Vox Corporis: Rebirth

Vox Corporis: Rebirth

Chapter 90

“MOLLY”



Original story by -> Miss_AnnThropic

fanfiction (dot) portkey (dot) org/story/6586/1

Email: miss_annthropic y*hoo (dot) com

by the_scribbler

The_scribbler (at) shadowgard (dot) com



Pursuant to the Berne Convention Implementation Act of 1988 and the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998, this work is copyrighted 2009 with all rights expressly reserved by its author unless explicitly granted. No portion may be reproduced in any fashion without the express written and notarized permission of the author.



Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. All characters are creations of Joanne K Rowling, © 2007, to whom I am deeply indebted. I make no money from any of this.



CONTENT Disclaimer: This story may contain sexually graphic and explicit material and as such, it is not suitable for minors. If you are a minor, please leave now, as it is illegal for you to be here. If it is illegal for you to read or view sexually explicit material in the community you view such material, please leave now. This story and characters are purely fictional and any resemblance to events or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental. If you are offended by sexually explicit stories, please read no further. If you are offended by stories featuring group sex, bisexual situations, incest, or any other situation, please check the story code before reading the text. These stories are just that, stories, and the author does not promote or condone the activities described herein



In Gratia: The original story was created so beautifully and so powerfully by MissAnnThropic. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to her for her kindness in letting me ‘play in her sandbox’. I have used direct quotes from her story, chapter 58, in this chapter. Fanfiction(dot)portkey(dot)org/story/6586/58



Note One: To those of you who reviewed my last chapter – THANK YOU! I was really flattered by your support and the encouragement you have all given me.

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From Chapter 89 – “Sacrifice”



With that, the two senior law-enforcement officers walked out of the Chapel and waited for the Healer to stun the sacrificant and bring her out. It took just a moment for the renowned healer to exit the sanctuary with her charge gently floating in mid-air in front of her.



Amelia Bones shook her head and then pointed at the door – which earned another grunt of understanding from the Head of the Hit-wizards. Drawing their wands, each silently inscribed a series of complex movements in mid-air. As she moved down the hall, Poppy Pomfrey could feel the backwash from the magic that had just been performed. It gave her a good feeling to know that the first half of the plan to restore the Longbottoms was complete, but she wondered if she should feel guilty about feeling relieved that she would no longer hear the amazing woman crying out and beating her fists against the padded walls.



Poppy realized, as she turned to head up the first flight of stairs, that she’d have to find a new place to pray for a while – at least until the Chapel was re-opened. She wondered as she walked whether anyone from the Order of the Phoenix, other than Kingsley and Remus Lupin, was left to appreciate that a chapter was about to be opened and then re-closed.

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Head’s room, two hours before sunrise; Saturday, November 20th



Hermione Potter was sound asleep on top of her husband as they laid together under the warm down quilt – at peace as they dreamed together the same dream. It was what gave them such peace as a couple and allowed them to be so in tune with the others’ needs.



So few understood what the magical couple had together and fewer still knew how special their love was, but those who were lucky enough to see or feel it were forever transformed by it.



In the end, it didn’t matter, really, what anyone else knew or felt. Magical bonds were just that…magical. They couldn’t be explained through logic or psychological analysis or by way of reference to historical relationships. They just were.



Hermione was grateful, consciously so or otherwise, for the fact that she and Harry had been able to sleep together so peacefully. The previous weeks had been traumatic – both because of her grandmother and because of the tension that planning for the confrontation with Molly was creating. Ron was on edge, as was his sister Ginny and none of them though that it was going to be easy. The whole situation was compounded by the pressures that Harry and Hermione were getting in their position as Head Boy and Girl. It was pretty clear that many of the students trusted them more than they did the ‘official’ teachers. It was still a mystery as to why that was exactly, but Hermione had surmised that the study and introspection which the students had gone through had probably re-pointed at least some of the students’ loyalties.



The one thing that Albus Dumbledore had said, when Harry asked him about how he – the Headmaster – dealt with the pressure, was that there were always two kinds of pressures. In the first category of pressures were those placed on a person by others, reasonable or not. In the second category were those that a person placed on him or herself. Those were, by far, the harder ones with which to cope, because there was never any escape from one’s own expectations. Albus had suggested that he and Hermione ‘exchange’ worries by putting all of their dreams and thoughts into a pensieve and then having the other look at them. When they had done so it had helped alleviate about half of the burden that each of them was feeling… which was a great deal better than where they had started out, but not as far along as Harry had hoped.



There were only six days to go before the planned confrontation and there was still much to do, so every hour taken in sleep was one less hour spent preparing. It was a fine balance between being sufficiently prepared for whatever might happen and being rested enough to make good judgments.

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Gryffindor tower at Sunrise – November 20th



Luna Maria Lovegood woke to the sound of her fiancé’s slow, rhythmic breathing and the first splash of sun against the far wall of the seventh-year dorm-room. His arm was thrown across her back, holding her close. She could feel her engagement ring on her left hand and as she turned her hand slightly, saw the reflection of its center diamond. Smiling, she thought about how lucky she was to be loved by Ron and how much he had grown since she had first met him. Snuggling against Ron’s long, powerful, lanky body, Luna closed her eyes, breathed deep, and let sleep take her once again.

Luna was not alone though. Neville and Ginny were a couple and could always be found together in his bed, while Seamus Finnegan and his love were cuddled up, still asleep, and looking as peaceful as he had ever been.



Meanwhile, Dean Thomas was asleep with both Lavender Brown and Astoria Greengrass on his bed in the corner of the room, a contented look on their three faces.



Under Harry and Hermione’s influence (and the tacit approval of the Headmaster and Mistress), and for the sixth- and seventh-year students only, Hogwarts had by and large gone ‘coed-by-bed’. What wasn’t acknowledged was the fact that there had been some ‘trickle-down’ and that some fourth- and fifth-year students were quietly sharing their beds as well. Luna felt the ambient magic in the room and it felt good. For all of them, Tom Riddle and his cronies were history and no longer mattered. She knew that Harry and Hermione still had one more coming conflict that they would have to handle, and that Ron would somehow be involved, but she felt confident that things were going to be all right in the end – even if Molly Weasley wasn’t a part of the picture for a while.

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Elsewhere in the great, stone castle, hundreds of Elvin hands were busy stirring, kneading, cleaning, measuring, planning, sorting, and otherwise making ready for the anticipated onslaught of needs that would confront them in less than two hours. There was a thrum of magic all around the Elves as they worked, but not a word among them. Each knew his or her duty and worked both happily and diligently, until his or her task was completed. When they spoke, it was at a frequency much, much higher than the human ear could detect, so that it seemed like they weren’t speaking at all.



