later. The task became harder and harder, with the memories becoming more elusive and harder to catch. There was a feeling of rising desperation.

It was not hard to deduce what the source of that desperation might be. Riddle cared nothing for who might know of his crimes. Before his Fall he had flaunted them and boasted of them to inspire fear. His secrets, those he cared for very greatly indeed. Among those secrets lay the key to the immortality that he had sought so obsessively and spilled so much blood to forge. The record of the one could be the key to the other. The magics that Riddle had set himself to master drew upon fear, torture and murder.

Sir Francis snared yet another memory, then paused suddenly. There was a roaring sound, like a dragon breathing fire, that came from everywhere and nowhere. He had a feeling of dire peril coming upon him, and he had died a natural death because he had learned to heed that feeling. He put his shoulder to the door and squeezed out through the narrow gap. No sooner had he done so than the roaring sound became deafening. The gloom of the chamber gave way to white flames. When Sir Francis looked again through the door frame into the chamber there was nothing left. It had been seared to the walls, all its contents utterly destroyed.

Well, that is something new. He thought, raising an eyebrow. Riddle had indeed skill in Occlumency, but he had taken that in a direction that Sir Francis had never imagined. Sooner than have his memories taken, he had destroyed them himself. Whether invading Riddle's mind had been a the best one or not, they were committed now. As all the Warlocks had learned in their time of service, too often the choices presented to them were not between good and bad, but between bad and worse.

They had to press on and seize what they could before it was destroyed, then return with their booty. Much undoubtedly would be lost. Riddle's was the desperate defiance of the last ditch. As he had said to the Warlock, Riddle had nothing to lose.

Probing deeper and deeper into the madman's labyrinth of the mind of Riddle, Sir Francis and Albus Dumbledore came to a chamber around the central citadel of Voldemort's mind. Forcing the door to it took a great effort from both of them, which only reinforced their determination. Such defenses spoke of something vital behind them.

The room that they entered was regular and normal looking by comparison with the crazed chaos that they had passed through to get there. It was semicircular, and its inner wall was the citadel of Riddle's personality. A great jagged divot had been taken out of that wall, and it was burned black. It was not the only one. Next to it there was another such divot, but from it an intricately braided rope of dead black shot with moving red lights led away into the distance. Trying to follow it with the eye only led to dizziness and confusion. There were five more such links, all different, and another blackened ruin of a divot.

"What by all the Devils in Hell is this, Albus?" Walsingham asked. "Surely this is dark magic."

"The very darkest, Sir Francis." Albus replied grimly. "We are seeing what no human eye has ever seen. The Horcruxes of Tom Riddle. These links bind the sundered pieces of his soul to his own self. If those links can be broken, then will he die once and for all."

Sir Francis looked around the room, and thought of all the memories that had been destroyed in Riddle's mad defiance of the Guardians. "Well, we have lost much in these forays, but this booty shall pay for all. Here there is the knowledge that will in truth give us an end to this threat at long last."

Sir Francis looked around the chamber, gathering as many details as he could. The Room of the Round Table had a Pensieve, and they could use it to review all those details along with the memories they had taken from Riddle's mind.

He glanced over at Albus, and saw him doing likewise. "Is it possible, Albus?"

"I am familiar with Riddle's magic, but this has been secret even from me. I will have to study this. Perhaps. Just perhaps."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Council of Merlin was met in Conclave once more, examining the memories that had been gained from Riddle's mind. The sickening total of murders, torture and the rape of minds and souls made a thick book, for all that it was incomplete. They had solved one mystery. Albus Dumbledore, Warlock of Britain, had been the most powerful wizard in the world, as Harry Potter now was. Yet, Riddle had been able to do battle with him on even terms. Dumbledore's costly victory over him had been a very close run thing, and it could have gone the other way.

The fear that Riddle might have found or created some dark artifact of equal power to the Crown they now knew to be unfounded. The source of Riddle's power was simple and brutal. It had been the lives and souls and power of the wizards he had murdered. The stakes in the struggle against Voldemort had been higher even than Dumbledore knew. Riddle's lust for power knew no bounds. The fuel for that power was human lives. Whether the Realm would have survived his rule if he had achieved his ambitions was an open question to which no one wanted to know the answer.

"Less than we might have hoped for, Sir Francis." Merlin said judiciously.

"There are no certainties in such a venture, Master Merlin." Sir Francis replied. "Yet we have gained somewhat that we did not have before. I will say that I have never seen anyone destroy his own memories rather than yield them up."

"If he has no memories left, is he even still a threat?" Came the question from down the table.

"Would that it were so." Merlin replied. "Not all of his memories did he destroy, but only those of his darkest secrets, the very knowledge that could destroy him. Some fragments we do have, but there are many gaps."

"One secret he could not destroy." Came in Albus Dumbledore's mellow voice. "We know where in his mind the links to his Horcruxes are. There is knowledge that we might find useful."

"How might we make use of it, Albus?" Sir Francis asked, interested. "Might we use those links to locate the Horcruxes?"

"Very difficult if it could be done at all." Dumbledore replied. "Even if it was possible I would not advise it."

"Say on, Master Dumbledore." Merlin commanded.

"I made grievous errors in my tenure. Not seeing the truth of his Horcruxes was one, and not the least of them. Two fears ruled Riddle's existence. Death, and me. The Horcruxes were the answer to both those fears. One Horcrux, hidden beyond finding, would have been enough to answer for his own mortality. He made many, and surrounded them by death traps, so as to draw me in and destroy me without risking himself. Only at the end did I see that clearly. To send courageous people into a series of death traps constructed by a sadistic madman would be poor repayment for their valour."

"Might we break those links at the source, then?" Sir Francis pursued.

"I do not say that it cannot be done. If it could be done, it would be very hard to do, very hard indeed. I would have to study this problem. The links that bind parts of a sundered soul to its source are strong, strong beyond belief. I attempted to break them during the battle with Riddle, and I failed." Dumbledore replied in measured tones.

Sir Francis drew his wand and drew out a memory, casting it into the Pensieve so that it hung above the table for all to see. The structure of one of the links turned so that all could see the details. "Let us consider, then."

Dumbledore drew his wand and began pointing out features in the image. "The central core is the link to the fragment itself."

"What then are these outer cords?" Merlin asked, indicating one of them with his staff. There were three of them, glowing a sullen dark red. They were secured to the wall next to the ragged divot by intricate knot-like structures. They ran parallel to the link itself, though much thinner. They were bar taut.

There were considering looks from all around the table. John Dee was the first to speak. "Those cords bear a great strain. What exerts such a powerful force?"

"Would not a sundered fragment of the soul seek to return, even as an exile yearns for his ancestral home?" The question came from Stella McGregor, who had been Headmistress of Hogwarts during the exile of Bonnie Prince Charlie.

"That it would, Dame Stella." Dumbledore replied gravely. "That would be why a Horcrux must be anchored to a physical object."

"Those cords would then run around the physical object to the fragment in order to hold it in place against that force." Dame Stella continued, thinking out loud.

"We speak of a physical analog to a magical structure, but I believe you are correct. Where does that take us?" Dumbledore replied, dubiously.

"The fragment will return to the soul from whence it came an it is let to do so. Perhaps we should let it." Sir Francis said. "The point, after all, is to restore Riddle's mortality. Twere little matter how that was done, so that it is."

"Brilliant." Albus said sincerely. "Snapping those cords would still be difficult. Very difficult."

Sir Francis pointed his wand at the knots that secured the cords. "Intricate and complex, those knots, and crafted in haste into the bargain. Might error or weakness lurk within them?"

Dumbledore smiled slowly. "Arrogance is a dangerous blinder. Riddle is very prone to assume that he is so brilliant that he is incapable of error. Perhaps, as his old schoolmaster, I should check his work."

Chapter 40: Chapter 40 Check Six

Chapter 40 Check Six

Harry emerged from the broom closet and blinked a little at the contrast between the torchlight of the Room of the Round Table and the bright white lighting of the HQ corridor.

Hermione was waiting for him with her wand out, looking very anxious. "Harry, what the Hell was happening there? It sounded like a swarm of giant mosquitos. Are you all right?"

He nodded, then looked at his watch again. "I'm fine, Hermione. What time do you have?"

"Time? It's only been a few minutes." She said, holding up her watch.

Harry set his own watch to match hers. He had been over two hours in the Room. Out here in the corridor it had been less than fifteen minutes.

Harry looked over at Farrell and said, "Thank you, Mr. Farrell. You have done well. Please find the Archmage, give him my compliments and ask him to schedule a Security Council meeting for ..." He glanced at his watch. "Two hours from now if that is possible. Bring me his answer when you have it. I will be in the hospital."

"Yes, sir!" Farrell said, enthusiastically, and darted off down the corridor. Harry turned, and went down the corridor back toward the hospital entrance.

"Harry." Hermione said, insistently. "What happened in there?"

"If I tell you, you can't tell anyone else, Hermione. Agreed?"

"Agreed." She replied, impatiently.

"I summoned the Council of Merlin to give me advice. The Council of Merlin is the memories of all the Warlocks who have ever held the Crown, from Merlin Ambrosius right down to Albus Dumbledore. Like portraits, but far more detailed and sophisticated. There are untold centuries of experience there."

"Oh." She said. "And they just come to you?"

"When I summon them." He said. "I don't do that lightly."

Hermione looked at his set face, and nodded. Dumbledore had been close to a father to Harry. Harry had watched him die in agony.

"What now?" She asked, rather than follow that train of thought any further.

He looked back at her, and his expression warmed a little. "Thanks."

"For what?" She replied, puzzled.

"Saving my life." He said evenly. "It was you that organized for the Canadians to look out for my safety, wasn't it, after we had that long discussion about not taking any Aurors with me."

"How did you know that?" She said.

He cocked his head in the direction of the broom closet. "There are centuries of experience in that room. I'll tell you more when we have time. There are some things you are going to need to know. Right now, I need your organizational skills."

"Tell me what you need, Harry." She replied at once.

"I'm going to look in on the DA members and tell them how well they've done. They deserve that, at least. While I'm doing that, please get on to DMLE and tell them I want someone trustworthy and competent, Jane Twelvetrees if she's available, to start an urgent investigation into the associates and activities of Benjamin Bulstrode."

"The man's dead, Harry." She said, puzzled.

"Yes, he is." Harry said, heavily. "We never did find out all of what he was doing for the Russians. He certainly had some hand in what just happened here. He was the one who was trying to keep me out of the ICW meeting. They've been plotting this for a long time. We got very lucky here, Hermione. It was a very close run thing. I'd really like to know if they have any other wands up their sleeves. As the dragon hunters say it, check six before you go in."

Hermione nodded, thoughtfully. "I'll get on to that right away."

"I thought you didn't like Twelvetrees." She added.

"Like her? I don't know about that." Harry said. "She went through Hell over the investigation into Sirius, and she didn't give an inch. Respect her? Yes. That I do."

They arrived at the hospital entrance, and Hermione headed off toward the Communications section of the HQ, making a list in her mind of the things that needed to be done and the messages that needed to be sent, and who best to send them to.

Jane was sitting at her desk, working on a report that was from her "catch up on when I have time" pile and listening to the news on the Wireless, when the memo flew in and dropped on her desk. It emitted a brief, loud drum beat. Jane looked up right away and tapped it with her wand. That drumbeat meant urgent, and important.

The memo was from the desk of the Director, Magical Law Enforcement. It said, "Twelvetrees, Crusher. My office, forthwith. K.S."

Jane stared down at it for a few seconds, then said, "Big John!" and held it up over the low partition between their desks so that he could read it.

"Dragonshit." She heard him say. She patted her pockets to make sure she had everything, grabbed her hat and legged it for the elevator, Big John right beside her.

On the way to the elevator, Big John asked, "What the Hell, Jane?"

"Beats me black and blue." Jane replied, sincerely. "We put paid on the Black case. Actually been pretty quiet since then."

"Why do I think we're going to be paying off that bar bill with interest?" He replied.

"Because we are." She replied, tersely.

They took the elevator up to Mahogany Row, where the offices of the Chiefs and Deputy Chiefs were. The Director's office was at the far end of a long corridor. They strode down it without wasting any time, dodging around clerks and messengers on their usual errands and ignoring the irritated or puzzled looks and comments that followed them.

Kingsley Shacklebolt's assistant was another contrast to the surroundings. He was a grizzled old Auror who had been called in from retirement. His prosthetic leg and eyepatch explained why he wasn't out in the field.

"Go on in." Was his terse greeting.

Jane and Big John went on in, and she immediately wondered what was in the wind and how much trouble it was going to mean for her and Big John. The occupants of the office were Kingsley Shacklebolt himself and Amelia Bones, the Minister of Public Safety.

"Jane, John, please take a seat." Shacklebolt said, briskly. "You aren't in any trouble."

Feeling relieved at that, Jane took one of the seats in front of the desk, while Big John pulled another one over from against the wall.

"You're aware of what's been happening in Canada." Bones said. It wasn't a question. If there was a non-muggle who didn't know, he was probably in a cell at Azkaban.

"The Warlock is going to be sitting an ICW Security Council meeting to try to decide what in Merlin's bloody name they are going to do about this." She continued.

Jane and Big John exchanged glances. There were times when Jane was glad to be just an Auror doing her job, and this was certainly one of them. If Russia had been a person, they would have been arrestable for enough charges to keep them in Azkaban until they were dead. How you could slap Incarcerous on a whole country and read it a caution was quite beyond her.

"Where that concerns us," Amelia Bones took up the conversation. "Is that we have a very urgent request from the Warlock to do an investigation. Quietly, thoroughly, but above all as quickly as possible. Your name was specifically mentioned, Auror Twelvetrees. It seems you made an impression on him."

Jane remembered the shouting match in Potter's office and wondered just what kind of an impression the Minister was talking about, then hauled her mind back to business.

"Investigation into what, Minister?" She asked, politely.

"Benjamin Bulstrode." She replied.

Jane forebore to look dense with obvious comments about Bulstrode being dead. That had been all over the Prophet, and the rumour mill too. "Excuse me, Minister, but how does Bulstrode connect to what's been going on in Canada?"

"This is to be kept strictly confidential." She replied evenly. "Even within MLE. Bulstrode sold out to the Russians. We found evidence of some of his dealings with a man named Dmitri Veronoff, who is a very high level Russian agent. He actively sabotaged our position in the ICW, specifically by trying to prevent the Warlock from attending the ICW Security Council meeting that authorized the Canadian deployment."

Jane thought hard, trying to get her head around the implications. "Was there an investigation done at the time?"

"No." Shacklebolt replied. He nodded toward Bones. "The Minister passed me the file, but before anything could be done about it the man committed suicide, so it was simply closed."

It wasn't Jane's place to second-guess that call, but she didn't think she would have decided any differently. Things were getting slowly better, but the Corps was still overworked, and it had been worse then.

"May we have that file, sir?" Jane asked.

"Yes. Here it is. It was found in his desk, not hidden." Shacklebolt replied, and put it on the desk in front of her. It wasn't a DMLE case file, but a thick folder with the Magical Cooperation crest on it.

"We need to look into his activities before his death to see what he was involved with beyond trying to keep the Warlock from attending the ICW Security Council meeting, who else might have suborned by the Russians, and what other threats to the Realm you can find." The Minister continued.

"Report directly to and only to me." Shacklebolt said. "If anyone else questions your activities, refer them to me. I don't know if the Russians have anyone in MLE, but there is a wrong way to find out."

"We'll need a warrant for his house, Sir." Crusher said, flipping out a notebook.

Bones took a sheet of parchment from the Director's desk, wrote on it briefly and signed it. Then she tapped it with her wand, and there were two sheets where there had been one before. She handed one each to Jane and Big John.

"Ministerial warrants. That will cover his house, office, bank accounts, safe deposit boxes, and anything else relevant at your discretion." She said, briskly.

"Thank you, Minister." Jane said, carefully.

"You can thank me by being quick, Auror Twelvetrees. We have very little time on this. If the Russians are going to do anything, they have no reason to delay."

Jane nodded and said "By your leave, Minister, Director.", and picked up the file folder. They left without waiting for a reply.

"I was bloody fool enough to get out of bed this morning." Big John said, wryly.

"I'd just about mended fences with some people, too." Jane replied, just as wryly. "Now I'm going to be telling them that we want the impossible in an hour, and no, they can't know why."

While they waited for the elevator, Jane took a quick riffle through the file folder they had been handed by the Minister. Ideally, they would have been able to take the time to go through that folder and separate out the useful leads from the dragon droppings. Ideally had taken a Portkey to the beach.

One thing she did get from that quick look. Bulstrode was a hoarder of paper. He kept everything. Along with the stuff that could have put him in Azkaban, there were notes and doodles of no particular import.

Make three copies of everything and keep one for yourself to cover your ass. Jane thought. It was a bureaucratic reflex, and Bulstrode had evidently had it in spades.

"Where do we start, Jane?" Big John asked, gruffly.

She closed the file and tapped it with her finger. "Bulstrode was a paper hoarder, Big John, and this was just what was in his desk drawer when he got caught out. If the big wands are right about him being up to more, then he would have kept records of what else he was up to. If he had any sense, he'd have hidden them somewhere."

"Makes sense." Big John said. "We'll need to cover his home and office for a start."