Winky and Dobby were hard at work as well, but for a much more select group. Harry Potter and his ‘Mione had to be cared for very specially and they were the only two elves allowed to serve the powerful couple. It was a privilege as well as an honor that both elves treasured and they took it very seriously indeed.

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Breakfast was ready to be served by 8:15 a.m. – though none of the students in the school seemed at all ready to eat it. Those few who stumbled into the Great Hall were mostly seventh-years who were trying to get an early start on their NEWT studies and who were feeling not-as-prepared as they thought they ought to be. Hermione Jane Potter was not among them – and therefore somewhat conspicuous in her absence. She had never before missed an opportunity to be in the library early, before Madame Pince had the opportunity to start in on one of her usual tirades about students and the lack of care that they generally showed towards her precious books.



By ten minutes of nine though, more students, woken by the incredible smells wafting from the Great Hall, made their way towards whatever seats seemed easiest; arranging themselves haphazardly up and down the tables.



Harry and Hermione, Neville and Ginny, Ron and Luna, and a smattering of others, including Rebecca Bones and Pansy Parkinson, made their way towards the front of the hall, so that they could be nearer to the Headmaster and deputy Headmistress. Their desire to be closer to Albus and Minerva was partially strategic and partially instinctive. Powerful wizards and witches drew people towards them by the very fact of their power. Magic, just like colors did for flowers, served as an unacknowledged, but very real attractant. It was the reason that the most powerful wizards and witches in the Ministry for Magic almost always ended up as Hit-wizards or Unspeakables and why Harry and Hermione always had the most potent students around them. It also explained why Harry and Hermione gravitated towards the Headmaster and Headmistress.



Harry, if he had been asked, would have said that it just made sense, as a seventh-year, to get as much information from the Headmaster as possible. Hermione, on the other hand, would have focused on the fact that there’s never a substitute for experience and that between the Headmaster and Headmistress, there was almost three hundred years of experience from which she could draw.



In either case, seeing Harry and Hermione, with their ad hoc but powerful entourage, caused the Headmaster and Headmistress to rise from their places and move down from the dais and to places near to where Harry and Hermione chose to sit.



“Good morning Harry, Hermione.”



Harry inclined his head to the Headmaster, even as he squeezed Hermione’s hand. “Good morning, Headmaster. I hope you’re feeling better.”



Dumbledore chuckled. “Harry, I think I still have some ‘spring-chicken’ in me yet, so no worries on my account.”



Harry smiled. He was glad to hear that the Headmaster had recovered from the ritual they had all gone through for Hermione’s grandmother. Even though it had been more than two weeks prior, it had still kicked hell out of all of them, and it wasn’t something he ever wanted to do again. Given the vast gap in age and what Harry and Hermione had gone through for her grandmother’s sake, he felt enormously sympathetic for the Headmaster and what he must have suffered to complete the ritual.



Minerva listened to the interplay between Headmaster and student and wondered, not for the first time, whether what she was seeing was really the development of the next Headmaster of Hogwarts. Given Hermione’s extraordinary power – represented by the fact that she, a Muggleborn witch, out of all of the hundreds of thousands of witches on the planet, wore Morgana’s Star, she realized that it would not surprise her at all.



Neville Longbottom held Ginny’s hand and basked in the joy of just being in such company. He didn’t feel as though he had to compete with Harry or Hermione at all and it was a wonderful, liberating feeling. Harry Potter had promised to be his friend, always, and no matter the circumstances he knew, without a doubt, that Harry meant every word of his promise; because that was just the kind of person Harry was.



Pansy and Rebecca watched the exchanges with something between bemusement and fascination. They had become friends shortly after being introduced at the sorting and had since moved into something closer to a semi-exclusive relationship. Susan, Rebecca’s cousin, still didn’t quite know what to make of the relationship, but figured it was none of her business, so long as each was good for the other.



Harry, on the other hand, was still more than a little amazed at Rebecca’s sudden ‘change of teams’. When he first asked Hermione about it, she had simply told him that some peoples’ sexuality was more complex, and therefore not always limited to just one gender. Both Ginny and Luna – who had both gotten to know Rebecca and Pansy pretty well - refused to answer Harry’s questions about Rebecca and Pansy, other than to say that it wasn’t at all unusual for otherwise unattached witches to warm each others’ beds when at school. Their answers earned more than one raised eyebrow. “Eyebrow on stun, Mr. Spock”, Harry thought to himself – remembering a line from a Muggle fiction book he had once read - as he walked passed one of the schools’ many mirrors immediately following the conversation with Ginny and Luna and saw himself with that same, cocked eyebrow.



Hermione patently refused to confirm or deny Ginny and Luna’s assertion that many of the schools’ unattached witches often shared beds with each other for something more than simple body-warmth at night. That earned Hermione a particularly cold shoulder for several hours – with threats of an unshared bed that same night. Eventually she relented and did reluctantly confirm that the allegation was more or less true, depending on the House and the year.

The tête-à-tête with Hermione over Pansy and Rebecca’s relationship had forced Harry to tread carefully around her for a fairly long while afterwards. It was a hard lesson, too, because it showed Harry just how angry Hermione could get over being pushed on a topic she didn’t want to discuss. It had never come to them trying to throw magic at each other, but it was bad enough to warn Harry off trying it again for anything less than a life-or-death situation.

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After breakfast was over, in his capacity as Head Boy, as well Animagus instructor, Harry asked everyone who had a form to meet him outside for morning ‘exercises’. Everyone, save for Adrianne Brand and Sean Doonan, responded with at least a modicum of excitement about getting a chance to practice their transformations.



One very cool thing about being an animagus was that it burned a ferocious number of calories and generally served, if practiced every day, to keep a witch or wizard in something close to ‘fighting-trim’. Harry hadn’t become Knight in close to two weeks and his mid-section showed the difference.



This particular morning, both the Headmaster and deputy Headmistress accompanied them outside, if only to see Harry’s particular instructional style. Hermione had decided not to try to teach for the day, but rather observe and comment silently to Harry when she felt it was appropriate. It wasn’t her usual method – she was usually more of a ‘hands-on’ kind of girl, but this particular morning, she felt like watching and listening. The break also gave her a chance to talk to her mentor at some greater length outside of the classroom. Two students – Ginny and Neville – were exempt from all of the exercises, because of the nature of their forms, and so stayed with Hermione and the Headmaster and Mistress.



Once all the other students were lined up and had made their initial transformations, Harry set them to a series of drills, first physical and then magical. The physical tests ranged from a 100-meter dash to a two-mile full-speed flight. For those creatures that didn’t have speed, but rather strength or resiliency, Harry put up some practice-dummies and made the students work with or against them.



The magical tests were more individualized and took some time to design. Hermione could feel Harry’s thoughts churning at something approaching mach one as he struggled to create challenges that would suit each student. The stronger the student, the more Harry had to struggle to create a task challenging enough that it wouldn’t be an immediate insult.



When he got to Ron and Luna, he decided that they, too, should not be tested with the others and asked them to go over and join Ginny and Neville. Ron grumbled at first, but then Luna leaned next to him and said something that made him acquiesce.



Next in line was Pansy Parkinson. She was a gorgeous girl whom Harry had come to admire because of the strength and resiliency of her character. She would bend with the pressures of school, but they never seemed to be able to break her. It was like she was a blade of grass in the wind. Her animagus form was especially interesting, because it was not only a magical form, but extremely rare and beautiful as well. She could become a Rainbow Serpent. The first time Harry saw it, he was astonished. She could not only fly, but she could do magic wandlessly in while in her form. When Hermione first saw Pansy transform, she thought that Harry might be jealous. It took some time (as well has Harry’s considerable personalized, nocturnal attentions) for Hermione to be dissuaded of that idea.



Albus Dumbledore watched as Harry worked his way down the line of students and admired the way that he handled each in turn. When Harry reached Pansy, it was obvious that the Head Boy was flustered by her presence and unsure of how to test her magically. Leaning over, the Headmaster whispered three words in Hermione’s ear, which she then quietly passed to Harry, over their bond.



Immediately, Harry brightened and did as the Headmaster suggested.



The results were spectacular. As soon as Harry transformed into Knight, the fight was on and the two powerful, almost mythic animals were locked in a magical duel.



Those students who had finished their practicing fell to the wayside to watch the unfolding battle and those who were in the middle of their practice sessions became immediately distracted and lost focus on what they were supposed to be doing.



For a long while, it seemed like Pansy actually had the upper hand; seeing how she could flit about the sky on her long black wings. She was never in one place long enough for Harry to throw magic at her accurately. Hermione found that fascinating and wondered if Harry had finally met his match, or if it was simply that he hated anything even related to dragons and had a mental block in dealing with them.



She could sense Harry’s growing annoyance and told him to find a way to end it, before the duel turned nasty. He agreed and suddenly disappeared from where he had been crouching on the ground. Ten meters in the air, Pansy Parkinson thought herself close to invincible and wondered why Harry hadn’t given up when she suddenly felt Harry’s almost 18 stone of weight land on her back and his razor-sharp teeth bite into her neck; clamping down with enough force to tell her that he wasn’t kidding any longer.



Pansy was forced to land, because her wings couldn’t bear their combined weights. The moment that they made contact with the ground Harry slammed home the pressure and made her submit.



Once Pansy signaled her surrender, Harry let go and walked away. The taste of her blood was still on his tongue and it was enough to make his thinking feral and dangerous. Hermione became frightened by that and sought to pull Harry out of his form, hoping that she could divert him from going hunting. Even Dumbledore sensed it and knew that were he in his goat animagus form, he might very well be in trouble.



Harry’s tail was swishing back and forth and Hermione could tell that something bad might be about to happen. From behind Hagrid’s hut, there came the sound of a goose honking and suddenly, Knight was away. Moving as though possessed, Knight ran in the direction of the sound.



There was nothing for it but to chase after him so Hermione became Sagehunter and tore after him, running as fast as she could across the field.



“Harry! Come back! Please!”



He was too far gone though to be called back so easily and soon, Hermione/Sagehunter heard the distinctive sounds of Knight, killing his prey.



Realizing that she was too late to keep him from the bloodbath which she knew was happening, Hermione turned back. She reverted from her wild form and walked the ten meters back to where the Headmaster stood.



“Too late, Headmaster”, Hermione said reluctantly. “I couldn’t stop him.”



“Hagrid will be unhappy”, the Headmaster replied distantly, as he looked across the broad field. “I fear….”



He didn’t get a chance to say what he feared, but Hermione could sense that it was Harry’s precipitous change from teacher to terrifying hunter which was bothering the Headmaster. Hermione shared his concern, but not for the same reasons.



As Hermione, the Headmaster, Deputy Headmistress, and the newly-minted animagi all made their way back towards the Great Hall, Knights’ throaty snarls stopped, and the awful, panicky sounds of the ducks and geese died away. Hermione could feel that her husbands’ bloodlust had been satisfied and that he would be himself again soon.

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In the Office of the Headmaster, later that day



Albus Dumbledore did not like reprimanding Harry Potter. It was never easy, as Harry’s heart had always been in the ‘right place’ and it usually served no good purpose, other than to deepen whatever shame Harry might already be feeling. Having the young man who was Head Boy and an assistant professor of transfiguration sitting across from him made the situation that much more difficult.



For several long minutes, the air was filled with smoky animals of every sort, as the Headmaster tried to figure out the best way to chastise Harry, without causing further problems. He didn’t want to hurt the young man – especially since he loved the boy as his own – but he also knew that something had to be said, had to be done.



“Mr. Potter” he said, finally. “You know, I think, why you are here.”



“I do, sir.”



“Then perhaps you could tell me, in your own words, why you are sitting across from me, waiting for my judgment.”



Harry looked at him and wished that Hermione was with him. Dumbledore had forbade her presence on the account that Harry had to be made to stand up for himself and be answerable on his own, without having to lean on her always for support. It was part of becoming a man and there was just no way for Harry to get there if he was always relying on Hermione’s superior memory and intellect for guidance.



“I lost control, sir. I almost harmed a student, and I destroyed school property.” The Headmaster nodded and then took his pipe from his mouth and rested it on a scrimshaw cup which seemed designed for just that purpose.



“Do you remember, Harry, the day that you attacked Draco Malfoy? Do you remember what I asked you?”



He nodded. “Yes sir. I said to you, ‘why did you stop me’ and you answered, ‘“Need you honestly ask why I would not permit you to murder another student?”



Harry thought about this and then said, “But sir, I wasn’t going to hurt Pansy. At least, I wasn’t going to kill her. I was just trying to get her to stop attacking me. Hermione was the one who told me to end it quickly… and you yourself were the one who suggested a magical duel!”



“Yes, Harry, I did, and I couldn’t be sorrier for it. I never intended for it to go that far. I didn’t expect for the two of you to be so evenly matched like that.”



Harry leaned forward in the chintz chair and gripped the armrests tightly. “Then why am I being punished? I ended it just like I was asked to do!” He was almost yelling, by the time he finished speaking, and then sat back hard.