"You take his house, Big John. Check for magical and physical hidey-holes." She replied at once. "I've got his old offices."

Big John patted the pocket where the Ministerial warrant was, nodded, and got off the elevator at the main floor atrium. Jane stayed on it and rode down the the lower levels where Magical Cooperation had their offices.

Magic could put almost limitless amounts of room into small objects. Newt Scamander had famously carried around a whole menagerie of magical creatures in a briefcase. That magic was very well known, as was the spell to detect the presence of such hidey-holes. Aurors all got taught that spell in their first year training.

Some villains thought they were being clever by not using magic, but instead making stashes that were physically hidden. Magic could be used to create them, but they weren't detectable because the magic didn't linger. Finding such hiding places came down to careful searching and the use of Supersensory. The weakness of such hoards was that people would go back and open them again, sometimes just to make sure they were still there. That left traces. It was the spin of a Galleon which way Bulstrode might have gone in making such a choice.

She walked down the hallway to the Magical Cooperation offices and through the door. The main area had a lot of cubicles, some looking rather recent, as if the tempo had picked up recently. There were some signs that she didn't understand. Non-Proliferation Working Group was over in a corner. Russian Affairs was in another. The Director's Office was plain enough, with the Undersecretary's right alongside of it.

The desk in the outer office in front of the Director's office was occupied by a starchy-looking individual, identified by the name plate on his desk as Alaric Wishbone.

"May I help you?" He asked.

"Auror Jane Twelvetrees." Jane replied, flicking her wand to show her badge. "I need to see the Director on an urgent matter."

"Due respect, Auror, but the Director is very busy just now, what with all that's going on abroad. I'll need a little more than that." The tone was polite but unyielding. Trying to bull her way past him would attract attention, which was not a good idea.

She glanced at the name plate on the door to the Director's inner office. "Arthur Weasley, Director", it read. Right, he'd been put in as the new broom to clean house. He was also well known to be the next thing to a foster father to Harry Potter.

"Please tell the Director that this is a matter concerning the safety of the Warlock personally." She said, carefully.

Wishbone raised an eyebrow fractionally and said, "One moment, Auror."

He got up, knocked on the office door and put his head inside. Jane didn't hear the conversation that followed, but shortly after that he turned back to her and said, "The Director will see you now."

Jane went on in and shut the door behind her. Weasley was a red-headed man, medium sized and cheerful looking.

"What can I do for you, Auror?" He asked.

"I am here to do an investigation into Benjamin Bulstrode." She said, politely.

"I rather thought that he was a dead issue." Weasley replied. The tone added "good riddance" to that statement.

Jane made a mental note that the cheerful exterior concealed some hidden depths. "He was. I've been asked to re-open the matter. Quietly."

"To see what else he may have been doing for the Russians?" Weasley replied.

"Yes." Jane replied, guardedly. "Time is of the essence."

"You can speak freely." Weasley replied. "I was here when he was dismissed from his post, and I know what is in that file folder you now have. I saw it before it was passed it to the Minister."

"In the light of recent events," Jane gestured toward the Wireless set in the corner, on at low volume. "I have been directed to look further into his activities. I would like to check your office, as it was formerly his, for any hidden compartments. I have some reason to believe that he might have hidden documents concerning his activities here."

"Of course." Was the unhesitating reply. Weasley got out of his chair immediately.

Jane cast detection spells on all the surfaces of the office and came up empty. The same for the desk, after asking whether it was the same one, which it was. A few questions established that what possessions Bulstrode hadn't removed himself had gone right afterwards. Weasley hadn't wanted any reminder of his predecessor, which shocked Jane not at all.

A careful check of the wood paneling and the floor tiles got her nothing, either. They moved next door to the Undersecretary's office. Jane didn't need to be a detective to deduce that the redheaded occupant of that office was Arthur Weasley's son. Percy Weasley was as cooperative as his father, for all that got them, and a similar search turned up nothing.

The peal of the bell rang down the entrance hall of Bulstrode Manor. The maid who answered the door looked up at the big man at the door with an expression of trepidation.

"Auror Sergeant Crusher. I wish to speak to Mrs. Bulstrode at once. I have a warrant."

When the maid led him into the receiving room, he was greeted by a middle aged woman with streaks of grey in her dark hair. She was attired in a plain black dress, with no jewelry or makeup.

"Auror Sergeant Crusher, Ma'am." The maid said formally, bobbing a curtsey.

"Thank you, Melissa." Mrs. Bulstrode said, dismissively. The maid dipped another curtsey and left hastily.

Mrs. Bulstrode regarded Crusher angrily.

"What is your business here?" She demanded abruptly.

"I am here to conduct an investigation into your husband, ma'am, including a search of this house under a warrant." He said.

"My husband is dead!" She hurled the words at him, bitterly. "Haven't you taken enough from us?"

Crusher said nothing, but his bleak merciless expression spoke volumes. After a few moments, she bowed her head. "Search where you will. His study is that way."

Crusher nodded, then strode down the hallway to the door at the end of it. The crime scene tape across the locked door told its own tale. This was the room where Bulstrode had died.

Crusher cast Alohamora and flicked his wand against the crime scene tape, then entered. There was no sign that anyone had entered the room since the investigators had finished here and the body had been removed. The evidence of where he had died was all over the ceiling.

The room was fitted up as a study and library, with an ornate desk and shelves of books. There were comfortable reading chairs under magical lamps. The carpet was old and well worn.

Crusher began with the desk, and checking the drawers, found a small hidden compartment that held a wand in a leather case. He didn't know what that might mean. It wasn't illegal to have extra wands, but it wasn't very common, either. He took it, and kept looking.

His next step was to cast spells methodically on the bookshelves. On the second set of shelves, he got a hit. One of the books on the shelf glowed a bright yellow when the spell hit it.

He levitated the book off the shelf and cast a series of diagnostic spells on it. Satisfied that it was not trapped or set to destroy its contents, he tried to open it but didn't succeed. The usual run of unlocking spells didn't work. On a hunch, he cast the unlocking spell with the wand that had been hidden in Bulstrode's desk. It fell open right away.

Inside it there was a collection of papers. Looking through them, they seemed to relate to the development of a spell. Bulstrode had evidently paid someone handsomely to do it in quick time. The spell itself would be good for a charge of Burglarious Magic. It was designed to disable one ward in a set without triggering an alarm, as would normally happen. There were other such spells, but this one was more sophisticated and would work against more than one type of ward. He looked through the rest of the papers, but that was all. The name of the wizard who had developed that spell was not there.

Crusher thought about it, then decided that he was going to head back to the Barn. They could send the Forensic Magic Squad out here to turn the house inside out, but he had a hunch that this was what he was looking for. He cast spells on the rest of the book cases just to be sure, but found nothing else.

He closed the book again, and left, energizing the crime scene tape behind him and locking the door. That room would once again be off limits to anyone not an Auror or passed through by one.

He had a piece of the puzzle. Bulstrode had wanted to get into, or let someone into, a heavily warded area where he was most definitely not authorized to be. Where that might be he had no idea. Hopefully, Jane would have better luck than he had.

Jane stood in the offices of Magical Cooperation, thinking hard. It was a reasonable theory that Bulstrode's stash, if it existed, was in an area that only he would have access to. That ruled out most of the offices. She had covered the Undersecretary's office on the grounds that he would certainly have know what Bulstrode was into. Running down Bulstrode's former Undersecretary would take time they didn't have.

"Is there any place where only the Director would have access?" She asked, thinking out loud more than anything.

"Well, there is the Director's private loo." Percy Weasley replied.

Jane snapped her head around to look at him. "He's the only one who can use it?"

"That's right, Auror. It's keyed to the wand of the Director, won't open to anyone else." He replied.

"Director Weasley, can you get me in there?" She said.

He shook his head, regretfully. "Never been able to get in there myself. Building Services was going to rekey it, but they never got round to it. Wasn't my highest priority, or theirs either."

Nice. She thought. If anyone thinks about it, it's just some arcane bit of bureaucratic privilege, like having a carpet in front of your desk to call people on. The next question is, where is Bulstrode's wand?

Bulstrode's case had been cleared as a suicide, so there had been no reason to hang on to his effects, and they would have been returned to his family. The next question was whether that wand even still existed any more. Casting Bomabarda Maxima with the wand tip right up against something, or someone in this case, would destroy the wand along with whatever it was up against.

She debated trying to get into the lavatory by brute force, but she was loath to do that. If there was some sort of trap or self-destruct on whatever cache was in that loo, that would be a great way to trip it.

Damn. Right now would be a great time for someone to invent the magic equivalent of the muggle cell phone. She thought, bitterly. She just wasn't that good with a Patronus. If he knew, Big John could ask those questions of Bulstrode's widow.

She was still looking at the lavatory door and considering whether to risk casting some diagnostic spells, when she heard someone come up behind her.

"You could use the staff loo down the hall if you're desperate, you know." The voice was Big John's, and the jocular tone said that he'd found something.

"What have you got?" She said, smiling welcome.

"Hidey-hole in his library, with a bunch of papers on some kind of a ward-cracking spell that he'd paid off an arithmancer to develop for him. Pricey. On the QT, illegal, and quick as kiss your hand, too."

She nodded. "You did better than I did. This loo is keyed to his wand, and I don't know where that is or if it was destroyed. If we just crash in there, I'm afraid we'll trip a trap of some kind."

"We could try this one." Big John replied, pulling out a wand case from his pocket. "Found it in his desk. The hidey-hole was keyed to it, wouldn't open for just any wand."

"Well." She said. "Let's see if we get lucky."

Big John didn't even have to cast a spell. As he approached, the polished wooden door swung open and a dulcet female voice said, "Welcome, Director" in an apple-polishing tone.

The wand was the key, all right. The secret compartment in the lavatory opened to it, and it was a pretty good size. There was a lot of parchment in there, but the item on top was what caught Jane's eye almost immediately.

It was a thick book. The title was "Ward Specifications and Design for Hebrides Dragon Reservation." Jane picked it up and opened it. As advertised on the cover, it gave the complete plans for all the wards and safeguards around that Reservation, one of the most secure places in all the Realm. There was no way in the Realm Bulstrode had any legitimate reason to have that.

The same thought occurred to both of them simultaneously. Plans for a heavily warded area, and a custom designed spell to crack those wards.

"Merlin's balls." Big John snarled. "We've got to get the word out."

Jane grabbed the book and the spell papers, and shouted to the Weasleys, "Guard that room until Aurors get there. Deadly magic is authorized!"

As they ran past the Weasleys toward the elevators, she made to stop, to ensure that they knew.

He waved her on. "Go! We've got this."

They set a blistering pace to the elevators. She just hoped that she could get the warning out in time.

Chapter 41: Chapter 41 The First Knots

Chapter 41 The First Knots

They set forth once more against the frowning dark citadel of Riddle's mind. Sir Francis Walsingham led the way against it, with Albus Dumbledore at his shoulder and the other Guardians in a phalanx at their back. This time there was no scattering to attack different weak points. The road to the centre of Riddle's personality, and the secret, now no longer a secret, that waited there was by now known to all of them.

The cold wariness of the Guardians was no less for that. They came to a three dimensional knot of intersecting corridors and paused to take stock. Of the half dozen corridors that led away from this junction, only one was the right one. The others led into mazes of infinite complexity or scorched chambers full of swirling chaos. The direction in which that one right passage led changed unpredictably.

"This way." John Dee said, and led on. The others followed him without question. Dee's wizardry with memory spells augmented his already excellent memory for fine detail. They picked their way down the passage, stepping carefully to keep their feet as the stones shifted randomly under them.

Dee held up his hand, and the Guardians stopped, on the alert with their wands out. A huge stone block began to move to block the passageway, with a slow grinding sound. Legilimens came a chorus of voices from the Guardians, and the block stopped and slowly receded back into the wall.

"Dame Stella, Angus Walters, do you stay here and ensure that this passage remains open." Sir Francis said evenly. The two Guardians nodded acceptance and stationed themselves on each side of the corridor, wands at the ready.

The rest of them pressed on, moving watchfully and treading carefully. They came to the door, which appeared as two heavy iron bound timber gates in a stone archway. Two of the Guardians faced out in each direction, alert to any hint of a threat.

"Legilimens" came a chorus of voices from the Guardians, and the door trembled. Dust billowed out and a grinding sound told of a bar being raised slowly and grudgingly against strong resistance. The bar fell to the stone floor with a crash, and the doors swung slowly open to the room of the Horcruxes.

Sir Francis stepped warily into the room, scanning its eerily red-lit interior. The room remained as it had been when they discovered it, though the atmosphere was darker and more foreboding.

After a long moment, Sir Francis nodded and said, "Albus, thy work may begin. We shall stand sentry whilst thou untangle these riddles. Merlin hath assured me that time shall flow the more gently this while, and we shall be watchful on thy behalf."

Albus Dumbledore walked slowly up to the nearest knot of the nearest Horcrux. He stood silent for a minute or so, looking intently at the knot. He flicked his wand, and the link vibrated, emitting a deep ominous note. Dumbledore listened until it died away.

Then he cast the first spell. A white glow started where his wand struck the link to the Horcrux, then ran slowly along the length of the link to the knot that attached it to the wall. More slowly still it moved along through the intricate twists and turns of the knot, until it emerged again and hung in the air for a moment. Then it began moving again, outlining in white light the structure of the knot. Dumbledore again stared at it intently for a long time, then at the flick of his wand it rotated so that he could see all the details.

He nodded again, then cast another spell. The parts of the knot moved away from each other, so that the individual details could be seen.

"Even the secondary links of a Horcrux are too strong to snap by main force. Cutting the Gordian knot is not an option." Dumbledore said, speaking his thoughts aloud. "Now, if the spell was cast without error, the end would meld back upon itself, like a rope spliced into itself, and there would be no weak point."

He smiled grimly. "What have we here, Tom?"

At the point where the end of the link met the main shaft, buried deeply within the knot, the end joined to it again. It was not a neat smooth melding. The end spread out into strands that wrapped around the main shaft. The join was rough, ragged and irregular.

"Here we have a weak point. Good." At the gesture of Albus' wand, the image of the knot was moved off to one side.

"How do we go on, Albus?" Sir Francis asked, his alertness unwavering.

"One weak point I have identified. We have two more knots. They will each be different problems. We shall see." Albus replied, his tone of a man concentrating his whole mind on a single task.

The creaks and groans as the heavy door tried to close and was forced back by the Guardians might as well not have been there for all that Albus Dumbledore paid any attention to them.

As before, Dumbledore began by striking the link and listening carefully to the deep note that action evoked. The structure of the next knot was different. The meld back into the main shaft was smooth in this one, but the holes in the wall that bore the strain had two of them failed and the third was thin and rough edged. The image of that knot joined its fellows hanging in the air.

The third knot was better protected. His spell was twice disrupted as he sought to tease out the structure of it, but the third succeeded. Here, too, there was a weak spot. The main line had an imperfection, a thin spot followed by a bulge, as if it had begun to fail under the unrelenting strain.

"Ah." Dumbledore said, his voice now holding quiet satisfaction. "Haste makes waste, Tom. It is always a good idea to check your work."

Dumbledore pulled up a square hanging in the air, like a slate with a margin of white light. He headed it "Knot # 1", then wrote on it with his wand in letters of cool white, that stood out clearly against the ominous red tinged gloom. After a few minutes, he scanned down what he had written from the top.

"John. Check me, if you please." Dumbledore had to raise his voice somewhat over the creaking and grinding from the doors, and the voices of the Guardians casting spells to hold them open.

John Dee came to stand by him, and read carefully down the spell from the beginning. About half way down, he tapped a string of arithmantic symbols. "Albus, is this function correctly formulated?"

Albus scanned the symbols again, and nodded. "No. It needs to be closed properly. Well done."

Dumbledore wiped out the set of symbols, paused to think, and then wrote again. Dee read the symbols again, paused for thought, and nodded approval.

So it went, careful patient work in the dark red gloom of the Horcrux chamber, while the effort to keep the doors to the chamber open increased and the red gloom of the chamber began to flicker irregularly. The inner wall of the chamber, steady and stable until now, began to pulsate irregularly. The red lights in the darkness of the Horcrux links began to move faster, going back and forth from the eye-baffling darkness into which they led.

Satisfied with the three spells that he had created, Dumbledore cast them one by one on the knots of the Horcrux links. They slid along the surface of the links, slowly working their way into the structure of the knots, until the black complexity of each knot was outlined in a glow of white light from inside it.

Albus checked them each carefully, comparing them with the images of the internal structure of the knots still hanging in the air, then nodded.

"Sir Francis, I am ready. Best would be, I think, if all was in readiness to depart, and that forthwith." Albus said, in an even voice that was an overlay on tension as great as that on the Horcrux links.

Walsingham nodded, and said to the rest, "Stand ready. I think we have had enough of the hospitality here, and I for one have no wish to linger."

He cast a Patronus with a message down the corridor to Dame Stella and Angus Walter.

"We are ready, Albus." He said.

Dumbledore stood still for a moment, then spread his arms wide and swept them up to hold his wand in both hands above his head. The white glow of power gathered around him, until it lit up the whole chamber and drove the red gloom into the corners and shadows. Then his wand slashed down in a gesture as quick as a whiplash.

"Facere OMNIA!" Dumbledore's voice rang through the room, and from the three knots there was a blinding explosion of white light. The white light grew brighter and brighter, and a frying sizzling sound came from them, rising in intensity. Along with that, they heard a rising agonized scream, as of a woman in mortal agony.

The Guardians took cover behind the doors and out in the corridor. Dumbledore alone did not move, until Sir Francis yanked him roughly by the shoulder and threw him through the door. Scarcely was he through the door when the room was lit by blinding white light and three shattering CRACKs smashed out into the corridor, followed by a THUMP as of a tremendous weight falling from a great height.

Dumbledore and Walsingham looked back into the room through the archway, its doors shattered and flung back and the inner wall pitted. Through the dust, they saw that where the Horcrux link had been there was only an irregular seam in the wall.

"A good beginning, Albus." Walsingham said, judiciously. "What was that screaming? The sacrifice that he made to make this Horcrux?"

"I know that voice." Dumbledore replied. "The Ghost of Ravenclaw tower, she who was in life Helena Ravenclaw. In death as in life she was bound to the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw. We have, I think, solved the mystery of what object that Horcrux was bound to. Hogwarts will be one ghost the fewer."

"There is always a price, Albus. Always." Walsingham replied. The structure of the door began to warp and twist, as the inner wall's pulsations increased.

"For now, we must make haste." The Guardians picked their way along the corridor, even more unstable than it had been before.

"Think you that the Diadem was destroyed?" Sir Francis said as they picked their way along the corridor.

"Physically, perhaps not." Dumbledore replied. "But there would have been a terrible backlash of dark magic through it. Wherever it lies, I doubt if it is anything more than a piece of jewelry now."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I knew that it was one of the objects that he coveted, but I thought it was for its legendary powers. I was wrong. He made a trap out of it. Whoever might find it would be sorely tempted to set it on his head, to use its powers. When they did ..."

"Riddle's soul would possess him." Walsingham said.

"Just as he did with Ginny Weasley and the diary. But more quickly and surely. Riddle made the diary when he was sixteen."

The Guardians came up to the sixfold junction and paused to take stock. They whirled with their wands out as the image of a face appeared on the stone wall. It was the face of Tom Riddle, haggard and drawn, with the mask of torment written across his arrogant snake-like visage.

"What have you done?" Riddle's voice came from everywhere at once.

Sir Francis smiled wolfishly. "Whatever a man may gain or lose in this world, his soul is his own. We have returned to thee somewhat of thine own. Thou'rt welcome, boy."

The reply was a scream of insane rage. "I am Voldemort the Undying! I still have many Horcruxes. I will return!"

"Four is not many, Tom. As I have often told you, precision in the use of words is necessary for a wizard who would undertake strong magic." Dumbledore's voice was mellow and even, as it was when he had taught classes at Hogwarts.

"You caught me unawares once, old man. You will not do so twice. Try it again, and you will die." Riddle screamed.

"I am already dead, Tom." Albus replied. "You should know. You killed me. It availed you nothing. My power came to a more worthy heir. The immortality you sought so feverishly only condemned you to unending agony and endless imprisonment.This much mercy am I granted, that my shade can seek to make atonement for my many failings."

"Now!" John Dee said, sharply, and the junction of the passage stabilized under the impact of a half dozen spells.

"Quickly." Dee added sharply.

The Guardians began to file into the tunnel. Dumbledore glanced after them, then returned his attention to Riddle. "Oh, and as to your immortality, Tom, that too is fatally flawed. I fear that I must give you a D in your use of magic in Horcruxes. Your work truly was dreadful. You were rushed and sloppy, you failed to check your spells for errors, and your wand work was absolutely sub-standard. Those links will fail in time no matter whether we come back or not. We just hurried the process along."

He turned to join the line of Guardians filing into the tunnel. "There will be no re-write on this exam, Tom. Ta-ta. See you soon."

"The work was well done, Albus, but we have yet much to do." Sir Francis Walsingham said as the Guardians went down the passage that led out of the complex maze of Riddle's mind.

"All too true." Dumbledore replied. "Three of the Horcruxes remaining are linked to physical objects. Valuable perhaps, but their loss is no great tragedy. I suspected that there might be a backlash, and the fate of Helena Ravenclaw's ghost confirmed that."

"What of the Warlock's Horcrux?" Walsingham replied.

"Yes. That Horcrux is not like the others, and I made sure that I was not attacking it before I began my work. There we have a very serious problem. The Warlock has defences, and we would of course warn him before any attempt was made against it. Still, it would be dangerous to him."

"How dangerous?" Walsingham replied, gravely.

Dumbledore shook his head. "That there is danger I can say with certainty. How much danger, that I do not know enough to measure."

"Can we learn more as we attack the other Horcruxes?" Walsingham said.

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "I think that is possible, though it would need to be well planned and carefully executed. I would need help. It would certainly make the work more difficult and time consuming."

"Our time is the Realm's, Albus, now as it was in life." Sir Francis replied. "We advise the Warlock. That information we must have to give him the best possible advice in a very difficult decision."

He looked thoughtful, then added, "What you said to Riddle, about his work being flawed and apt to failure, given time. That would apply to the Warlock's Horcrux, as well?"

"Yes, almost certainly it would." Dumbledore replied grimly. "Even more so. The other Horcruxes, for those he had time to complete the ritual to make them. That one was an accident."

"How much time do we have?" Sir Francis asked.

"A good question." Dumbledore replied. "For which I do not have a good answer."

"The Warlock's Horcrux will fail, unpredictably, and the results will be very bad. So, to do nothing is the worst decision. Well, that is no news to any of us, Albus. No news at all." Walsingham quickened the pace as they emerged from Riddle's mind.

Chapter 42: Chapter 42 Security Breach

Chapter 42 Security Breach

Dmitri Veronoff sat in his seat, alone. There were no more orders to give, no more messages to send. He had failed. Again. Potter had defeated him. Again. He had no doubt that Potter would seek retribution against Russia and against him personally, but he would have his vengeance on Dmitri Veronoff without raising a hand or casting a spell. Weakness was a capital offence in the politics of Magical Russia, and failure meant weakness.

The prospect of tribute from the nations of the ICW was all that held his own alliance together, and with that gone it would shatter like a dropped plate. It was the toss of a ruble whether his death would come from an ally or an enemy, not that there was ever much difference in Russia's politics.

It would not be long before the news of that failure came to his enemies in Russia. It would take longer for them to combine against him, for even that much trust was hard come by in Russia, but they would.

He straightened again in his chair. There was one last thing he could do. If victory was beyond his grasp, vengeance was not. He could exact a price for his defeat, ensure that Potter and Britain, yes and their allies, too, paid dearly for it.

He wrote a note and signed it, then handed it to the silent man and said, "The Chief of Cheka."

With a nod, the messenger was gone.

Toland Wanderlust came up to the duty station at the Hebrides Dragon Reservation and waved a casual greeting to Andy Wellspring, the Day Shift dragon handler. "How goes it, Andy?"

"Quiet for once, Tolly. They're all fed and bedded, no problems on the shift. Twenty-seven is still brooding her eggs. They should hatch soon, so you'll want to keep an eye on that. Mostly I've been listening to the Wireless. Can you believe what's been happening in Canada?"

Toland nodded. The temper of dragons was uncertain at the best of times, and a female brooding her eggs wasn't the best of times. For what he intended, that was actually good news.

"Is hard to believe, isn't it? Right, then, Andy. I've got the shift. Got any plans for your days off?" He said genially.

"Portkey to London, then home and hug my kids. I don't get to do enough of that." Wellspring turned and walked toward the stairs down from the stone tower.

"Avada Kedavra." Toland's Killing Curse hit Wellspring square in the back and he died instantly, never knowing what had hit him. Wanderlust dragged the body over to the small cubby where the tea things were, and stuffed it in out of sight. Ripping open Wellpring's shirt, he took the hexagonal locket from around his neck.

He took a small stone circular object out of his pocket. It was engraved with serpentine patterns. He placed it in the middle of the floor, well away from anything else, tapped it with his wand and stepped back quickly.

Two minutes later multiple bangs accompanied the arrival of six burly men around the Portkey target on the floor, their hands on the large stone counterpart to the small stone sigil on the floor. They were dressed in dark leather clothing and had their wands out.

"Dobriy vyecher, tovarisch." The leader, a hard faced black bearded man, said. "Is all ready?"

"Yes." Wanderlust replied. He held up the locket. "Security key. It will get you though the wards. You can have it as soon as I get my money."

A brief smile flickered across the leader's face. "Pay the man, Dmitri."

One of the men behind him reached into his long leather overcoat, and with his attention fixed on him Wanderlust was too late seeing the leader's wand come up. "Avada Kedavra."

Wanderlust died just as quickly as the man who had thought he was a friend. Anton Petrov of the Russian Cheka's Third Directorate stepped over to the body, yanked off the security locket from around Toland's neck and pocketed it.

"The alarm." He said, curtly. One of the men moved quickly to tap his wand against a large red rune at one side of a board that had an array of different runes on it.

A screaming sound that no one was going to ignore or sleep through swept through the Reservation. It was followed by a female voice saying "Dragon loose. Dragon loose."

It was only half a minute later that the door to the room slammed open and four more people came running into the room. They died with expressions of shocked surprise on their faces and their wands still sheathed. The invaders acted with cold efficiency to take the security lockets and snap the wands of their victims.

Petrov made an energetic gesture toward the door and said, "Borbeayda."

The six men went down the stairs at a run. Four of them headed for the perimeter of the Hebrides Dragon Reservation. The other two headed for the dragon cages themselves.

A minute later, the first shout of "Bombardirovat!" rang out, as the first of the nodes that formed the outer ring of defenses was smashed into uselessness.

Petrov cast "Bombardirovat!" for the twentieth time and watched the stone carvings of the rune shatter into fragments when a sudden feeling of unease brought him around with his wand up.

"Avada Kedavra." he shouted, but his cast was hasty and it missed the big man who threw a powerful Bombarda in response. His cast was close enough to pelt Petrov with debris and drive him to take cover. His attention focused on one opponent, he was too late when he heard a female voice on his flank shout Diffindo Maxima. Her cast did not miss.

Ilya Smirnov and Anton Gorbachev were not friends, because the Action Cells of the Cheka were watched carefully to ensure that such human weaknesses did not take root among them. They did have a measure of mutual trust that each would cover the other in a fight.

The Action Cell's plan had left the Apparation wards of the Reservation intact, because that would hinder reinforcements arriving, and make it harder for them to find and fight the Cell if they did. It would, of course, also prevent the Cell members from escaping if the mission went wrong. All being well, the Cell would carry out their mission and be gone before the English knew what hit them. To a man, the Cell members considered that assumption to be a potion dream. The members of the Action Cells had little regard for their own lives, but they did care for their mission.

An explosion of English voices shouting Bombarda, Diffindo and Reducto from the direction of the Portkey terminal told them that reinforcements had arrived to back up the two deadly fighters who had already killed the Cell Leader and one of the others. Smirnov thought it most unlikely that those two were Aurors. The English Aurors were trained to stun their captives and read them a caution. These two were using deadly spells with unhesitating cold precision.

They looked at each other and shared the same thought. They were not going to live to reach the Portkey terminal for the Reservation, but they could ensure that the English paid a steep price for their deaths.

Two Bombardirovat drove the English to take cover. That would not last, but it would buy them a few heartbeats. Smirnov and Gorbachev took off running toward the heart of the Reservation.

Big John cast Supersensory and looked out from the shattered stone wall that he had taken cover behind, and saw the two figures running hard, zigzagging in and out among the wreckage that the Reservation was now littered with.

"They're getting away, Jane! We can't let them escape." He shouted.

Oh my God. Jane thought, as she realized which direction the Russians were running. If they had been trying to escape, they would have been running for the edge of the Reservation, where they would be beyond the ward and could Apparate. Instead they were running deeper into the reservation, toward its most secure area. Toward the dragon enclosure.

"Escape is not their plan, Big John." She replied in an eerily calm voice. "They're going for the enclosure."

After one shocked instant, Jane and Big John took off in pursuit of the Russians. They dodged and wove as the Russians cast spells behind them to slow their pursuers, and threw their own spells whenever they had a target, however fleeting. They would need a lot of luck to score a hit, running hard themselves and casting at elusive moving targets, but luck was all they had left. They were out of time.

Jane dove for cover as a Bombarda Maxima hit close aboard, pelting her with rocks and dirt and leaving her ears ringing. It took her a few moments to regain her senses and get reoriented.

"Big John!" She shouted.

"Here!" She heard his reassuring bass from over on her right. He was in cover somewhere there.

"Cover me!" Jane shouted, and waited for the first of Big John's Bombarda Maxima before she made her run to the next piece of cover, a small outbuilding. She looked out, hoping to find a target instead of simply casting in the direction of the Russians to drive them to cover.

She saw them, out in the open for no reason that she could fathom. The two Russians were casting, not at her or Big John, but at the wards on the enclosure, the inner and final defence of the Reservation. She did not understand the Russian spells that they cast, but she could see the effect. Each of the spells hit a node of the enclosure, wreathing it in evil-looking green fire the colour of a Killing Curse.

Jane watched in horror as the fire crawled along the chain of wards in each direction, destroying them as it went. The clear hemispherical nimbus that marked the barrier that held the dragons of the Reservation imprisoned began to show faded spots, larger and larger as the fire consumed ward after ward.

Jane and Big John ran toward the Russians recklessly, casting as they went. One of Big John's powerful Bombarda Maxima struck right between the two Russians, and flung them away, disabled if not dead outright.

They arrived at the edge of the Enclosure, gasping for breath and barely able to stand for exhaustion, to see the dragons of the Reservation emerging from their caves, looking around, then mounting to the sky as they realized that there was no longer a barrier to contain them.

Jane watched the green fire vanish around the circle of the Enclosure wards, and mentally cursed Bulstrode to the lowest depths of a traitor's hell, with whoever in the Reservation had sold out for company. The thunder of dragon wings was all around them, and Jane ducked behind the first piece of cover she could find. It was a gouge in the turf, dug out by one of the many Bombarda spells that had been flung by both sides in this deadly close quarters fight.

She looked up to see that not all of the dragons were climbing away from the enclosure. One of them, a half-grown Norwegian Ridgeback, was coming down toward her. A bolt of fear went through her and she huddled deeper into the hole in the ground.

The dragon came down, closer and closer, and she stared back up at it, frozen and and unable to move.

"Bombarda Maxima!" Jane heard Big John's voice from her right, and saw the spell hit the dragon, causing it to stagger in the air. It hung in the air for a moment, then turned toward Big John. A tongue of flame reached down toward him, but he had time to dodge behind the chunk of stone he was sheltering behind.

"Jane! Run!" He shouted. Jolted out of her stasis, Jane got up and ran back toward the Portkey terminal, heedless of her raw throat and gasping breath. She heard another roar of dragonfire from behind her. Jane turned her head to look, stumbled and fell headlong.

It was as if it happened in slow motion. The dragon hung in the air, its mouth opening wide. Big John stepped out from behind the chunk of stone with his wand Ievelled. Big John's spell flew up as the fire from the dragon's mouth reached down toward him.

The dragon's head snapped back as the spell detonated in its mouth. She saw, just for a moment, Big John's figure silhouetted in the midst of the fire bloom of the dragon's breath. Jane watched as he toppled to the ground, reduced to a blackened cinder.

"Oh, God!" Jane gasped. "Big John, no!"

Jane lay on the ground, winded and exhausted and shocked as the dead dragon collapsed down on the body of its killer.

Jane got up and ran. The Portkey terminal building came closer with nightmare slowness. She saw the other Aurors who had arrived after them running toward the terminal building amid the roar of dragon wings and the sound of flames spreading from where dragons had thrown fire on their way up.

Inside the door she stopped. "Big John."

Maybe he's not dead. Maybe ... She thought, confusedly.

She turned to go back out the door, but another Auror, a green-haired woman Jane didn't know, grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the Portkey. "He's gone. All we can do is get the word out."

She would have protested, but she had grabbed on to the Portkey to steady herself and someone activated it. A few moments of whirling transit later they arrived at the Ministry Portkey terminal.

The staff of the Portkey terminal turned, shocked to see the arrivals stumble off the stage, filthy, exhausted and some of them burned.

Jane stood for a minute or so just shaking, trying to grasp the immensity of what had just happened. Big John was dead. He had died giving her the chance to run for it, and she had. The stab of guilt at that thought was as keen as a Diffindo.

Jane felt herself being shaken, and looked up to see an Auror she didn't know.

"What happened?" He demanded.

"The Russians got agents into the Reservation. Someone sold us out to the Russians. They destroyed the wards on the enclosure. The dragons are loose." She said, wearily.

"How many?" He demanded.

"All of them. They destroyed the whole enclosure. It's gone. They're coming." She said mechanically.

"Oh, my God." He said, and rushed off.

The dragons are coming. The thought rolled around inside her mind until she shook her head. People have to know. We need help.

Help. We need the Warlock. She grabbed on to that thought, ran with it. Perhaps if she got the word out without delay, Big John would not have died for nothing.

"Canada!" She shouted. "I need a Portkey to Canada!"

"Where?" One of the terminal staff replied.