Dumbledore’s eyes blazed for a moment and his voice became harder. “You forget, Harry, that part of being an adult is knowing how to control your magic. You were so caught up in your ‘cat-thinking’ that you forgot that you could have done serious harm to Ms. Parkinson. I’ve already told you that as Knight, you are infinitely dangerous and that I have a responsibility to protect the other students from you. That’s even if the other student can, at least in theory, protect him or herself. Madame Pomfrey was more than an hour closing the wounds you made to Pansy’s neck and we’ll not be replacing any of the geese or chickens anytime soon. You made an awful mess there.”



Waiving it off, Harry dismissed the entire issue of the chickens. “So take it out of my Gringotts account. Merlin knows I’m not going to even feel it.”



Wham! The Headmaster’s hand slapped the table in front of him hard in anger. “God damn it! That’s what I’m talking about, Harry! YOU CANNOT JUST DISMISS THIS! I WILL NOT TOLERATE SUCH AN ATTITUDE FROM YOU!!”



There rose in Harry a feeling of petulance or defensiveness such that he had not felt with the Headmaster in some time and the sarcastic tone in his voice revealed it. “Really? And you think that I should be blamed for how far the duel went simply because I’m Head Boy? Why didn’t you tell Pansy to stand down? Why did YOU let it go that far? AND OH… WHY DIDN’T YOU BOTHER TO MENTION THAT BITING ANOTHER ANIMAGUS WOULD PROBABLY DRIVE ME AROUND THE BEND?”



One thing about Harry when he was angry was that his aura tended to rise up and become visible. Usually only those who were powerful enough could see it, but sometimes it became so obvious that even squibs were probably aware of it. The Headmaster looked at his protégé and realized that the meeting could turn ugly if he kept pressing the point. He knew that sometimes discretion was the better part of valor.



Sitting back, Albus Dumbledore tried to diffuse the situation. He had meant to remind Harry that he had to be careful and that there were times when care had to be taken with those whom you were charged with teaching. Pansy had been under Harry’s instruction and therefore was his responsibility – whether Harry really knew it or not.



Using a gentler voice, Albus looked across the desk and at the now slightly less angry Head Boy. “Harry, I’ve always looked at you… well, like something much more than just a student. I truly loved your parents. James was a scoundrel, but was as close to me in terms of humor and personality as any student who’s ever attended this school. Your mother…was like my very own daughter. I adored her and was as protective of her as any young girl I’ve ever met. You, as their son… well, let’s just say that I’ve always cared a great deal for you. I’ve seen how you’re willing to sacrifice for others and how much love you’re capable of giving. Your marriage to Hermione is evidence enough of that. I had hoped today to admonish you about taking care of those in your charge and reminding you that you have to be extraordinarily careful in teaching. Not all lessons that are learned are those we think we are conveying. I dare say that you learned things from Professor Snape that you didn’t expect and certainly not lessons that he thought he was teaching.”



“Snape was a bully and a coward. The only thing he ever taught me is that people like him have to be dealt with straight off” Harry said, with a considerable amount of venom in his words.



“I’m sorry to say that you may have been right about him, after a fashion. He did pass information back to us about what Riddle was doing… and they killed him for it…but he was a bully to you, Harry. For that I truly am sorry.”



“I remember you said that Snape talked about Hermione’s and my ‘heightened arrogance’, as he put it. He didn’t know shit and yet he insulted me and mine simply because he was angry and didn’t like my father.”



One of the Headmasters’ eyebrows rose considerably at that. “How did you know that, Harry?”



“It wasn’t hard, sir. He was always talking about how I was ‘just like my father’ and that I had that ‘same arrogance’ that my father did. It was pretty obvious that he was trying to visit whatever sins my father made against him years ago on me, even though I had never, ever deliberately given him reason to do so.”



“The boy is right, Albus” said a painting behind the Headmaster. “Harry didn’t deserve what Severus did to him.”



Albus turned and looked at one of the paintings. “I know, Armando, I know… but why didn’t you tell me what was happening between them? There was so much more that Harry could have learned if Severus could have taken him and trained him properly.”



“We tried, Albus, but you wouldn’t listen. Every time we tried, but it was like talking to a wall. You were so sure that Severus wouldn’t do the things we TOLD you he WAS doing.”



Harry sat back and watched as the conversation unfolded. He never imagined that Albus Dumbledore, wizard-extraordinaire, would be called to account for failures by his peers. It was remarkable, if incredibly disappointing and saddening to hear.



When the Headmaster eventually turned back to face him, Harry thought that perhaps, he had finally seen the human side of the man so many had looked up to for so long. He was more frail and real in that moment than he ever had been before. The look on Harry’s face spoke volumes about what he was thinking and feeling. It caused a tear to appear at the corners of the old mans’ eyes and he removed his half-moon glasses slowly to wipe them away. “I’m sorry, Harry” he said, quietly. “Forgive me my failings. I never wanted to believe that Severus could be so unable to disassociate you from your father. You came to us, having grown up in a Muggle household, thin, distrusting, and emotionally very vulnerable and I let Severus treat you in a way that I would never have allowed, if I could have believed that he was doing so. You were nothing like the privileged, somewhat spoiled, pure-blood child that your father was, when he arrived here.”



Harry looked at him and he felt his heart squeeze down as he tried to keep from showing the sadness that he felt in the moment. It was in that moment that Hermione reached out to him over their bond, in the way that she always found herself able to do. “My love? What’s going on? All I’ve felt from you this last half-hour has been sadness. What’s he saying that’s got you so worked up?”



Closing his eyes, Harry pushed to her all of the conversation between him and the Headmaster, so that Hermione could follow the meandering trail of emotions. Calmly, she worked through all of it, and then pushed back at him her love and reiterated her desire to be next to him and help him with whatever he was experiencing. “Can’t, love. Remember what the Headmaster said when he summoned me. ‘Some things, Mr. Potter, you have to learn to handle on your own’. He’d not appreciate you suddenly showing up; even if it’s what I want, too. I love you, Hermione.”



“I love you too, Harry. Come back soon?”



“Soon as I can, love”. With that, he closed the link and shut down, as best as he was able, the usually wide-open channel that ran between their minds. It was neither fun nor pleasurable. He compared the experience to losing one’s right or left hand and then wondering where it went.



When he opened his eyes again, he found the Headmaster staring at him. “You’re going to have to learn to talk to her with your eyes open, Harry. Otherwise you are going to be constantly vulnerable.”



Harry chuffed at that. “I can talk and walk at the same time, Headmaster. For all my faults, failing at Constant vigilance is not one of them. I thought that being in the presence of the most powerful wizard since Merlin himself might let me, at least, lower my guard a bit. Perhaps I was wrong.”



“Ah, Harry. To be young and direct. It’s a pleasure I’ll not have again, I think.” He stroked his long beard for a moment and then looked at Harry, thoughtfully. “As for being ‘the most powerful since Merlin’… I have reason to doubt that. If you’ll notice, it is not my wife who wears Morgana’s Star, and it is not I who learned the animagus transformation in just five months, nor can I ‘touch the goat’ in the same way that you do with your jaguar. No, I rather think that there will be a time when I am nothing more than a footnote to a much larger story about a young man with wild black hair and green-blue eyes and the woman he loved.”



Harry was astonished. He had never heard such frank admissions from the man that the rest of the wizarding world looked to as the greatest leader since the four founders themselves.



“Now, let us get to the business which brought us here today. You drew blood on another student during a practice duel. For that, I should suspend you for a month and dock your house points. However, since you are Head Boy, and therefore don’t technically belong to any house, I will be satisfied to see you directed to Madame Pomfrey’s each evening for the next month, under who’s care you will learn first aid and first year battle-medicine. You will sit her test on the twentieth of December and you will pass with at least an “E” or you will not like the consequences. Secondly, as to the matter of the destroyed school property, I am fining you ten thousand galleons for the rebuilding of the coop, the purchase of a new flock of geese and chickens, and the creation of wards which will serve to keep out ALL animagi. This is payable immediately and is NOT negotiable. Do I make myself clear?”



Harry knew that he had no cause and no grounds to fight the Headmasters’ will in the matter. He had not been stripped of his teaching duties (as he had feared he might be) and he had not lost any other privileges, as he could have, if the Headmaster had been more testy. Ten thousand galleons, given the exchange rate into pounds sterling was a heavy blow indeed, but he couldn’t really complain about it, either. He had, after all, eaten every goose and chicken he could find while he was transformed and had just generally made a hell of a mess. It would buy the school the best, most secure chicken and goose-coop that was obtainable, anywhere in the world… at least or until the Acromantulas learned about it or some errant troll or giant happened to pass by. Harry didn’t want to think too hard on those possibilities.

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After Harry left, Albus Dumbledore sat back in his overstuffed chair and thought about what Harry had said. One thing in particular stood out to him: Harry’s claim that biting Ms. Parkinson had driven him insane – or at least temporarily so. It was something that was very, very disturbing if it was true and it worried him. Harry was so powerful as Knight that in no way could he be allowed to use those powers against other students, except in extreme cases.



As he sat back, he thought again about the unfortunate circumstances that had brought Knights’ existence to his attention and dire events that could have followed Harry’s attack on Draco Malfoy.

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As Head Boy, he could have just as easily Portkey’ed or apparated away from the Headmaster’s office, if his thoughts had not been as jumbled and chaotic as they were. It wasn’t the reprimand that was bothering him. It had been expected, almost from the moment that he had forced Pansy to the ground and bitten her so hard.



No, what was troubling was the fact that the Headmaster had referred to him as the most powerful sorcerer since Merlin. It was a very hard thing to accept and he wasn’t sure what it was all going to mean for his future and for his marriage to Hermione.

As he wandered up the stairs towards the seventh floor and then down the corridor which led to the Heads’ suite, the thought kept coming back to him that he still hadn’t truly proven himself…to himself. It was as if his own standards had been raised and his expectations were somehow greater than they had been. Killing Tom hadn’t been enough…or at least enough of a challenge to really prove that he was what the Headmaster had just said he was… the greatest wizard alive…and the most powerful wizard since Merlin. Was he holding himself back? Shaking his head, as if to clear out the cobwebs, Harry touched the canvas in front of him and silently thought the password.



A moment later the painting shimmered and Harry stepped through it, as if it wasn’t really there. It was a combination of illusion and ward-magic… and it had been all Hermione’s doing. Harry remembered, as he walked down the short hallway that led to their private quarters, that Hermione had ‘appropriated’ the idea from a Muggle television show and had gone on, at some length, to try to explain it to him. Finally, after hearing her talk for almost ten minutes about it over dinner one night with Ginny and Ron, early in the semester, he had quite insistently pushed his way into her thoughts and made her show him, across their bond, how she had actually accomplished it.



Hermione had been a little put out with him about his impatience and lack of control…until Harry had gently reminded her that not everything is amenable to explanation by word. Some things, he told her, had to be demonstrated… and had not-so-subtly reminded her about her early efforts at learning wandless magic.



She quickly acceded to his perspective on the matter, after being reminded of those days, and never again complained when he asked to share information that way.

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Stripping off his cloak and boots, Harry made his way towards the bedroom that he shared with Hermione. The sun had set in the western sky already and a chilly wind had picked up out of the north, making the entire castle feel inhospitable. It was Harry’s least-favorite part of the year. The winters’ snow had yet to fall, but its winds made their presence known and made going outside, as a boy-wizard or as Knight out of the question.



Opening the door to their bedroom, Harry found Hermione asleep on their bed, under two layers of down comforter. Her hair formed a halo of sorts on her pillow and he couldn’t help but smile as he thought of all the mornings when he had woken up with her head on his chest and her silky-soft, golden-brown mane tickling his chest.

Banishing his clothes with a simple thought, to a folded pile on the nearby love-seat, Harry made his way under the covers; spooned around his love and fell fast asleep.

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The Marmion Pub; Gracemount, Scotland - just outside Edinburgh – Sunday, November 21st – 10:37 PM



Vincent D\'Abernon; Associate member of the Wizengamot and former death-eater, slipped into the shadows that had long obscured the side of the infamous pub as he waited for his ‘colleague’, Peter Kittel. Peter was the only son of the infamous Nazi apologist, Gernhardt Kittel. For Peter, the pure-blood philosophy made ideal and perfect sense. Peter was also insane and Vincent knew it.

It wasn’t so much that Peter was greedy or self-serving. He was both of those things of course – but he was something else as well; something less quantifiable, yet considerably more terrifying. Peter had always been borderline insane and equated their recently fallen dark lord with his father’s dark lord, Grindelwald. Recently, however, he had grown considerably worse and had, only a week prior, sworn a wizard’s oath that he would resurrect his lord or die trying. The oath demonstrated beyond a doubt that Peter was a delusional, psychotic monomaniac. Vincent seriously wondered, and not for the first time, if he shouldn’t just kill Peter and have done with it. However, for as much as he thought that he’d probably be better off, he was sure that if he missed, his death was certain. Peter would not miss and neither would his other ‘associates’.