"Wherever the Warlock is!" Jane shouted, hanging on to this one thing that she could do in the midst of this disaster.

The terminal attendant led her over to a many-handled wooden object under a sign that said, "Canadian Ministry of Magic, Main Stage" and under that in red letters, "Official Use Only".

Jane grabbed on to the nearest handle as if it was her last hope of redemption. The attendant tapped her wand and Portkey took her over the Atlantic. It seemed an age before she arrived at the destination, a much smaller terminal, well worn and with only one attendant, a middle aged woman. She looked at Jane, obviously wondering if this mad looking woman was dangerous.

"The Warlock." Jane gasped. "I have an urgent message for the Warlock."

"That Portkey is restricted, Miss." The attendant said, primly.

"Britain is under attack! Dragons!" Jane said, trying to get some semblance of reason back into her voice.

The attendant's face went from dubious to shocked. Given what had happened in the last desperate days, that message was all too believable. She walked Jane over to the Portkey, cast an unlocking charm, and activated it when Jane grabbed the handle.

The transit was a short one, and she arrived in a terminal that had half a dozen people in it, all of them with wands out. Two were dressed in scarlet leather, the other four in plain dark robes with a gold star on the right breast. All of them had their wands out and expressions on their faces that said they were going to cast first and ask questions later.

"Who are you?" One of the black robed ones, a hard faced witch, demanded.

"Auror Jane Twelvetrees. I have an urgent message for the Warlock." Jane said again, terrified that she might lose any of the time that Big John had died to buy.

"What message?" The witch said, skeptically.

"Britain is under attack. We need help." Jane said. She had regained her breath to the point where she wasn't gasping. Distantly she was beginning to realize that she had burns and bruises that were really going to hurt when she got round to noticing them.

"All right." The black robed witch said, grudgingly. She was spun around and searched, roughly and thoroughly, her wand and anything else that might remotely be harmful taken, and she was walked down a well lit corridor with an escort of two black robed wizards.

There were two guards at the door, wearing the scarlet leathers of the CMAF.

"ICW Security Council meeting in progress." Was the forbidding greeting.

"I have to see the Warlock. Britain is under attack." Jane said, yet again, hoping that this would be the last time.

There was an exchange of dubious glances, but they did let her in. The meeting was in session, and the grey-haired man at the head of the table was saying something while pointing his wand to a map of Russia that hung in the air.

At the entrance of Jane and her escort, the man stopped talking in mid-sentence and everyone at the table turned to look at her with expressions of annoyed astonishment.

"Harry." Jane said, speaking in a rush and hoping it wasn't too late.

"Jane? What's wrong?" He said, looking alarmed.

"We were too late. The Russians got into the Hebrides Reservation and they destroyed all the wards. The dragons are on the loose. All of them. I'm sorry. We weren't fast enough. We weren't smart enough." She said.

"How did it happen?" He said, sharply.

"Bulstrode. We found what he'd given the Russians, everything about the Reservation's defenses. We went there to warn them, but we were too late. Please, Harry. We need help." Jane said, trying to keep standing up in spite of knees that kept wanting to buckle.

"The dragons are loose, Harry." She repeated.

Jane had only a second to wonder why the floor was so close before blackness took her.

Chapter 43: Chapter 43 The Return of the Warlock

Chapter 43 The Return of the Warlock

The Wizengamot Chamber was in an uproar, with people shouting at each other and all semblance of proper procedure lost. Speaker Whiffletree was drowned out in his attempts to restore order to the tumult of the Chamber so that vital and urgent decisions could be made. There was desperately little time here, and none at all to waste. The burned and wounded survivors of the Aurors had brought the dire news of the disaster that was coming at them. The Hebrides Dragon Reservation was one of the largest in Europe. It held over two hundred dragons. All of those dragons had been turned loose, set free to attack any magic user or source of magic on sight.

Those dragons were now on the wing, bound for the magical enclaves of Britain to rain fire and destruction down on them. It was as certain as anything could be that many muggles as well as wizards and the Statute of Secrecy itself would perish in that holocaust. Only by grace of the fact that the Hebrides were far to the north of the British Isles did they have the few hours it would take those dragons to fly that far. Arlen Whiffletree was watching that time drain away, minute by priceless minute.

Movement caught his eye, and he turned to look as a group of people came in the main entrance of the Chamber. The first four were men in plain dark robes, wands in their hands. They stationed themselves around the door, scanning the room narrowly, instantly ready to deal summarily with any threat. Their evident leader gestured with his wand, and more people strode into the Chamber. In the lead was Harlan Greengrass, followed by a man dressed in plain black dragon leather, relieved only by touches of gold on one sleeve and the shoulders. Two young women flanked him, one on either side, one dressed in poorly fitting mediwizard's scrubs and the other in the robes of an Auror. Behind him there were men and women, some dressed in scarlet leather and some in dark robes. They bore brooms on their shoulders.

Their entrance went unnoticed by most of the people in the Chamber, rattled and panicky as they were. Arlen turned to try again to restore order, when that was taken out of his hands.

"SILENCE!" The word was so loud that it was an impact, smashing down all lesser sounds to leave a shocked silence behind it. Every eye turned to look at the new arrivals.

"Mr. Speaker. Please call this Chamber to order. There is urgent business here and little time to deal with it." The voice of Harlan Greengrass rang through the Chamber, loud rather than the angry god volume of a powerful Sonorus spell.

Arlen Whiffletree turned to obey without thought at the note of command in that voice.

"The Wizengamot is called to order." Whiffletree said without preamble. "Extraordinary session convened to deal with an existential threat to the Realm."

This was done surprisingly quickly. The Members of the Wizengamot took their seats with the ease of long habit, clutching at this small bit of comfortable familiarity in the peril and chaos that had come upon the Realm.

"Ladies and gentleman. A great peril has come upon the realm. The dragons of the Hebrides Reservation have been loosed on us by the treachery of our enemies. They are on the wing as we speak. We have time, not much, but enough to organize a defence if we use it well. The Guardian of the Realm has returned with help in this dark hour, but we must help ourselves." Harlan Greengrass said in a measured but carrying tone.

Greengrass swept the Chamber with a cool gaze. "It is moved upon the privilege of the Minister that this body place all the resources of the Realm at the disposal of the Guardian of the Realm, that he may thereby be able to meet the peril that comes upon us all."

A hum of voices and comment ran across the rows of benches, punctuated by Amelia Bones' strong voice saying "Second!"

The Speaker stood and said, "The vote ..."

Greengrass' strong voice rolled through the Chamber, overriding Whiffletree and the confused babble of the Members. "Do I hear dissent?"

There was a moment's silence, as the Members of the Wizengamot looked up at the tall figure of Greengrass, his stance and expression conveying iron determination.

As the buzz of conversation began to rise again, he repeated "Do. I. Hear. Dissent?" in a voice near a shout.

Another silence fell, and after a three beat pause he said, "Clerk of the Chamber, let the record show that the motion was passed without dissent."

The Clerk hesitated, then hastily began writing as Greengrass' hard stare fell on him.

Greengrass turned to Harry, and said simply, "Warlock, the resources of the Realm are at your disposal."

"Thank you, Minister." Harry replied firmly. "I need to make a Wireless broadcast to the entire Realm."

The commentator for the British Wireless Corporation was summarily pressed into service and told to set up a broadcast the the entire Realm.

Greengrass went first. "To the people of the Realm I bring a warning. The massive dragon attack upon Canada was defeated. There. The Battle of Canada was fought, and it was won. The foes of the Realm and of our world were defeated, but not destroyed. Still their malice is unabated. With the connivance of traitors from among us, they have destroyed the defences of the Hebrides Reservation and loosed the dragons in it upon the Realm. They are on the wing even as I speak to you now. The Battle of Britain is upon us."

Greengrass paused for effect. "The Realm is not defenceless. The Warlock has returned from the battles abroad, and the Wizengamot has voted the Guardian of the Realm the authority to call upon all the resources of the Realm in support of his ancient right and duty to call up the wizardry of Britain in the defence of our Isles. The nations of the ICW have sent what help they can, but they must look to their own security. Here the blow will strike first and hardest. Here the defence must be strongest, and so it shall be."

His voice took on a tone of hard defiance. "From ancient times we have preserved the tradition of training all our people from youth in the Defence Against the Dark Arts, against the day when when every wand would be needed to defend the Realm. Today is that day. I give you now to Harry Potter, Warlock of Britain and Supreme Commander, Warlord of these Isles."

Harry took the microphone. "I have sent Dumbledore's Army to the defence of Hogwarts. The best we have are guarding the greatest stronghold in the Realm. For those who may wish to send their children to safety, send them there. There is no safer place."

Harry paused and took a deep breath. "To give battle against this foe, I need trained teams who can fly and fight at close quarters. To the professional Quidditch teams of Britain, this is your hour. Every bit of your skill and training is needed, not for sport but for the survival of the Realm. I will send brooms with wireless and experienced officers to show you how it's done, and for the rest you will learn in the saddle as we did in Canada."

He paused again. "To fight the dragons we must know where they are and where they are headed. To all the leaders of all the magical enclaves of Britain, great and small, you are directed to organize teams of skywatchers. Search the skies for the dragons, and when you spot them report the bearing and distance, and the time of the sighting, by the quickest possible means to the Warlord's Headquarters here in the Ministry complex in London."

His voice turned grim. "All being well, we shall meet the dragons in the air and destroy them. All does not always go well in a battle. Be ready to take shelter if a dragon should get past the teams in the air. To take shelter rather than fight is not a lack of courage. We win by surviving. Get out the word of an attack and I shall send help as I can."

"Let every witch and wizard of the Realm do their duty and we shall prevail. You are dismissed to your duties. Warlock, done."

Harry handed the microphone back to the BWC man and turned away. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, taking a moment before thinking ahead to the next thing to be done.

God, please let them believe me. Harry thought. So much depended on whether he sounded confident, sounded like a man with a plan, sounded as if he was in control and in command. If they did not, there would be panic and chaos, the harbingers of defeat.

"Harry?" It was Hermione's voice, sounding concerned.

"Thinking, Hermione." Harry replied. He took another deep breath and opened his eyes.

"We need a War Room, a big one. Room for a big map, like we had in Canada. Wireless operators, too. Have them tie into BWC's transmitters. Get the Canadian liaison officers out to the Quidditch teams. There won't be enough McLaughlin brooms. Issue them to the team captains."

Hermione turned, relayed and expanded on his orders, conscripting the pages of the Wizengamot as messengers, a role they were well accustomed to.

She turned back to him, looking worried. "Who can we get to build a map, Harry? We don't have the Archmage."

Harry blinked, then said, "Sirius. He and the Marauders built the Marauder's Map in the old days. He knows that magic, and he can do it if anyone can. Get him here, make sure he has what he needs."

Hermione snapped to the nearest Auror, "Sirius Black. Find him, get him here, quick as kiss your hand."

Another thought struck Hermione, one she'd had before. Who could she trust with Harry's safety? Her eye fell on Jane Twelvetrees. Hermione didn't like her, and didn't think she ever would, but Harry respected her integrity and that would have to be enough.

"Twelvetrees." She snapped. "You're in charge of the Warlock's security. If you die and he doesn't, that's a win. Clear?"

Jane nodded curtly. "I need authority to use deadly magic on suspicion."

"You are now one of the Warlock's Household. You do not answer to the law. You answer to him. Get it done." Hermione replied.

Jane turned and pointed at the four dark-robed wizards, the Detail from the Sorcerous Service that the Archmage had insisted on sending. "You. Close security on the Warlock."

She turned to three senior Aurors and continued, "You, you, and you. There will be three security checkpoints. Each of you will be in charge of one. Assemble teams from people you personally trust absolutely. Use of deadly magic is authorized. If a threat gets past you, you are not to be alive to explain why. Go."

"Harry, please. What can I do to help?" The voice was Arthur Weasley's.

Harry saw the fear on his face, and knew it was not for himself. One whole Team of the DA came from the Weasley family. If things went badly this day, or even if the Realm triumphed, he might lose four of his children. A spark of sympathy for one of his oldest friends welled up even though the driving urgency born of the many things he had to do and the dreadfully little time they had. There was something that he could do to help.

"I need you to put together a War Room. I don't think we're the only ones hit, but I don't know. I need to know how it goes with the other nations of the ICW." Harry replied.

"Perhaps they can send us help." Arthur said, brightening a little.

"Perhaps." Harry said gravely. "Or it may be that we will need to send them help. I don't know, and I need to know."

"Got it, Harry." Arthur replied, his expression turning into resolution. He turned away and shouted "Percy!"

The group of reporters who had been granted permission to cover the battle from the Warlord's Headquarters were being passed through security. The brashest of them considered it prudent to hold his tongue and do the bidding of the grim-faced Aurors under the signs over the security checkpoints that said, "USE OF DEADLY MAGIC IS AUTHORIZED" in letters of magical fire.

The room they entered had been created by a team from the Department of Mysteries. It was several times the size of the Wizengamot chamber. Magical torches threw harsh white light into every corner. One whole wall was occupied by a giant map of the British Isles. A row of wireless operators wearing headphones and seated at tables and desks ran down one wall.

At the map, a group of half a dozen wizards were busy receiving and reading a constant stream of memos coming in the door. They were casting spells on the map, and red dragon markers appeared on the map as they did so. Other markers in blue with names like "Harpy A" were also on the map, moving north. Magical enclaves were shown in green, with name tags.

Hermione Granger did the first briefing. "Ladies and gentlemen, I will tell you what is going on now, after which you can hear and see for yourselves. The map you see here is not real time, since we do not have the ward network to support it. It shows reports from the skywatchers, as collated and plotted by the map wizards. The locations of the flights are based on their own reports. The picture is still being assembled, and we do not have locations on all the dragons."

She turned and pointed at the map. "The flights of wizards are moving North to engage, rehearsing under the coaching of the CMAF liaison officers. The dragons we have locations on are tracking toward the magical enclaves, as expected. That's the nature of dragons. So far, the only magical enclave under attack is Hogwarts, as the Warlock foresaw. The DA made it there in time and they are now heavily engaged."

"Who is winning?" Came a question from the group.

"They are fighting, not reporting." Hermione replied. "The castle and its defences are so far untouched."

There was a babble of questions from the reporters, which were greeted with stony silence from Hermione. When they were quiet again, she continued.

"You can view the progress of the battle from here. Anyone who interferes with operations will be escorted out immediately and not permitted to come back." She said with finality, and turned to go.

"I want a statement from the Warlock." Came a male voice from the group, in a demanding tone. The owner of the voice started to move toward the Warlock.

Hermione turned back and said, "The Warlock's Detail from the Sorcerous Service are authorized and directed to use deadly magic on suspicion of a threat to him."

After a three beat pause while the reporter stopped short, she added, "That's a no."

As she left, the eyes of the reporters went to the single figure standing erect in the centre of the room. Harry Potter was clad in black dragon leather, with touches of gold on the shoulders and right sleeve. Faced out in four different directions to cover the entire room were four hard-faced wizards in dark robes. Everyone who approached him got the same cold measuring stare from a wizard with his wand out, ready for instant use.

He was the focus of the entire room, with reports being passed to him and orders and decisions rendered instantly in return in a crisp, authoritative manner that commanded instant obedience. The Crown of a Just Man was a halo of golden fire above his head.

The reporters watched in silence as the Battle of Britain was joined in earnest.

With a lull in the action for her position as de facto Principle Secretary to the most powerful man in the Realm, Hermione had a little time to pause and reflect on the incredible amount of work that had been done in these last few desperate hours.

This room and the people in it were only the central nerve centre of a host of wizardry such as the magical world had not seen in centuries. Numbers and weight of magic alone made that host impressive. Organisation made it efficient, powerful, deadly quick to respond to a threat. If any one person could claim to be its forger, she was that person. Organisation and method might be workaday virtues, but they had brought her here, to the position of trusted right hand to the most powerful man in the Realm.

It seemed long ago to her, now, when the DA had squared off against the Wizengamot. She had played her own role, and not a small one either, in the creation of the DA. A small force in actual numbers, their training and discipline made them effective out of all proportion to their numbers. That had been her doing.

The question she had thought about then returned to her mind now with redoubled force. What have I created?

The wizardry of the Realm of Britain had now been organised into a weapon of war, one that answered to the hand of the Warlock as surely as the Elder Wand. What will come of all this? What will that power be used for?

She shook her head slowly. What do those Russian fools even want?

That question had never been answered to her satisfaction. All the Russians had needed to do to be left in peace by the nations of the ICW was to leave them alone. Instead there had been malevolent acts great and small all across the magical world, culminating in the Battle of Canada and, now, the Battle of Britain.

She thought it very likely that they would win this day, but there would be a cost. The higher that cost ran, the greater would be the desire for vengeance.

She shook her head again. Fools, indeed. They have no conception of the giant they have awakened. The more they succeed, the more damage they inflict, the more they fail. The more terrible the retribution will be.

Chapter 44: Chapter 44 No Safer Place

Chapter 44 No Safer Place

The line of children for the basement of Honeydukes went back to the Floo. They were of all ages, some clutching a few prized possessions. All of them were looking frightened and bewildered. To the extent there was any order, the older children were trying to look after and reassure the younger ones. There was a babble of children's voices, some crying, some plaintive.