The other person that they were going to meet with was both the least terrifying and most detestable person that Vincent had ever encountered: Rita Skeeter. In his estimation, she was an unapologetic, used-up, way-beyond-her-prime, nasty, foul slut who had, for the fun and personal profit of it, stuck her quill in as many pure-blood causes as she had in the ‘other side’ and therefore really, truly deserved any bad thing that came her way. Unfortunately, she was useful in their overarching plan to destroy Harry James Potter and his mudblood wife, Hermione Jane Potter because of her ‘special’ access to Molly Weasley – the supposed matriarch of the best-known, light-side (pure-blood) family.

Vincent turned and walked towards the back of the building; out of sight of the neon sign that faced Captain’s Road.

As he passed the corner, his eye was drawn to a shimmering spot, about four feet off the ground, just under the single street-lamp that lit the area. The next second, the shimmering turned into a vortex of blue-and-gray light - a full-blown magical portal – which immediately put Vincent on his guard. He knew what he was seeing was the opening of a portkey gateway, but it somehow didn’t look quite right. It was as if someone had created the portkey in great haste and it wasn’t working as intended.



Suddenly, two bodies tumbled out onto the ground. One was distinctly human – and female – if hideously so, while the other was barely recognizable. Even as he bent forward the recognition struck him that it was Peter… but not Peter as he had ever seen him before. Vincent reached over to where Rita Skeeter still lay, sprawled out on the ground, and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. “What happened?!”



Rita looked up, as if she was shocked to be seeing him. “Aurors!”



Vincent’s immediate reaction was to apparate away, but he curtailed the feeling until he could find out what had happened. “Where? Tell me where!”



“Hog’s Head Inn. They were waiting for us. Peter told me to wait for him behind the pub. They were following him. When he tried to activate the portkey, they cursed him. I grabbed him and we got away.”



Rita collapsed backwards and Vincent wasn’t strong enough to completely hold her up. His thoughts were racing and he wondered if he dared do what he was thinking of doing. Looking down at his ‘colleague’, Vincent realized that he’d never get another open shot at the man.

Thinking quickly, he saw that he wasn’t going to need the killing curse in order to do dispose of the loathsome man, he drew his wand and pointed at the fallen mans’ chest, right over his still-beating heart. “Colloportus”

Peter struggled for a moment as his heart suddenly collapsed inwards, squeezing all of the blood that it held out and towards his extremities and his brain. The moment that it did, his body shuttered all over once and then his head fell back and hit the pavement with a wet thud as his blood pressure spiked once and then completely stopped. Vincent smiled to himself. Who’d have guessed that he’d be able to solve one of his most vexing problems with something as simple as a small door-securing charm?

Rita Skeeter barely had time to register what had just happened when she felt the shorter mans’ hands on her. “Come with me, Rita. We have much to discuss.”



Not knowing where he was taking her, and starting to panic when she realized that his tone was decidedly unfriendly, she tried to resist, but quickly realized that she wasn’t nearly strong enough to stop him physically and she couldn’t get to her wand, in order to fend him off.



The next moment, they were gone – disapparated – leaving yet one more unlamented death-eater to grow cold on the cracking pavement of the empty lot behind the infamous pub.

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10:45 PM – Fitzroy Close Lane, North London, just outside the home of Brooksby Nott-Carrow



The crack of their inbound, side-along apparition was enough to wake the dead almost, so Vincent grabbed Rita roughly and pushed her into a darkened part of the yard where they had landed, so that she would be out of sight. With a flick of his wand, he froze her with the Petrificus Totalus charm, so that she couldn’t run away on him. He didn’t know if the Aurors could still find him, but he wasn’t willing to take any more chances and he didn’t trust Rita not to run right to those same authorities.



His was one of the few magical signatures allowed past the wards that surrounded Brooksby Carrow’s home. However, he had no illusions about the kind of resources that the Ministry for Magic might be willing to employ in order to find him. He knew, all too well, that the Hit-Wizards had no compunction about using blood wards and blood-runes and other ‘dark’ magics in their efforts to hunt down the last of the death eaters and he worried that they might have some of his blood or else, a sample of his skin or hair, which could be used to trace him. It was a trick that the Department of Mysteries had imported from the Muggle world (though they were a bit loathe to admit it) and it was very, very effective.



It took another moment for Brooksby Carrow to appear at the edge of the back garden, wand in hand. Vincent resisted the temptation to hit him with a stinging hex for being so careless as to walk to the only spot in the garden where he was totally illuminated. That was not a mistake that any Hit-Wizard worth his or her salt would make.



He bent down and scooped up a small rock from the ground and threw it well away from where he was standing in the shadows. The rock crashed to the ground and made enough noise to cause the death-eater/Wizengamot member to whip around and fire a powerful stunner at the spot.



Vincent took the opportunity that presented itself to move behind the man and place the tip of his wand at the base of Carrow’s neck. The moment that the death-eater felt it, he stiffened. “Stand up slowly, Brooksby. I don’t want any problems tonight.”



Complying, Carrow stood up slowly and began to turn towards the sound of the voice. Before he could complete the maneuver, Vincent said, “Put the wand down, Brooksby. We may be allies, but I still don’t completely trust you.”



“Do I have a choice?” the older man asked.



“No, not really. Unless you want to be missing an ear or maybe more.”



Acquiescing, Carrow dropped his wand to the ground. With a flick of his toe, Vincent kicked it far enough away that the older man would not be able to lunge for it and grab it. “Good. Now, let’s talk. I came here tonight, not because I wanted to, but because the either the Aurors have gotten braver or the Hit Wizards are pissed off. Peter was supposed to meet me tonight at the Marmion Pub in Gracemount. It was supposed to be our final meeting with Rita Skeeter, but Peter was followed to his meeting point with her at the Hog’s Head Inn and he was ambushed. Rita grabbed him before they killed him outright and brought him to me. Peter’s dead now and we have a leak somewhere.” Vincent had no idea that he was it though...because his interrogators at the MLE had been very, very thorough indeed. It was a lesson he would learn much later on, to his sadness.



Brooksby Carrow looked at his ‘colleague’ and then around the darkened yard. “So where is she?”



“She’s safe for the moment. When we’re ready, I’ll retrieve her. However, right now we have to figure out what we’re going to do next. The blood-traitors are planning on attending a special party at Hogwarts Thursday and I know that we can use that opportunity to try to kill off Potter and his wife.”



“Ah. Not so fast, Vincent. I’ve heard a strong rumor that the mudblood has Morgana’s Star. I’ve also personally seen her do wandless magic. She’s formidable.”



Vincent looked at the man and tried to figure out what impact the legendary necklace might have on their plans. “We’ve either got to get it off her or we’ve got to come up with a way to negate it.”



Such was the predictability of their thinking that they both went, mentally, to the same place at once. “Tainted blade!” they said, almost at the exact same time.



Looking at each other, neither could hold in the chuckle that came from having the same reaction at the same time and they both broke out in laughter. It served to sever the tension that was between them as well. Vincent summoned the other man’s wand and handed it back to him.



“Thanks” the older man said.



“Well, you can’t blame me for not being the trusting sort after what happened tonight.”



Carrow shook his head and then said, “It’s getting cold out here. Bring Rita and come inside. I think we have a lot more to talk about and I, for one, want a brandy.”



Brooksby was right to want to go inside and get out of the cold chill of the London night Vincent thought, and so he went and found Rita where she lay, still immobile because of the Petrificus Totalus charm that he had used on her when they first arrived in Carrow’s back yard.



There was indeed much to talk about and not much time for their plans to come to fruition. None of the three knew that all around them, hidden in trees, under the eves of the house, and everywhere where they could be placed without fear of discovery were camouflaged Extendable Ears that were attached to small, portable pensieves that were disguised as rocks all around the perimeter of the wards, where they wouldn’t be detected. No sound from in or around the house was safe from their reach.

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04:30 AM – Monday, November 22nd, outside the home of Brooksby Nott-Carrow



The famous murder-mystery writer Graham Gordon Landrum once said that it is always the small things that trip up a person. In Brooksby Nott-Carrow’s case, it was several small things or at least small people who were going to trip him up.



Alicia Longbottom-Mayer, the eldest daughter of the Mayer family and second-cousin to the much more famous Neville Longbottom smiled as her small charges, garden gnomes all, lined up in to perfect lines and awaited her instructions.



She had always had a special affinity for the little creatures and had discovered, much to her chagrin, that collectively, they were much smarter than they were individually. It was the reason that once you started ‘de-gnoming’ a garden by throwing them all over a given fence – putting them together in what would otherwise be an unnaturally large group – that their communal intelligence kicked in and they could start planning on how they were going to return…and return they would, as every Weasley could attest.



Alicia discovered, by watching that happen a number of times, that if a witch or wizard put a large number of gnomes together in a very small area (like a large bathtub) and kept them there for at least twenty-four hours, that the magic that naturally kept them apart in the wild started to break down.



At some point, Alicia discovered that she could get them to cooperate with her by creating diagrams in the air in front of them and then bribing them with pieces of carrot, yam, radishes, fresh broccoli, or pretty much anything else one might grow in a garden. So long as it was fresh from the garden and hadn’t been washed, the gnomes ate it.



Once she told the head of the MLE’s Exotic Animal Control group (affectionately called the ‘mlee-ac’ by those who worked for them) what she had discovered, he became very, very excited and told her to continue her research. His encouragement, in turn, led to her realization that groups of gnomes that were together long enough, began to form a cohesive, breeding unit. It wasn’t a ‘family’ as most wizards or witches understood the term, but it drove them to reproduce and to act in an organized fashion. More, because she was the one feeding them, the gnomes ‘imprinted’ on her, to use a Muggle expression. The imprinting gave her a modicum of control over the gnomes that was very useful, as well as endearing.



So it was in front of Brooksby Nott-Carrow’s north-end home that she sat, before sunrise, asking her gnomes to please go and collect all of the hidden pensieves. They wouldn’t be noticed, though, as the comings and goings of garden-gnomes never were.



Before they trundled off, she fed them all carrots for them that were freshly harvested from a local, magical greenhouse while she drank her coffee and ate the still-warm sausage roll that she had nicked from the Muggle bakery near her apartment. She knew that stealing was wrong and that she was sworn to uphold the law…but she couldn’t honestly feel too bad for the owners. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t left money for them on previous occasions. She had. She had left two whole, gold galleons for them the last time she had been forced to report to work at the same ungodly hour.



She had no idea that the two galleons were worth considerably more in the Muggle world than they were in the magical world and that she had essentially paid for all the sausage rolls that she might ever ‘borrow’ from them.



Once all the gnomes were fed, she sent them off to quickly gather the precious pensieves and bring them back to her. As she sat back against the Muggle van which she had appropriated for the mornings’ work, she sipped the still-hot coffee in her magical ‘ever-warm’ mug and thought about the events which had brought her to this particular moment.



Alicia Longbottom-Mayer was a very young Auror, but one of the best and most promising that had been graduated from the Academy in twenty years or more. She, along with her best friends, Ann Chang and Steven Finch, were compared favorably by their instructors to James and Lily Potter and their best friend, Sirius Black, who had all attended together and were still said to be the best three Aurors to ever be graduated.



She liked the comparison, if for no other reason that it made her feel good to be in such august company.



What her instructors didn’t know was that she, Ann, and Steven were ‘together’ in more ways than one. They would have been horrified to learn that she and Ann had warmed each others’ beds on most evenings during all of their two years of training together and that during their free weekends, shared all their pleasures with Steven as well. She felt the new hidden rings which adorned her fingers – one on the left (from Steven) and the other on the right – from Ann. They were rings, hidden by a very special Fidelius charm that connoted the fact that she, Ann, and Steven were bonded to each other.



Idly, as she thought about the love that she felt for Ann and Steven, she wondered if she shouldn’t talk to Lord and Lady Potter about their relationship at some point. She had heard from her younger sister that the Potters were not only soul-bonded (something unheard of for over two hundred years), but also literally shared each other’s soul. They had, according to her sister, performed the Credo Pectus Omnis Amor charm – something that was truly the stuff of legend. Intense curiosity drove her to look it up in the restricted section (with the authorization of the DMLE) of the Auror library in central London. There she found a single, passing reference to it which basically said that only the very most powerful witches and wizards had the necessary power and control to give of themselves that way. What she didn’t realize, or didn’t have the experience to know, was that it wasn’t so much power that mattered to the charm. Rather, it was intent and control that determined success. The charm was all about two people feeling the deepest love and performing the charm in concert.



Her train of thought was interrupted as the first of ‘her’ gnomes came scampering back, with a medium-sized granite rock in hand. Alicia smiled. Because of their peculiar magic and affinity for all things organic, Gnomes were impossible to keep out of a garden… and thus idea for the kind of work that she has assigned to her small group.



Soon, all sixteen of her gnomes had returned; each bearing a ‘rock’ or ‘mushroom’. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was 04:55. Gathering her group into her arms a few at a time, she lifted them up into the grey, nondescript van and made sure they were secure in the large, flat-ish box that she had adopted for gnome transportation.



Once the gnomes were loaded, she placed the precious pensieves into a special holding container; tied it down, and then moved around to the other side of the van and climbed in. Starting the engine with the push of a button (it was a super-quiet, brand-new Japanese electric-hybrid vehicle that had been bought with the help of an undercover MLE agent who worked for Her Majesty’s Home Secretary at Westminster); she drove off into the darkness.