The older students of Hogwarts were shepherding them through the tunnel to Hogwarts in parties, keeping them together so that none of them would get lost. The semi-darkness and the uneven floor of the tunnel did not help make that task any easier.

"Why are people sending their children here?" Was the plaintive question of one of the older students, looking harried and worried as he watched still more young children brought into the Great Hall.

"The Realm is in danger." Minerva McGonagall replied, never taking her eyes from the parties of children being brought into the Great Hall. "Hogwarts is the oldest and strongest keep of the Realm, defended by the best the Realm can muster. If there is safety anywhere, it is here. The families of Britain are trusting us with their children, with the future of the Realm."

He looked still more worried, then moved off toward yet another group of children entering the Great Hall.

Ron Weasley gathered the teams of Dumbledore's Army on the Astronomy Tower of Hogwarts. They had taken the Floo to Hogsmeade and their brooms through the narrow route through the wards around Hogwarts. It had taken time. He hoped that it not taken too much of that time. There were no dragons in sight, but he was morally certain that it would not be long before there were.

"All right. We don't have much time, people. They're coming. This isn't Canada. This is tougher than Canada. There's no Seeing Eye here to give us directions, so we're going to do this old school. Ginny, you've got Team Six. Team Leads, you've got wireless, so I'm going to be the top cover and call the plays."

He swept his look around the group of people who were standing on the stone floor, as the twilight began to gather. "This one is on us, people. Harry gave us this, he trusts us with this. Hogwarts is, Hell, you all know what it is. Half the families in Britain have sent their kids to shelter here. That includes some of your kid brothers and sisters."

There was an undercurrent of voices. Some were surprised, some were not. All of them were determined.

"We start up high. Height is advantage. Speed is life." Ron continued, reminding them of the hard lessons learned during the Battle of Canada.

"There were over two hundred dragons in the Reservation when the Russians let them out. Hogwarts is the first place they'll hit. They'll get here. The wards and protections that prevent Hogwarts from being found all assume that what's looking for Hogwarts has a brain to be fooled. You all know what happens when you assume. Dragons run on raw instinct. They home on sources of magic. The wards will slow them down a bit, that's all."

He looked around. "The airspace around Hogwarts is divided into sectors based on this tower, like a clock with two hours per zone. To begin with, it's one team per zone."

Ron flicked his wand and drew a diagram in the air. "Team numbers for each zone as you see here. I'm calling the plays. If a Team needs help, call me and I'll allot the Team to help. We're playing Keeper on this, people. Hogwarts is the goal hoops. We have to make sure that we shut out the other team altogether."

"Sir, the Headmistress sent us." The voice came from the leader of a group of students, third and fourth years if Ron was a judge. They were not much younger than Ron himself, though he and the DA were much older in grim experience. "We volunteered to help. She said we could be lookouts."

Ron frowned, thinking before he spoke. His immediate reaction was to tell them to get themselves to safety, but the cold cruel fact was that there was no such thing as complete safety here or any where in the Realm. Everyone doing their part made for as much safety as could be found. Professor McGonagall had chosen well, which was not much of a surprise. Sensible and reliable people, as he would have expected from the Headmistress, who knew every one of her students.

"Do you have a Wireless set?" He said, trying not to speak too roughly at being interrupted when he had a dozen things to think of and little time to ensure that he had not missed something vital.

"No, sir." The leader, a Ravenclaw prefect, replied.

Ron made himself think carefully. He had learned to do that. The Commander of the DA couldn't just react. Minerva was right. They had learned that, too, in Canada. All the eyes you could get searching the sky for dragons was none too many.

"All right." Ron gestured at the diagram hanging in the air. "You're in charge, Mr. Jenson. What you have here is a clock, based on true north. Each sector is two hours, based on 12 o'clock at North. Divide up your people evenly among the sectors. Use Supersensory to scan your sector continuously for dragons. When you see one, have him call you and you confirm it."

Ron paused again, thinking furiously. Spotting dragons was fine, but how could they tell him about them without a Wireless? Then he remembered the Triwizard Tournament. In the maze, if someone wanted to signal distress, they sent up sparks from their wand. He thought for a few moments more, then nodded. He could make that work. He flicked his wand at the diagram and assigned each sector a colour, a bright visible one.

"When you have a confirmed dragon, or a flight of them, you send out a stream of sparks pointed right at them, as nearly as you can. You do that as many times as there are dragons. The stream of sparks is the colour for your sector. All right. Repeat that back to me." Ron said, and pointed at Jenson.

"Sector spotter sees a dragon, calls me to confirm it, then we signal, colour of the sector and one stream for each dragon." Jenson said immediately.

"That's right. Make sure you remember it. Steady is the word. This is going to be a long one. Mr. Jenson, you're responsible to ensure that each sector is covered at all times. Rotate people out for a rest if you can. Got it?"

"Got it, sir." Jenson said eagerly. He turned to the others and started assigning sectors.

Ron turned to his comrades in arms, brothers and and sisters whether they shared parents or not. "Our orders are to hold until relieved. Take your sectors. Watch for dragons. Good hunting."

The DA mounted their brooms and took to the sky. The diagram hung in the air where they had left it.

Ron took his broom higher and higher still, with a small version of the diagram in front of him because he didn't trust his memory. He topped out above the castle, over the wards that protected it. He had just had time to set himself going in a narrow circle above the castle when his eye was caught by a stream of bright blue sparks, repeated three times. He cast Supersensory Ocularis and scanned the area. There they were, three dragons inbound in Sector 3. Jenson's skywatchers had gotten it right. With a hastily thrown together scratch organization, that was not a given. Panicky people saw what they feared, not what was there.

"Beater." He said coolly, to the Lead of Team 3. "You have trade. Three inbound, middle of your sector."

"Trade inbound, Keeper." Came Seamus Finnegan's unmistakable Irish brogue. "Copy that, moving to engage."

Ron's augmented sight saw Team 3 moving to make the intercept. He swept his gaze around the outer wards of the castle, and saw a quartet of dots emerge from the eye-tricking swirls of the outer ward.

He glanced down and waited. It took about a minute before he saw the streams of sparks in the colour of Team Six's sector. There were three rather than four, but it was close enough for Ministry work.

He should have given the order at once, but he had to take a deep breath and collect himself, think of this as a chess game on a huge scale played for deadly stakes, as it had been long ago in the chambers under the castle when they had gone down in search of the Philospher's Stone. He had never told Harry or Hermione that he could have played differently, put one of them in harm's way instead of him.

He had to put on one side that Ginny was his kid sister, who he had always been fiercely protective of, and treat her as the Lead of Team 6. Every order he gave, every move in this deadly game, would be putting the lives of people who were family or as close as family to him at hazard. If he let himself dwell on that, that hazard would get much worse.

He took a deep breath and forced his voice to be calm and level. "Redhead, this is Keeper. You have trade. 4 inbound, right edge of your sector."

"Keeper, Redhead." Came Ginny's voice, filled with controlled tension. "We have them in sight. Engaging."

Ron took a moment that he could ill spare to curse Harry Potter for putting him here. "Like being a Team Lead, but less fun." Harry had said. Right, and Voldemort had some minor bad habits.

Ginny watched as the flight of dragons headed towards Hogwarts. There were four of them. Hungarian Horntails. Even by the standards of dragons they were a nasty piece of work. There were two large ones, and two medium sized ones, which made them a mated pair who hadn't yet kicked out their hatchlings. Which of the large ones was the Alpha was a tossup. Ginny decided coldly that the way to deal with that was to take out both at the same time.

"Thing One, Thing Two, take the right big one. Rest, with me, left big one. Push over ... Now!"

Fred and George were the best flyers on the Team, and they operated together like the fingers of a hand. Trying to separate them was a pointless waste of time. Team 3 came down on the dragons in an almost vertical dive, wands at the ready.

Ginny cursed mentally. She hadn't called the pushover very well. The angle was bad and they couldn't go for a clean kill as she had hoped for. She shifted her aim to the right wing joint and watched as it came closer and closer with what would have been terrifying speed if she hadn't been totally focused on making her cast.

"Reducto!" Ginny didn't see where the cast went. She was too busy pulling up to miss the trailing edge of the wing, then pulling up a lot more to turn her dive into a climb. There were some advantages to being small. She could pull up just a little bit faster.

As she climbed back above the fight, Ginny considered the pass a qualified success. She'd hit the right hand wing joint where it went into the body, and the same for the left hand wing joint by her wingmen. It wasn't dead, but it couldn't maneuver and would be a sitting target for a second attack.

Fred and George had just had to put a flourish on it. They had, as far as she could see, split their pass past their dragon's head and each gone for an eye. They'd got them, too, or close enough for Ministry work. The Horntail wasn't dead by a long way, though. It was writhing in agony, throwing random blasts of flame in every direction, with eerie screams mixed with the roars of flame and rage.

As she watched, one of those blasts of flame hit its own hatchling, sending it reeling off into the sky with smoke rising from it. She mentally demoted that to last on the priority list, and the blinded one to first.

"Thing One, Thing Two, take the blinded one. The rest, on me. We've got the cripple."

This time, Ginny could take her time and set up the attack from a good angle. Ginny and her wingmen came down the the dragon from behind. Ginny's Supersensory vision showed her the raw bleeding pits at the wing roots where the casts from the first attack had struck. She saw the head moving around, trying to see them, but it couldn't look directly behind itself even though it knew that danger was on its tail. It couldn't evade, either. With its wing joints crippled, all it could do was lock its wings into a glide.

They still had to be very damned careful. The Horntail, more than most dragons, could use its tail as a weapon, and that could kill you just as dead as a blast of dragon fire.

They came down at a good angle in a steep dive, and all of them cast at once, aiming for the hunter's triangle. Which of them actually hit it she never knew, or cared. The Horntail crumpled up like a crushed paper airplane and tumbled toward the ground in an irregular spiral.

Ginny pulled up out of her dive again and looked around to orient herself. Fred and George had actually played it conservatively for once. They had come around and hit the wing roots. The Horntail was still dangerous, blindly breathing gouts of fire in random directions, but now it was in a glide with its wings crippled. She considered leading her element over to help them, but checked first to see where the scorched hatchling had gotten to.

Well, dragonshit. Ginny thought disgustedly. The scorched hatchling was running for it, in a shallow dive that would take it to the Forbidden Forest. A dragon, particularly a young one that had lost its Alpha, could decide that it was time to bug out and find cover. She'd been told that in Canada, but had never seen it.

Ginny bit her lip for a moment, then shook her head. The hatchling had too long a head start, and by the time pursuit caught up to it it would have found cover, following its instinct. The other hatchling had followed its dead parent down and was circling around where it had fallen.

"Thing One, Thing Two, finish off the cripple. Rest, on me." She snapped, and leaned over into a dive. They had to get the second hatchling before it, too, decided to bug out and find a hole to hide in.

While they were diving down on the second hatchling, Ginny had time for the thought that she really, really was not going to enjoy the after-action on this. This engagement had been about as orderly and well managed as a drunken brawl in a Knockturn Alley pub.

One pass was enough to send the hatchling down beside its parent. She led her people back up into the sky.

"Thing One, Thing Two, report." Ginny said.

"Cripple's down." Was the reply. She wasn't sure if it was Fred or George. They were supposed to identify themselves by callsign, and if they made it to the far future of tomorrow she'd grump at them for that. For now she would take what good news she could get.

"Keeper, this is Redhead. Three dragons down, one squirter, injured hatchling, headed for the Forbidden Forest."

"Copy that, Redhead." Came the reply in Ron's familiar voice. "Take station in your sector and stand by."

She glanced at her watch as they climbed toward the centre of their sector. The engagement had taken less than ten minutes. Hopefully they would have a chance for a breather. They had a whole long day of this in front of them.

Ron heard Ginny's voice on the Wireless with a sense of relief. Ginny was all right, for now. He glanced down at the Astronomy Tower, and saw three signals in quick succession.

He snapped out orders. "Team 4, you have two plus inbound, right hand edge of your sector. Team 5, three plus inbound, left hand side of your sector. Team 3, move to support Team 5, engage second raid, two plus at right hand edge of 5's sector."

That was a gamble. If a raid showed up in Team Three's sector, he'd have to shift someone to cover. It would be nice if there was some sort of a pattern that he could figure out, but if there was he couldn't see it. Most likely, the dragons were just following their noses through the outer wards. All he could do was play the game as it unfolded.

Minerva McGonagall emerged on to the roof of the Astronomy Tower. The skywatchers were focused outward, and she noted with approval that they had entirely ignored her entrance.

Jenson did notice, and said, "Headmistress."

"Mr. Jenson. You seem to be doing well enough. Do you need more people?" Minerva asked. Like everyone else, she did not have enough people for everything that she wanted to do. For the moment, however, the flood of refugee children had slacked off, enough that they were all taken care of as far as food, water and older students or ghosts to see after their other needs. She had come up to see for herself how things went.

"We're all right here for the moment, Ma'am." He replied. "Some food and water up here wouldn't come amiss, though."

"I'll see to that, Mr. Jenson." Minerva replied at once. Hogwarts had been built to stand siege in the days long ago when that had been a real possiblity. Supplies, at least, they had plenty.

She glanced around at the four teachers here under the leadership of Septima Vector, with their wands out and standing by. The inner shield of Hogwarts had been raised, as she could see by the nimbus of power around the castle. They were ready to reinforce that shield at need. She had not had time to do the research about what dragonfire might do to that shield, so she had to assume that enough of it might breach the shield.

She cast Supersensory and swept her gaze around the perimeter. She could see the flashes of spells and the jagged white flames of dragonfire in the swirls of action around the perimeter. The DA was fighting, "heavily engaged" in the military jargon that the Wireless commentators had taken to using. If she was a judge, they were at full stretch. She had to assume that one or more dragons might get past them. Even the best of Quidditch teams allowed some goals against them.

What can I do if that happens? She thought. Well, there is one thing.

Minerva spread her arms wide, closed her eyes, and called upon a source of power that even Albus had never used. Albus was Warlock, so the power of the Realm was his. The Headmistress of Hogwarts also bore the ancient office of Constable of the Castle, and she could draw on the magical nexus that powered the castle itself and its defences.

Piertotem Locomotor! She shouted, and all through the castle statues and suits of armour jumped down from their plinths and began to move to the walls and towers of the castle.

Improbably, she smiled briefly. I've always wanted to use that spell.

The smile fell away from her face at her next thought. Just not under these circumstances.

She thought for a moment, then nodded. She had done everything that she could think of, made every preparation she could to defend the children in her care. Perhaps, if they all came through this in safety, she could grant herself the right to consider that she had made atonement for letting that creature Umbridge inside the walls of this keep.

I have done my duty. She thought. There is no safer place in the Realm.

Ron hung above the battle, fretting and wishing that he could go down and fight himself. Someone had to keep this whole chaotic battle in as much control as could be managed, and he had taken up that job. He had no cause to complain, really. Harry had all of Britain to worry about. He just had Hogwarts. That was his bit to do, and he would do it.

Things had quietened down a bit, and he was considering whether he could risk breaking off a team for a breather, when something caught the corner of his eye below him.

He glanced down at the Astronomy Tower, as he had been doing every half minute or so, and his blood ran cold. There were streams of sparks in the bright red of Team Six's sector, and there were more and more of them. He tried to keep count, but fell behind quickly and settled for many dragons.

He looked up and swept his augmented sight across Sector Six. Many dragons, indeed. How many he would be able to decide in the far and now rather unlikely future of being still alive after all of this.

"All Teams, Sector Six. All Teams, proceed to Sector Six and engage. We are under massive dragon attack."

Ron drew his wand and pushed over into a dive toward Sector Six. There was no more controlling this battle. There was only every wand in the fight and hoping that they would be enough.

Chapter 45: Chapter 45 Warlord

Chapter 45 Warlord

Harry looked at the map. The situation wasn't anything he could call good, but it could have been worse. They had patrols out on all the magical enclaves. That didn't guarantee safety or even victory, but he had done what he could for them.

As far as he could see and hear from the fragmentary reports over the Wireless, Ron was doing a good job at Hogwarts. The close desperate fight around the castle was under control, as much as anyone could control a wand fight in a telephone kiosk.

"Arthur. How are they doing elsewhere?" Harry asked evenly.

Arthur had set up his own miniature War Room in one corner of the Warlord's HQ, with messengers back and forth to other nations' foreign relations departments. The picture he had assembled was inevitably incomplete and time late, but no one in the world was doing any better, or even as well, and few enough were even attempting it.

"France is going to take some losses, Harry. The centre is holding. The Sorcier and her Household are in Paris, but they don't have enough trained people or a central command as we do, and they've got nothing for the outlying enclaves. They've put out a warning to their people for them to take shelter, but I don't think everyone's got it."

He paused, glanced at his notes. "MACUSA seems to be holding their own. One of their reservations was breached. They say that they have it contained. They did say that they're considering notifying their muggle government. That points to it being pretty serious. They never talk to them."

Harry considered that, then brushed it aside. He couldn't Legilimens people across the width of the Atlantic. If they said they didn't need help, he was going to take them at their word.

"Romania." Harry said. That was a potential nightmare. It was the largest reservation in Europe, larger by far than Hebrides. If the Russians had got someone into there, then most of Europe was at risk.

"Nothing yet, Harry." Arthur said, his tone showing the worry that Harry couldn't. "I've got messengers over there, but nothing so far."

"What else?" Harry asked, glancing back at the map and deciding that he had a few minutes yet before the next crisis.

"Father. This is just in." Percy said, and handed Arthur a memo that had just flown in the door.

Arthur flipped open the memo and scanned it quickly. "Good news, for a change, Harry. India reports their reservations are secure, and they have offered a volunteer force of 125 warrior wizards under Commander Sheret to fight under the command of the Warlord."

Help. Sheret in command. Harry thought, hardly able to believe that good luck had come his way for once. Well, he was going to grab onto it with both hands. "Please send my grateful thanks, and ask how soon they can arrive. We are hard pressed here, and other nations are worse off."

"I'll check on that, Harry, right away." Arthur replied, but no sooner had he turned toward Percy than he was handed another memo. This one wasted nothing on diplomacy.

Warlord

Assuming acceptance. On the way with the main body. Lead elements will arrive within the hour. Officer in Command of the Vanguard will report to you on arrival.

Lion

Thank God. Harry thought.

People were very quick to hail him as the saviour of Canada, but Harry knew that a Captain was only as good as his team, and he had had a team of champions in Canada. Taking the Archmage's advice and asking for Sheret had added a champion's champion to that team.

Another memo flew in the door. Percy plucked it from the air, ripped it open and passed it to Arthur.

"The Northern Alliance has offered a force of volunteers to serve under the Warlord." Arthur said rapidly.

"Northern Alliance?" Harry asked, not sure who that would be.

"Norway, Sweden, the Scandinavian countries. Durmstrang is their Hogwarts, and it's a defensive alliance against Russia as well." Arthur replied.

I'll bet Russians are beloved there about as much as they deserve. I'll wager that they have the same problem Canada had, too. Harry thought, drily.

Military forces didn't just spring out of the air. They were a response to a threat. The other nations bordered Russia, which made sense, but the American force was more of a question.

"There's an American force?" Harry asked.

"Yes, there is." Arthur replied at once. "They have a different problem. Their own dragon population is under control and in reservations, but the countries to the south of them aren't nearly as wealthy or well organized. They get a lot of leakage over that border, and they have a force to deal with that. I'm actually surprised that the MACUSA Congress would authorize a deployment outside the country. There's a pretty strong isolationist sentiment there."

"Well, Father. The Battle of Canada would be a pretty loud knock on the door. If things had gone badly there, it would have been them next." Percy said, quietly.

Harry glanced back at the map, and decided that he had to get back to the current picture. He had help offered, and he was not going to stand on foolish pride about taking it.

"Good. Accept all help as it's offered. Tell the officers in charge to report here for orders as soon as they arrive." Harry said, rapidly. "Make sure they get through security without delay. They can keep their wands."

"That's a risk, Harry." The voice belonged to Jane Twelvetrees. She had been in and out through the last hours, checking on every detail of security for the Warlord's Headquarters.

"Yes, it is, and we're taking it." He replied, then turned away toward the map.

Harry snapped out a string of orders to alert defenders and warn people in threatened enclaves, then looked at Hogwarts again. What he wanted to do was send everything he could spare to reinforce the DA, but he couldn't spare much and it would take too long for them to get there. He bit his lip, then turned his attention to the next threat. Friends, acquaintances, strangers, all were his responsibility.

"Drink this, Harry." The voice belonged to Jane. He took the open bottle of water she handed him and drank it down in one long swallow, only then realizing how dry and thirsty he was. She handed him another, and he drank that, too.

Out of one ear, Harry heard a group of people come in through the security checkpoint. Harry gave the map another searching look, decided that he had a few minutes, and turned to see who had arrived.

The first of the group was the familiar face of Antoine Hillier.

"Citadel." Harry said thankfully. "Glad to see you."

"We've got to stop meeting like this, Harry. I've got 43 total, all we could muster after the fighting we'd been through. Advance party is two flights, ten all told, here now. We're bringing in the rest by Portkey as fast as we can."

Next to Hillier was another man in dragon leathers, but his were pale blue to go with the icy blue of his eyes. The dragon kills on his sleeve were in silver. He shared Hillier's hard-bitten weather-beaten look. "Commander Chuck Yeager, Warlord. US Dragon Force. We're bringing 75, ten on the ground right now. Not sure when the main body will arrive. Portkeys are getting jammed up."

Harry nodded. "Hermione, get someone on that, tell him to find the problem and sort it. Military traffic has absolute priority."

"Got it, Harry." She replied instantly, flicked her wand and added a note to the list that hung in the air next to her.

The woman next to Yeager was a tall blonde woman with her hair in braids, wearing dark blue robes. "Commander Britt Berg. Commander, Northern Alliance Combined Force. We are 53, 15 on the ground now."

The woman next to Berg was her opposite in appearance. Her glossy black hair was drawn back in a ponytail. She was a head shorter than Berg, with an olive complexion, and radiated controlled energy. She wore the black robes of a warrior wizard of India. "Sub-Commander Indira Draupadi, Warlock. I am in command of the vanguard until Commander Sheret arrives. We are 25 on the ground now, 127 at full strength."

"My grateful thanks to all of you." Harry said. "If there is anything you need or want, inform Hermione and you will have it if it is to be had."

"Thank you." Came from the Commanders.

"I will have you stand in the reserve for the moment. Stand by to launch at short notice. Has anyone been to the Romanian Dragon Reservation?"

"I have." Berg replied at once. "Liaison visits. What's going on there?"

"I don't know, and that worries me. Commander Berg, put together a plan for a force to go there and find out what the bloody hell is going on. Get a briefing from Arthur." Harry said rapidly, jabbing his thumb at the Magical Cooperation War Room in the corner.

Berg strode over to the corner. "Arthur?"

The older of the two, evidently related, redheads replied, "Arthur Weasley, Commander. Director of Magical Cooperation. We've got a little bit more from Romania, but not much. I have people over there, trying to find out what's going on, but they're being systematically stonewalled and lied to. I'm pretty sure that they're hiding something, but I don't know what, except that it's not good."

Berg nodded crisply. The Romanian Reservation was an international facility under the ICW, and she had never been impressed with the competence of their staff. There were some good ones, but there were a lot of timeservers, too. She was grimly well aware of what had happened at Hebrides Reservation. The security on Hebrides was tighter than Romania, she was sure of that, and if the Russians had infiltrated there, there was going to be a problem, though she didn't know how big. She had never needed to have a detailed knowledge of the Romania Reservation because it had never been a threat - until now.

"How many dragons are we looking at?" She asked.

The younger of the two redheads replied, "530 at least, Commander. That's an old number and it's probably higher by now. They get dragons from all over Europe, from countries that don't have their own reservations."

Good God. Berg thought, shocked. The weight of the responsibility that Potter - that the Warlord - had just handed her hit her with full force. If Romania was breached, Europe would go up in flames and most likely the Statute of Secrecy with it.

Out of one ear, she heard Yeager detailed off to plan a force to relieve the French, then turned her attention back to Arthur and started asking about Portkeys to the Romanian Reservation.

The rhythm of reports from the operators, in their cool and controlled voices, was interrupted by a louder voice. "Warlord. Hogwarts reports that they are under massive dragon attack. We are trying to raise the Commander of the DA, but we aren't getting any answer."

Hillier saw the news hit Potter with the impact of a physical blow, and made an instant decision. "I've got this, Harry. How do we get there?"

Hermione Granger answered for him. "We'll tell Minerva to lower the Apparation wards around Hogwarts. You can jump in directly."

"Copy that." Hillier replied instantly. He raised his voice to a shout. "Come on! All hands, on me!"

The commanders headed down the corridor at a pace that was only just short of a run. Commanders never ran, because that betokened panic.

"What is so important about Hogwarts?" Draupatra asked of Hillier on the way down.

"Dumbledore's Army saved our asses in Canada, and we owe them. Hogwarts is the heart of Britain, and if they lose that we lose the only country in Europe that has their shit together. Most of the kids in Britain have taken shelter there. Pick the one you like and go with it." Was Hillier's grim, rapid-fire reply.

"Copy that." Draupatra replied, and lengthened her stride a little to keep up with Hillier.

"Do you think they targeted Hogwarts deliberately?" She said, after a moment. Tactics were driven by strategy, and she was a strategist and planner by training.

"No. They can't control dragons, and they just cut the ones from Hebrides loose. They didn't give a damn what they hit." Hillier replied.

"Can we get there in time?" She added.

"Good question." Hillier said, as they emerged into the arrival area where the advance parties and their gear were waiting in groups for their Commanders.

"Listen up!" Hillier said in a voice that carried throughout the large room. "The Warlord has given us a hot one. We do this in the saddle. The DA is holding Hogwarts School, and they're hit hard. We don't know how bad because they can't raise the Commander, but it's bad."

He flicked his wand, and a huge picture of Hogwarts showed up in the air. "Memorize this and be able to visualize it for Apparation. Here's the mission. The Warlord is going to order Hogwarts to drop their Apparation wards. We stand by in the air, flights in fighting formation. As soon as we get the word, we jump with wands out. Assume that you're going to be fighting as soon as you get there. Team Leads engage at discretion. Call your attacks, and watch out for friendlies as much as you can."

"Vishnu, and I thought Canada was bad." One of the Indian team leads said, looking at the image in the air. "This is going to be a wand duel over a handkerchief."

"Welcome to the Warlord's Force." Hillier said to the group at large as much as to the man who had spoken. "Grab your brooms and hit the sky."
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The Battle of Hogwarts had turned into a swirling mass of individual fights, with wizards fighting alone or in small groups as they could, and dragons charging at the inner shield and assaulting it with dragon fire, driven by their blind lust for magical prey, that they could sense so close now.

Ginny swept past a Welsh Green and threw a spell at its eye, not having time to know if it hit or if so what damage it might have done. Her Team was God knew where, fighting to survive even as she was if they were alive at all. She slammed her broom to one side in time to miss the worst of a dragon's firebloom, then up barely in time to miss the slash of another one's tail.

On the tower, Septima and the other teachers all wore the same expression, of people bearing a weight at the very limits of their endurance, as they called up power to reinforce the inner shield, the last defense before the dragons were on the walls of the castle. They were losing ground, the weak spots in the shield growing under the assault of dragon fire.

Septima never knew which one of them collapsed first. The backlash slammed onto the rest of them and flung them down, the four way spell gone. Barely conscious, Septima saw the shield collapse under a new assault of dragon fire, and took the bitter knowledge of failure down into the darkness with her.

Ginny yanked her broom up into a climb, hoping to get up on top of this confusion and have a moment to plan an attack instead of simply reacting second by second. She barely escaped another firebloom on the way up, and then was clear, momentarily at any rate, of the fighting. She felt a pulse of magic go through her body, and turned to look at the castle. A jolt of horror went through her as she saw the castle's inner shield start to collapse.

Minerva had taken cover behind a stone doorway, when the door opened to see a student, a prefect she noticed automatically by the badge, gasping for breath.

"The Warlord orders that you drop the Apparation wards around the castle." He shouted.

Half deaf from the roar of the battle, Minerva shouted back, "What?"

"Drop the Apparation wards. Do it now!" He shouted.

Minerva was too punch-drunk to question the order. If it was madness, then it was all of a piece with the madness around her. She stood, raised her wand above her head and summoned all her power as the Constable of the Castle. She closed her eyes and saw the bright jewel-like patterns of the wards that had protected Howarts for centuries. The Apparation wards ... there they were. She identified the master node and focused all the power she could bear on it. There were safeguards there, and only her right as the Constable even made it possible for her to access the node at all. One final effort, and the master ward went dark, that darkness running around the perimeter.

She opened her eyes again, and saw the prefect still there, staring at her with his eyes wide.

"It's done!" She shouted, with what little strength she had left. "Go!"

The prefect fled down the stairs, and Minerva turned to see a dragon, an Ironbelly, hanging on to the stone wall with one claw and slashing at two stone guardsmen and a suit of armour with the other.

Minerva stood, and a wash of rage went through her. She called on all the power that she could from the nexus of the castle, reckless of limits, and brought her wand down for a cast.

Bomdarda Maxima! She shouted. The spell smashed into the dragon's chest, and smashed it off the wall with a bloody crater excavated from its chest.

She stood gasping and barely able to stand for a few moments, until another dragon swooped down and she gathered the strength to make one more cast. The Bombarda Maxima flung that dragon away with a crippled wing, but this time her control of the power she had drawn upon slipped, and her wand exploded in her hand.

The backlash of magic raged through her body, and Minerva McGonagall fell on the stones of Hogwarts, dead instantly.

Ginny looked away from the castle to pick a target, do what she could, when she saw a familiar figure streak by below her.

"Ron!" She shouted. "Break right!"

Ginny pushed down into a dive and readied herself for a cast. It didn't have to be a kill or even a hit. Distracting the dragon to give Ron a chance to break off would be enough. If he even heard her, it was too late. The dragon he had not seen in his concentration on the one he was making his attack run on breathed out a long tongue of flame, and Ron fell out of it an unrecognizable blackened cinder. She came down on the dragon, and her cast hit the hunter's triangle. Her brother's killer went down in a limp flutter of leathery wings.

Ginny closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. By reflex she pulled back up to gain altitude. Running on pure habit, she said "Keeper is down. Redhead has command."

A bolt of savage self contempt went through her. Why was she even wasting a breath on something as stupidly irrelevant as that when Ron was dead? She would be too, soon enough.

She was looking down, picking a target to dive on, when the Wireless on her broom erupted into a bedlam of shouting in voices that she didn't recognize.

"Banger Flight, in hot!"

"Beaver Flight, in hot!"

"Indra Flight, in hot!"

Startled out of her despair, she looked up to see flights of wizards emerging from thin air and swooping down on the dragons at the walls like falcons striking at their prey. They wore different robes. She recognized the scarlet of Canada and the black of India, but the pale blue leathers and the dark blue robes were new to her.

The dragons were down at the walls of the castle, clawing at the stones and fighting with the defenders, and they were motionless and unable to evade. The newcomers had the advantages of height, speed and surprise and they made ruthlessly effective use of them. A sleet of spellfire swept across the dragons and dead and dying dragons began to litter the base of the castle walls. The dragons, diverted even from the lust of their bottomless hunger by imminent peril, tried to gain height and speed to be able to fight effectively, but they were too late.

Ginny started in surprise when a big white-haired man in scarlet leathers swooped up beside her. "Redhead. I'm Citadel. You're relieved. Tell your people to break off and land. We've got this."

She stared back at him stupidly, trying to take in what he had just said. He said, "You did your job. We've got it. You did very well. You can rest now."

Ginny nodded, fatigue beginning to hit her, and hit the rune on the Wireless. "All DA members, break off and land at the tower. We are relieved."

That one last task done, Ginny could lay along her broom and weep for her brother and her friends.

Chapter 46: Chapter 46 Between Crises

Chapter 46 Between Crises

"Warlord. Reporting for duty." Sheret said, looking at the grim strained expression on Harry's face. Perhaps it was as well that he was a young man. A strong one, too, that for certain.

Sheret had waited without complaint while Sub-Commander Draupati gave her report on the Battle of Hogwarts. Over seventy dragons confirmed dead, one third of the total of those loosed on Britain by the Russians. The victory there had been purchased at a price, one that had to weigh heavily on Potter. One in five of the DA, all of them his friends, were dead. That list was led by Ron Weasley and Minerva MacGonagall. All of the rest of them were burned and injured in some degree, not to mention utterly exhausted. It would be a while before the DA could be rebuilt into a fighting force again, if indeed they ever could.

The relief force had not had it all their own way, though their losses had been lighter by far than the DA's. Two dead, three times that seriously wounded. The medical organization that had been thrown together for the Battle of Canada now had a counterpart in London. It did not lack for work, and this crisis was a long way from over yet.

Task Force France, under Commander Yeager, was in the field and fighting. They were having, by the new grim standards of this war, a relatively easy time of it. The French reservation was a comparatively small one, thirty-some all told, and the dragons were scattered, singletons and small flights.

Sheret himself was coldly certain that now was the time to move, and to that end he had moved heaven and earth to bring every wand to the fight that he possibly could. The crisis that was now upon them had been long in the building. Now, finally, those who had sought to avoid or delay that crisis were out of arguments and time. All of that delay and denial had simply made the crisis worse when it did break.

That the Warlock, the Warlord, now, was at the eye of this storm was a series of twists of fate. Sheret's wife believed in fate, that everything happened for a reason. Sometimes he agreed with her. Had the decision at the ICW meeting fallen to him instead of Potter, as it might have if the political winds had blown a little differently, could he have done as well in Canada? For all of his age and experience, he was not at all sure that the answer was yes.

It was old war wisdom that a rough and ready plan made quickly and executed aggressively was better than the best possible plan arrived at too late and carried out half-heartedly. Canada was the textbook case of that. He was a planner, both by nature and by training. Careful detailed planning was the right way to do a military operation. When you had the time for it. Could he have had the flexibility of mind and the speed of decision to throw all the planning aside and deal with a totally unexpected surprise attack?

Whatever the answer to that question might have been, the young charismatic commander who had broken the attacks on Canada and Britain was now the one leader who all could agree to follow. Politicians and bureaucrats whose instinct was to temporize and waver had no answer to those two crushing arguments. The Wizengamot had voted Potter the office of Warlord, supreme commander of all Britain. The ICW Security Council had now done the same, and sent out a call across the magical world for volunteers. They would have sufficient force to be able to invade Russia and put an end to this threat once and for all. That had never been even remotely possible before.

"Lion. Good to see you. Your people were invaluable." Potter said. He took a couple of deep breaths, then continued. "We're secure here in Britain for the moment, and Task Force France has things in hand for the moment, but we're going to need a reserve in case something goes wrong."

"Yes, Warlord." Sheret replied. "What of Romania?"

"I don't like the reports we've been able to get, such as they are. I've tasked Commander Berg to put together a force to go in there and find out what's really going on. She may need more people." He replied, crisply.

"I'll coordinate with her, sir. If she needs people, she'll have them." Sheret replied.

He looked back at Potter, and added, "You should get some rest, Sir. You're been going hard for a while, now."

Sheret saw the younger man scrub his hand across his face, and knew sympathetically how he felt, because he had been there himself more than once. Potter had been running on adrenaline and Pepper-up, dealing with a string of life and death crises. Now things had slowed down, and the weight of physical and mental fatigue was starting to hit him.

Harry scrubbed his hand across his face. He was tired, no doubt of that. His instinct was to stay awake, ready to deal with the next crisis, but he had learned the hard way that he didn't have to do it all himself. It wasn't even physically possible. Sheret hadn't been the first to say that to him. Hermione and Jane both had.

"Yeah, I'm going to do that." Harry said, heavily. Sheret nodded, saluted sharply and left before Harry could return it.

Jane or Hermione, or both had evidently heard him, because he was promptly escorted over to one corner of the War Room, where a small room with a bed and a bathroom had been created. Jane dismissed the Sorcerous Service bodyguards to go and get some food and rest, replacing them with Aurors.

Harry stumbled into the bathroom, and came back out of it to find a meal laid out for him, a big steak pie and a stein of butterbeer. The savoury smells of the food made him realize that he was ravenously hungry. He sat down and attacked the meal, wolfing it down in big bites and washing it down with the butterbeer. Finished, he wiped his mouth, lay down on the bed and was heavily asleep in seconds.

Hermione and Jane stood looking down at him for a second, the mask of control that he had worn out on the floor gone to leave a tired and vulnerable looking young man.

"What about you?" Hermione asked Jane. "Going to get some sleep, too?"

"In a bit." She replied. "I'll just sit with him for a while, make sure that he's all right."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "Time with Harry is a pretty scarce commodity, isn't it. You can't just ask him out to tea."

"No, I can't." Jane replied equably. "Crashing into an ICW Security Council meeting is a definite pain, too."

"I suppose that it is." Hermione said, visibly deciding to open another subject. "I have seen the way you look at Harry."

Jane cocked an eyebrow. "Where I look is my business. He doesn't look back, so it is rather a moot point. You have a problem with that?"

Hermione shook her head. "Because he doesn't look back doesn't mean he isn't interested. As far as that goes, I don't have the problem that you think I do. Harry and I are close in a lot of ways. That isn't one of them, contrary to what the gossip columnists think. It is an area where I guard his back, because it's an area where he is very vulnerable."

Her voice went very controlled. "So we're perfectly clear here, if wands come to spells, between you and Harry isn't even a choice for me."

A brief smile flickered across Jane's mouth and was gone again. "Hermione Granger, founding mother of the DA and the inventor of the Alley. I've walked that Alley, not to mention a street or two. I was Big John Crusher's rook. If you don't know what that means, you might want to ask around. And since that's on the table, that isn't even a choice for me, either."

An equally fleeting smile came and went on Hermione's face. "You don't intimidate. So stipulated. All right. Have a seat and we'll talk."

They took a couple of comfortable chairs by the desk in the other corner of the room. Jane looked at Hermione and waited for her to speak.

"What do you know about Harry's childhood?" Hermione asked.

Jane shrugged, not sure where Granger was going with this. "What everyone does. I read Skeeter's series in the Prophet. Bloody awful. Those muggles would be where Voldemort is if they got what they deserved, or in Azkaban if they were in our jurisdiction. I'm not the only one who's not very happy that they got off with being Obliviated and sent on their way."

Hermione nodded. "That's right. Skeeter did her usual artful embroidery job on the facts, but the facts are still pretty bad. You learn about relationships from the people you grow up with. You think they were a very good example?"

"No. I'm quite sure they were a bloody awful one." Jane said.

"Just so. Harry's tough, and he's a survivor. He didn't go bad the way some people do in that sort of environment, unable to form attachments and trust people. He has a good heart, he has friends, he and Cho Chang were an item for a while. That doesn't change the fact that romantic relationships terrify him."

"He doesn't show it." Jane said slowly.

"No, he doesn't. He's good at not showing fear. He's had a lot of practice. If you're going to survive what he's survived and still keep your humanity, you need defences. Good ones. He's got them, and they've kept him alive and sane. He's had Voldemort try to invade his mind. He's had people he trusted lie to him and keep him in the dark and he's been abused by the people who were supposed to care for him."

She paused for a moment to let that sink in. "Trust comes hard for him. To have a relationship, a real one, not a roll in the blankets with some fangirl, he needs to trust someone enough to let her inside his defences. That scares him, and he has good reason for that." Hermione said.

Jane nodded thoughtfully. "I can see that. Why are you telling me this?"

"I think it might happen with you. He respects your integrity, which is a lot more than most people outside me and the DA can say. Harry is more interested in you than he lets on. Whether it does or doesn't go anywhere between you is your business and his. If you want a relationship with him, you'll have to make the first move, and you can't pressure him."

Hermione looked at Jane with a measuring expression. "You need to know the stakes here. Harry holds a lot of power. He's the last line of defence for the Realm. If he hadn't been there at the Battle of Canada and here at the Battle of Britain - well, I don't think that would have done."

Jone nodded briefly. That was an understatement by anyone's standards. "So, you've taken on the job of pre-screening his girlfriends?"

"Something like that. We're not having this little girl talk because I like you. I don't. Harry being sane and well balanced is not just a nice to have. If you gain that trust and abuse it, you could do a lot of damage. If you're just a fangirl out for a bounce on the bed, none of this applies."

"I don't fangirl." Jane replied. "I'm an Auror. I get to see people at their worst, on the worst days of their lives. I've seen his bad side on a very bad day. That bad side is pretty small beer compared to a lot of what I've seen, by the way. I don't have any illusions. He's a good man, but he's not a saint. He's human like the rest of us."

"Really. What day was that?" Hermione asked.

Jane laughed briefly. "If you don't know, you aren't getting it from me. Go ask him."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. Twelvetrees wasn't just protective of Harry's safety, but of his privacy and his reputation. He could do worse.
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Harry woke up slowly, feeling stiff and sore all over, hungry as a wolf and with a raging thirst. He blinked a little, slowly realizing where he was.

God, how long have I been asleep? What the Hell has happened? He thought, and bolt upright in the bed.

Hermione was there. He looked up at her, and said, worriedly, "What's happening? Is everything all right?"

"The usual crises, Harry." She replied. "Nothing that you needed to get woken up for. The Commanders will have an update for you when you're ready. You'll want to get cleaned up and dressed. Breakfast will be along in a minute."

He made to get out of bed, then realized that he wasn't wearing anything. "Hang on, I'm sure I had my clothes on when I went to sleep."

"You did, Harry." She replied off-handedly. "There's magic for that. Not that much of a problem, anyway. I think you'd have slept through a Stinging Jinx."

"I'll leave you to it, Harry. I've got some other things to see to." Hermione added as she left, calling up her to-do list on the way out the door.

Hermione was back in twenty minutes, to find Harry looking much better. He was clean and shaven, working on a hearty breakfast. He was dressed in the black leathers the Canadians had given him after the Battle of Canada. House elves had cleaned them and restored the butter smooth finish while he slept.

"Hello, Hermione." He greeted her. "Want some tea?"

"Yes, please." She replied. "Two lumps." She added to the tea service.

The teapot floated up into the air and poured tea into a large mug. The sugar bowl popped two lumps into the cup and the tea swirled briefly. Hermione picked up the cup and took a drink of the tea.

"Did you get any sleep?" he asked, looking concerned.

"Some. I'm your ... well, Principle Secretary at this point. I get to sleep after you do, and I wake up before you do, too." She replied evenly.

"Hermione. When did you start doing that?" Harry said. "I trust you and I rely on you, but I didn't ask you to do that. It's a God-awful amount of work."

"Somebody had to, Harry. Can't complain, really. I did it to myself. No one put a wand to my head. We can talk about that after all this is over."

His face turned from concerned to sombre. "I wonder if we don't all have a wand at our heads. Every time I think we've seen the worst, the Russians find something worse still to throw at us. When is it going to end? How many more people are we going to lose?"

"Fewer than if you weren't in command." Hermione replied. "A lot fewer."

"You can't know that." Harry replied. "I'm not the infallible hero that some people are trying to make me out to be. I've made mistakes. I should have reinforced Hogwarts sooner. Then maybe ..."

"Maybe our friends would still be alive?" Hermione finished for him. "That isn't knowable, Harry, and you can't think that way. That way lies madness. Think about this, instead. Two thirds of the children of the whole Realm took shelter in the castle, and every one of them is alive and safe and well. Ron and Minerva and the others didn't die for nothing. That's their monument."

Hermione watched his face over her teacup. He wasn't sure he could believe her, even though he wanted to. That wouldn't do.

"You're going to get a lot of second-guessing and clever ideas and people saying you should have done this or that. You can't let that get to you. A lot of those clever ideas don't look so clever when you give them a good close look." She continued.

"Such as?" He said. Hermione could see his active mind diverted to this new question, which was good.

"There are people who've said to me that muggle heavy weapons would have been better than magic." Hermione said. "Let's look at that one. Rocket launcher. A muggle rocket launcher is about three feet long, weighs about 15 pounds, does about as much damage as a Bombarda Maxima and has about the same range and accuracy. It has to be reloaded after every shot, too. You want that, or do you want your wand?"

"I'll stick with my wand, thanks very much." Harry said. "Hang on, they've got fighter planes."

"That they do. They cost hundreds of millions of pounds, which we don't have, take years to acquire, which we certainly didn't have, require a lot of parts and skilled maintenance people to do that work, which we don't have ..." She made a dismissive gesture.

"We could have got the muggles to help. This affects them, too." Harry said, thoughtfully.

"Right. All we would have had to do is convince the entire magical world to give up the Statute of Secrecy, negotiate a military alliance with the muggle government, and have them do the modifications needed to make their weapons effective against dragons, which they aren't designed for, all in the tiny bit of time we had." Hermione replied.

This time it was Harry who made a dismissive gesture. "Not clever."

Hermione nodded. "Other such clever ideas run up against the fundamental problem that electricity and magic don't play well together. If a spell hits a live electrical circuit, the results are unpredictable, and mostly bad. That's why there's no electricity in magic enclaves, and why we restrict the use of magic so strictly outside them. Electricity is the magic of the muggle world, Harry. It's everywhere, used for everything, and people take it for granted. We're not going to give up magic, they're not going to give up electricity, and you need to keep the two separated."

Harry nodded. "We have it to do. We have to see that our friends didn't die for nothing."

Hermione replied, "That we do. There are going to be a lot of people who want this war to not have happened in the first place, or for someone else to do the fighting and the dieing. We didn't ask for this war, and we didn't start it. We're fighting this war with what we have, under a leader we can follow, who has done very well so far."

Her expression turned feral. "Those Russian bastards owe us a long bill, and I want to collect on it. All of it."

"I'll tell the commanders that you'll be ready in fifteen." She added, finished her tea and left.

Fifteen minutes later on the dot, the Warlord strode into the briefing area and returned the salutes of his commanders.

"Report." The tone of the order matched the cold controlled expression on his face.

Commander Berg went first. "Task Force Romania is ready to go on your order, Sir. There are fifteen in the advance guard, which I will lead. The main body is twenty-five, under Sub-Commander Draupatra, my second in command. They will be on standby to deploy at short notice. Depending on the situation we find, I may need reinforcements at short notice."

Harry nodded. "Maintain constant communications and update me as soon as you know anything. If you need help, I will send what I can. Go on completion of this meeting."

Next up was a hard-bitten woman in the pale blue leathers of US Dragon Force. "Major Foss, Warlord. France is secure, but there were significant losses before we could get there. Their major enclave in Paris was untouched, since the Sorcier and her Household were there, but they lost three outlying enclaves completely destroyed and others damaged. Relief and rescue operations are underway. The current estimate is fifty dead and many more injured."

Harry bit his lip. He had sent what he could as soon as he could. It could have been worse, which was becoming the mantra for this war.

Foss continued. "There were 37 dragons in the French reservation. Of those, we have accounted for 28 as confirmed kills. The rest we assess to have gone to ground. We are not conducting search operations to find them at this time. We have cover over the enclaves while the rescue operations are going on."

The instinct of dragons was to hide in caves in rugged terrain, emerging to hunt. Finding them was not going to be quick or easy. Yeager was putting his efforts toward protecting lives first, and Harry was not going to fault him for that. Not only that, Romania was still an unknown, and he might need to recall some, or all of Yeager's force.

"Approved. No search operations without my orders." Harry replied.

Foss nodded. The next up was ... Ginny. She looked tired and determined in about equal measure. She had to be grieving the loss of her brother, but she didn't show it. "Commander Weasley, Warlord. Acting Commander for Britain. The enclaves are secure. We have flights ready to go at short notice if there are any more dragons sighted. So far there are none. Hogwarts is secure. The DA remains there, and the defences of the castle have been re-established. Professor Septima Vector has taken up the offices of Headmistress and Constable of Hogwarts."

Harry bit his lip again. His instinct was to tell the DA to stand down and rest, but he had to trust Ginny on that. Depending on what Berg found in Romania, he might need every wand and broom he could get.

"Of the 216 dragons in the Hebrides Reservation, 172 are accounted for as kills." She went on. "We think that five took refuge in the Forbidden Forest during the fighting around Hogwarts. We are not searching for them."

Harry nodded. "You are confirmed as the Commander for Britain. No search operations without my orders, and no one is to enter the Forbidden Forest without my orders."

The Forbidden Forest was a hornet's nest. What all was in there ... Hagrid and the centaurs might know, but even they probably didn't know all of it.

"Yes, Warlord." Ginny replied. "The Home Defence volunteers now number 575. There were losses during the fighting, I do not know yet how many."

"Commander Sheret, Warlord. The reserve now amounts to 185 strong. We are re-equipping the force, less the CMAF and USDF, with Firebolt and Nimbus brooms equipped with compass and wireless sets."

At Harry's raised eyebrows, he said, "Miss Granger has the manufacturers working around the clock. I will refer you to her for the details."

Harry nodded toward Hermione, who brought up her To-Do list, and said crisply, "I levied on Firebolt and Nimbus for their entire inventory as a Warlord requisition, modified with compasses and Wireless sets. The top line models already have invisibility, so that isn't an issue. So far, Task Force Romania has been re-equipped, plus spares for damage. The CMAF and USDF ride McLaughlins, so they are good to go as they are. The makers estimate two or three days for the whole force. I'm watching that."

"Thank you. Well done." Harry replied. "Anything else?"

Silence was the answer, and Harry said, "Dismissed to your duties."

Chapter 47: Chapter 47 Departures and Negotiations

Chapter 47 Departures and Negotiations

Author's Note: I am indebted to dunuelos for bringing up the question of relations with the Goblins during this crisis.

Harry remembered Canada as the bodies of the fallen were borne between the ranks of everyone in the Ministry who did not have an urgent, immediate job to do. He held his wand salute as they floated by in turn.

You swore mighty oaths that you wouldn't sit back and let others get killed fighting for you. Then you did exactly that. Safe here in the Headquarters, surrounded by bodyguards and security, while your friends did the fighting. He thought bitterly.

There had not been enough time for the proper ceremonial of a funeral, and God knew every one of them deserved it. The best that they could do was to have them lie in state until there was time for proper honours. Magic would preserve them against that day.

Ron's body was borne by his brothers and sister, his face still and pale above the white shroud that hid the hideous burns from dragon fire. As he passed by them, Harry turned his head slightly to speak to Arthur and Molly.

"I'm sorry. I should have been there." He said, in a low voice.

Arthur and Molly alike had tears running down their faces. Arthur simply shook his head. It was Molly who replied.

Molly's voice was firm despite her grief. "No, Harry, you shouldn't. You were where you needed to be."

"I asked too much of your family." Harry replied, unconsoled. "You could have lost more than Ron. I sent them into the forefront of the battle. You both were in the Order, fighting against Voldemort. When is it enough?"

"You didn't even ask them to come to Canada, Harry." She said, watching Ron's body go by, followed by the others of the DA borne by their comrades. "You didn't lie, or threaten, or demand. No one was in the DA except by their own free choice. Do you think you could have kept them from fighting for Hogwarts? Really?"

"No." Harry said heavily.

She gestured toward the procession, her grief overlaid with anger. "Mad reckless fools, the bloody lot of them. Percy was the only one with any sense. I had to learn to let go of trying to protect them from themselves, else I'd have gone mad. Cursebreaker, dragon handler, dragon hunters, and they were daredevils from the time they could walk. I never knew half of what Fred and George were up to, just that they were playing with FiendFyre. Ginny, I thought a girl would have more sense, but she was just as bad as the rest."

She shook her head and dashed tears from her face. "You taught them more caution than I ever could, Harry. Don't torment yourself. Too many need you too badly. We need you. We need you to give the rest of our children a fighting chance. We're in it now, and there's no going back."
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Commander Berg flicked into existence at the Portkey stage, with her flight with her. They had no sooner stepped off the stage than the other two flights of the Vanguard arrived behind them. One flight was Indian, the other Canadian. Both were veterans of Canada. The last to make transit was the liaison man from the British Department of Magical Cooperation, who had greeted them like manna from heaven and threaded them through the maze of obstruction and misdirection to get them here as quickly as they had.

Waiting for them was an oily-looking bureaucratic type who Berg pegged, after a second or two, as the Director of the Romanian Dragon Reservation. She hadn't liked him at first sight, and further acquaintance had not changed that. He was an apple-polishing bureaucrat who would convene a committee to decide the lunch menu. He was backed by a couple of flunkies.

"Commander Berg." He greeted her obsequiously. "Such an honor it is to have you here. I have arranged for a luncheon for you and your officers, and we will show you to your accommodations. We are completely prepared for your tour, of course."

Delay, delay, delay. Berg thought. Only thing that he's good at.

"No." She said curtly. "We will conduct our inspection of the reservation now. Lead the way."

They headed down the covered walkway from the Portkey station, the smell of soap lingering in the air. The usual pre-VIP scrubbing, no doubt.

They paused at the gate into the Reservation proper, and the Director made another transparent attempt to delay them, searching through his pockets looking for the key to the gate.

"Director." Berg said coldly, drawing her wand, "You will open that gate in the next ten seconds, or I will."

Under that persuasion, the Director miraculously discovered the key, inserted it, and unlocked the gate.

Berg and her people strode through the gate, then stopped dead with shock.

The Romanian Dragon Reservation was a bowl shaped valley surrounded by rock walls with caves excavated out of them. The nimbus of power that was the lid of that bowl was not the steady stable iridescent hemisphere that it should have been. It was flickering and unstable, and even as she watched one of the cloud of dragons that was swirling around inside the wards found a momentary weak spot and escaped through it before it closed again.

"Mjolnir!" Berg snarled furiously. "Beaver Flight!"

The Canadian flight was gone in pursuit at her word. Berg swept her gaze around the valley. Her eye was immediately caught by a group of people who were illuminated by a green glow, the color of an Aveda Kadavera spell.

Berg mounted her new Firebolt and slashed down toward them, her flight at her back. She pulled up to hover next to the group with her wand out.

"What the Hel goes on here?" She shouted.

The evident leader of the group looked up, his long red hair blowing in the wind. He never took his wand off the wardstone it was pointed at, which Berg could now see was the source of the eerie green glow. "Thank God. They kept saying that help was coming, but we had almost given up hope. The Russians got in here. They just threw curses at the wards and bugged out again. We couldn't save the outer wards. Best we can do here is try to slow it down and fix the wardstones behind it. It uses the energy from one wardstone to attack the next. I've never seen the like."

Berg belatedly recognized him as Charley Weasley. She had met him on previous visits and tabbed him as one of the good ones. Looking at the wardstones, she could see that he was right, and moreover the curse didn't just suck the magic out of the stones, it damaged them. The re-energized wardstones were weak, flickering and unstable looking.

"What do you need here?" She said, over the frying crackling noises coming from the green glowing wardstone and the irregular whining coming from the others.

"Cursebreakers and wardmasters. We're doing our best here, but none of us is either." He replied, then turned his attention back to the wardstone.

At Berg's emphatic gestures, the rest of her flight dismounted and joined the effort around the wardstones.

Berg turned her wand to her own head and drew out the silver gossamer of a memory, placed it in a vial and sealed it. She looked around and, seeing the Magical Cooperation man, gestured for him to come to her. She handed him the vial.

"Mr. Herbert. My report. Portkey back, tell the main body to move now and get this to HQ as quick as a Warlord's cast. He'll know what to do. Go!"

Herbert pocketed the vial, nodded assent and vanished with the crack of Apparation.

Right, those wards are gone, too. She thought grimly.

That the Warlord would send help as soon as humanly possible was a given. Whether it would be soon enough after all the time that idiot Director had pissed away was another question altogether. Whether he was a traitor as well as a chair warming idiot was a question for another time, too.

She looked up at the main gate to see the first flight of the main body emerging from it. She waved them on down. All she do was buy as much time as possible, and hope it would be enough.
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Harry and the other commanders watched the Penseive memory play out above the table in grim silence.

"Cursebreakers and Wardmasters. Who has those?" Harry said without thinking, then hoped he hadn't dented the reputation of the Warlord for being always on top of things and prepared.

"Gringotts. They have Cursebreaker teams that operate worldwide, and their Wardmasters are the standard by which all others are measured." Hermione replied at once.

Bloody bleeding wonderful. Harry thought grimly. Now I have to negotiate with the goblins.

Leading dragon-hunters was something that he could at least claim to have a clue over. Diplomacy he knew exactly nothing about. Well, he had learned the hard way that he could call on the experience of others and he didn't have to do it all himself.

"Arthur. We're going to have to talk to the goblins. Put together a team to do that. We're going to need the best they have, fast as that can be done." Harry said.

About all he knew was that relationship of the goblins to the rest of the wizarding world was complex and fractious. Binns had been very prone to droning on about goblin rebellions. Harry now wished that he'd stayed awake and paid attention in that class. Wishing was not going to get it done. Commander Berg and the Task Force were counting on him, and he was not going to let them down.

Shortly they were conducting an ad hoc meeting in one corner of the Operations area. It consisted of Harry, Arthur, Percy, and a short grey-haired round faced man named Harald Omnislaf from Goblin Relations who spoke fluent Gobbledegook. He had dealt with them so long that he bore the Goblin name of Silvertongue. There was also a young woman from Protocol, Alison Harding, who was apparently Percy's wand hand.

"All right. I need to check six before I go in here." Harry started off, grimly aware of how little time they had and the price that was being paid to buy it. "I have the authority to call on the resources of the Realm in the defence of the Realm. Where are we on that?"

"Very shaky ground, I'm afraid, sir." Silvertongue replied. "I won't take your time with the details of the Goblin Status Treaty of 1807, except to say that it granted them a considerable degree of autonomy and established Gringotts as the central bank of the Realm. They are very touchy about that. They would drag their feet forever if they thought you were infringing on that autonomy, and they would assume exactly that. Trying to use that authority would not work."

Harry frowned. Of course it wouldn't be easy. All right, try a different angle. "All right, can we just hire who we need? We have the Treasury of the Realm behind us."

Silvertongue frowned. "We'd have to negotiate a contract with them. Certainly not cheap, and you have to watch details on that very carefully. They're famous for tricky clauses. It would take more time than we have."

"Damnation." Harry said angrily. "People died defending London, including Gringotts, while they sat there counting Galleons. What about that?"

Silvertongue brightened. "That actually gives us a position, sir. Goblins are ironbound about debts. Default on a debt to them, and they'll go after your descendants a century later. That goes both ways. If we've rendered them a service under a contract, then they owe us and they'll be obligated to pay. One of the worst insults in Gobbledegook translates as 'debt defaulter', Mr. Potter."

"You might have to teach me that word, Silvertongue. Do we have some kind of a contract with them?" Harry said.

"Everything is a contract to the goblins. Including the Treaty." He replied at once.

"Percy." Arthur said. Percy and Alison were already casting search spells on a long roll of parchment.

"Defence of the Realm, come on, come on." Percy said tensely as a silver glow moved down the parchment.

"There we go." Percy said as the glow outlined a block of text. He read it aloud.

"Clause XXXVI. Defence of the Realm. The Goblin Nation shall have the protection of the Guardian of the Realm from threats internal and external to the Realm, and such protection shall constitute a service to the Goblin Nation, compensation for which shall be negotiable."

"All right, break this down for me." Harry said.

"No mention of sovereignty. Makes sense as a compromise. An agreement between equals, conceding equality between them and the Warlock but no territorial claim either way." Silvertongue said at once.

"If we are going to negotiate this, we need to go to the top. The Warlock will have to talk to his counterpart. Who is that?" Percy said.

"They have a ruling council." Silvertongue replied. "The politics are complex, and the goblins never talk about that. Our best bet is to present our claim to the Head Goblin of Gringotts, and have him set up the meeting. I'm reasonably sure that the Head Goblin has a seat on that council. Do we want to go to Gringotts, or have it on neutral ground?"

"That matters, why?" Harry said.

"It's a diplomatic signal." Arthur replied. "Coming to someone's home grounds, or having them come to yours, gets interpreted as an assertion of strength, a statement that one side or the other has the upper hand, or thinks that they do. Neutral ground is a statement of equality, business to be done."

"Well, maybe we could turn that around." Percy said thoughtfully. "We walk right in, slap a bill in front of them, tell them no more delays. We're creditors, and we're torqued right off. We're presenting them with an overdue bill, that they've been ignoring."

"Overdue?" Arthur said, dubiously. "How's that?"

"Voldemort." Alison said. "He murdered goblins, he stole goblin artifacts and tainted them with dark magic. Dumbledore defeated him, removed that threat. They've never as much as mentioned that, never as much as said thanks."

"So, we go in with the high hand." Harry said.

He smiled coldly. "I'm in a mood for that. That word that you mentioned, Silvertongue. How do you pronounce that?"

The Warlord and his staff walked down Diagon Alley, the crowds of wizards parting in front of them at the forbidding mien of the Warlord, the Crown of a Just Man glowing in golden fire above his head.

The main entrance of Gringotts was guarded by two goblin warriors, armoured and armed with halberds. As Harry and the others approached, they crossed their weapons in front of the main door to forbid entrance. Harry and the others did not slow or even change step. Harry's hand flickered, and the Elder Wand was in it. The guards and their weapons went flying, slamming into the stone columns with a clangour of steel on stone. None of the Warlord's party as much as spared them a glance as they walked by and through the double doors into the great main hall of Gringotts Bank.

The goblins along each side of the hall working at their high desks stopped in amazement at the sight of them walking up toward the desk of the Head Goblin, in its splendid isolation at the far end of the great chamber.

They stopped in front of the Head Goblin's desk, set higher than all the others. Harry remembered, it seemed long ago now, how even Hagrid had had to reach up to place a letter on that desk. He was of no mind to allow such a cheap trick to place him at a disadvantage. He flicked the Elder Wand and all six of them rose smoothly up into the air until Harry was eye to eye with the Head Goblin.

"Mr. Harry Potter is here to submit a bill." Harry said, coldly. He reached into his pocket with his other hand and put an envelope on the table. It was addressed:

The Head Goblin, Gringotts Bank.

PAST DUE was stamped across it in large red letters.

"I will wait." Harry said.

Under his gaze, the Head Goblin took out an ornate letter opener and slit open the heavy parchment of the envelope.

"What is this?" He spluttered, shaken out of his usual confident calm.

"This is a bill for service rendered under a contract, one that you have been studiously ignoring. I have been given to understand that goblins pay their debts. Do you?" Harry said.

"How dare you!" The Head Goblin said, his voice near a shout and his shark-like teeth bared. Every head in the room was now focused on them.

Harry's expression was a teeth-bared snarl every bit as feral as the Head Goblin's. Among the goblins, as Silvertongue had told him, that was a challenge, an expression of defiance.

"Albus Dumbledore was my mentor, my teacher, my friend. I learned daring from him. I am but his student, but I did well in those lessons." Harry said in a soft, deadly voice.

Harry flung up his wand hand, and a clock face of golden fire hung in the air, its hands counting down from sixty minutes, second by second. "Send to your ruling council. Tell them that they have one hour. At the end of that hour I leave, and I proclaim the the Goblin Nation is Pro'tlafak to all the wizarding world."

The Head Goblin's teeth ground together, and he and Harry locked gazes for a long moment.

"Fifty-nine minutes and thirty-five seconds." Harry said, his voice unyielding. The Head Goblin dropped his gaze, took the bill and vanished with a crack.

"Now?" Hermione said.

"Now we wait." Harry said, bridling his impatience. Every minute of time on that clock was bought with the sweat and risk, and perhaps blood, of Commander Berg's Task Force. He had done his best to ensure that none of it was wasted.

They hung there in the air, waiting. Harry turned his head to Silvertongue.

"You think they'll play?" He said, just above a whisper.

"They'll come. You threatened them with disaster. Whether we get an agreement ..." Silvertongue replied, making an equivocal gesture.

The clock was at thirty-five minutes and twenty seconds when there was a multiple crack and five richly dressed goblins appeared behind the Head Goblin's desk. They each wore heavy gold chains around their necks, supporting intricately worked gold medallions. Harry was pretty sure that one of them was the Head Goblin.

Silvertongue turned his head and spoke softly to Harry. "Left to right, their names are Harcraft, Craftersan, Trantor, Fanghook and Springleap. Trantor is the leader of the Council. Fanghook is Head Goblin of Gringotts. Those medallions are like coats of arms. They give their names and families."

"Well?" Trantor said, harshly.

Harry took a deep breath. The high hand. That was all that would get them the help they needed in the desperately little time that they had. "We have business to conduct. Do you customarily keep your creditors waiting in the public hall?"

"No." Trantor replied, grudgingly. "Please follow me."

The goblins led on down a passage into a stone room. The floor was granite, polished to a mirror shine. The walls were decorated with goblin made weapons, swords and halberds and battleaxes. The table was a long oval, with a dozen seats on each side. The goblin council members took the far seats in the centre, and Harry and his party the seats facing them.

"You have submitted a bill to us for the defeat of Voldemort. Voldemort was a wizard, not a goblin. That was an internal matter for your Realm to deal with." Trantor said.

"I thought goblins could bargain. Can you do no better than that?" Arthur replied, scornfully. "Voldemort murdered indiscriminately, wizards, muggles and goblins alike. He stole the work of goblins and tainted them with the dark magic born of those murders. He was a threat to all, including the Goblin Nation, a present and deadly threat, until Albus Dumbledore cast him down and defeated him. Albus Dumbledore was Guardian of the Realm. The Contract of 1807 applies."

Trantor turned his gaze to Harry from Arthur.

"What is he to you?" He demanded in that same harsh tone.

"He is my friend. He speaks with my voice." Harry replied.

After a short silence, there was an exchange among the goblins of low-voiced comments.

Silvertongue gave a running translation into Harry's ear. "Who is he? ... Arthur Weasley. ... It would have to be that one. ... What is he to the Warlock? ... Father to the dragons brood who are the first of the wands in the Warlock's Household."

"Very well." Trantor replied, grudgingly, in English. "The Goblin Nation owes a debt. In what coin shall we pay?"

"Service for service." Arthur replied. "Dragon reservations across the wizarding world have had their wards cursed, damaged or destroyed. Rebuild those wards and safeguards to the standard that the world expects of Gringotts, and we will hold that debt paid in full."

"The craft of goblins remains the property of goblins, though it may be lent out for a time." Craftersan said.

"With ownership goes responsibility." Arthur replied. "The Goblin Nation shall be responsible to maintain those wards and safeguards in perpetuity, as part of the repayment of that debt."

Craftersan bared his teeth briefly, then covered them again. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again as Trantor's cold look fell on him.

Trantor turned his look to Arthur. "You bargain well. Let it be so. Where shall the work begin?"

"Romania, the dragon reservation." Harry replied. "The wards there hover on the edge of failure. If they go down, the magical nations of Europe will go up in flames and many will die."

"The work will begin at once. Craftersan, see to it." Trantor said. Craftersan nodded, produced a quill and parchment, scribbled a note and sent it darting away.

"Surely our business here is done." Fanghook said, starting to get up from his seat.

Arthur showed his teeth briefly in a mirthless smile. "We have dealt with the small change of the past. Now we deal with the current bill, that is being written as we speak."

Fanghook sat again, looking warily at Arthur. Harry didn't know where Arthur was going with this, but he trusted him and was going to let him play his Quidditch position.

Arthur met Trantor's eyes, and said, "Voldemort was a threat, but we now face a greater threat. The magical nation of Russia makes war against the entire magical world. They have loosed dragons on many nations, destroyed much, killed many. The interests of the Goblin Nation are also world-wide. Gringotts does business across the wizarding world. The artifacts of goblins are scattered across the world, as well. The Guardian of the Realm has rallied the wizardry of the world to meet that threat. He is protecting your interests, as well. The Contract of 1807 applies, also."

If Trantor's look had been a spell, Arthur would have been a pile of ash on the floor. Arthur met that look unflinchingly.

"That bill has not been presented." Fanghook replied, carefully.

"It mounts by the hour." Arthur replied. "You can pay now and help diminish the final total, or you can pay later when all this is done. I promise you that later will make now look like the good old days."

Harry got up from his chair. Trantor said, "Where are you going?"

"I have battles to fight and a Realm to defend." Harry replied. "Those I trust will do this business."

Harry turned and left, his mind already turning to the next crisis.