As she made her way towards central London, she thought about what the pensieves might be carrying, before she remembered that she had been ordered not to wonder; not even to speculate about their contents. Shifting thoughts, she wondered if Ann was still in bed and if there would be a nice, warm spot for her to return to after she dropped off her cargo.



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Office of the Minister for Magic – 7:30 AM - November 22nd



There was ‘tired’ and then there was “TIRED!” Amelia Bones thought. Closing her eyes, not for the first time that morning, she sat back in her chair and let herself slide into the trance necessary for occlumency. It was better than sleep sometimes, because it helped her deal with the mental stresses that accumulated with each new piece of paper that crossed her desk.



Hers was an ordered mind. It had to be. Each and every day, she was required to make decisions – sometimes hundreds of them – in order to ensure that the Ministry functioned. Keeping the details straight meant that her mind needed to be uncluttered and well-organized. She had created, in her mindspace, thousands upon thousands of file-drawers. Each drawer had hundreds of folders in it; each carefully and meticulously labeled and indexed. Her indexes had been cross-referenced so that she had ‘meta-indexes’ to deal with the categories and types of information that they contained. The room was guarded by the most insidious and awful traps that she could devise and it was pass-coded - using the first 32 digits of Pi.



She was just ‘filing’ the last of the information with which she had just dealt when she felt ‘real-world’ touch on her hand. It brought her out of her trance rather abruptly: preventing her from finishing the last bits of her organization. Irritated, she looked up. Standing before her was the current head of the DMLE and in his hand were three vials of what she immediately identified as memories. Once her eyes adjusted and met his, she said, “Well?”



“You need to see these immediately, Madam Minister. They were just gathered early this morning.”



“Why the haste, Kingsley?”



“There’s a threat against the Potters, Madam Secretary. A real and immediate threat.”



“Anyone we know?”



“Carrow, Madam. Brooksby Nott-Carrow.”



She whistled quietly. Taking down a member of the Wizengamot was never a simple matter. “Any others, Kingsley?”



“Yes, Vincent D\'Abernon, Rita Skeeter, and Peter Kittel. We have reason to believe that Peter is dead, though. I have a report that he resisted arrest last night at the Hog’s Head Inn in Hogsmeade; got away via portkey, and that his body was found early this morning by the Muggle authorities in Gracemount, Scotland.”



“Any other names or is this it?”



“No other names, Madam Minister. We’ve put Carrow’s house under ‘24x7’ surveillance, so he can’t do anything without our knowing about it. If he has any more visitors, we’ll know about it soon enough.”



She thought about it for a few minutes before saying slowly, “Alright. That works for me. Do you have an order for the monitoring?”



“Yes, actually. Our man in the Palace arranged for a wire-tap order on Carrow straight from the Queen’s Bench, which makes it all legal. The nice thing is that Carrow won’t have any idea that such a thing could possible exist, since he doesn’t understand the nature of magical England’s fealty to the Crown.”



Amelia actually clapped in delight and smiled at her friend. “Very good, Kingsley! Oh, I wouldn’t thought of that. Very sneaky of you. You sure you weren’t a Slytherin?”



Kingsley shook his head and smiled. “NO, no chance of that, I’m afraid, Amelia.” He paused for a moment and then extended his hand again. “You need to hear these and I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to do it now. This can’t wait.”



Nodding that she understood, she brought the first vial up to her forehead; popped the stopper, and pressed it into place. The memory melted into her skin and was quickly absorbed into her thoughts. In it she heard Vincent’s arrival at Carrow’s home, heard what Vincent said to Rita, and then heard the entirety of the discussion between Carrow and D\'Abernon, both inside and outside the house.



The second vial was the complete recording of Carrow’s diatribe once they were inside – the one directed at Rita (mostly) and against the late Peter Kittel. The most important recording though was in the third vial. It was of Carrow’s call to Maliphila Borgin after D\'Abernon and Skeeter had retired for the night, asking for a specific kind of cursed blade.



For a long moment after Minister Bones finished, she stared at a wall behind DMLE Shacklebolt. A tainted blade – the thing that both Carrow and Vincent agreed to seek for their chosen executioner – Skeeter – was a cursed blade that had been used in one or more blood rituals. Specifically, it was a blade that had been used to kill an innocent child in cold blood. It was the vilest of all objects – and therefore had the capacity to be imbued with the most ‘dark’ magic. They were feared for good reason. It was said that at one time, Tom Riddle had carried two of them and took pleasure in making them for his ‘inner circle’ as ‘gifts’.



“She can’t be permitted to get such a blade, Kingsley. Do whatever you have to do to prevent it.”



“Are you willing to lift the restriction on the Unforgivables for this matter?”



“Yes, except for the Cruciatus curse. I will not have out agents learning or using that. I will lift the ban for this matter and this matter only. I am ordering you to pick up, detain, and interrogate Ms. Borgin and anyone else with whom she does business. Use Veritiserum if you have to, but get this information and keep Ms. Skeeter from getting any such blade.”

“If she or they resist?”



“Fire with fire, Kingsley. If anyone tries to resist arrest, you are permitted to use any means to bring them in. If you have to kill her or her associates, do so. The Wizengamot has made the point very clear. The lives of Lord and Lady Potter are sacrosanct.”



“At any cost?”



“Yes, at any cost.”



Kingsley nodded his agreement. He was glad that she had found the spine enough to make the order and he knew too that as a practical matter, the Minister had no choice. The Wizengamot, as well as their sovereign, HM The Queen, had made the point plainly enough. The Potters were to be protected at any cost. It was too high a cost for Dumbledore to be willing to pay – and that’s why he had lost so many operatives over the years. Albus Dumbledore, for all his great points, had never been ruthless enough… even when it was absolutely clear that the time had come to be so.



“Am I dismissed?”



“Yes Kingsley. Please. Go and do this thing and do it quickly.”

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DMLE Shacklebolt walked the long corridor away from the Minister’s office, thinking hard about what was facing him. He knew that he was going to have to bring together a number of parties – not all of whom liked, respected, or revered Lord Harold James ‘Harry’ Potter. He decided immediately that he was not going to tell those under his command that the ban on the use of two of the three Unforgivables had been lifted in regards to the matter before them. It would cause too much confusion, disruption, concern. Allowing the wanton use of the Unforgivables would make it much more likely that one or more of his people might take a life in the line of duty and he very much wanted to limit that possibility – though he knew he couldn’t negate it entirely. He knew too, because he had studied the matter among Muggle law-enforcement officers, that doing so changed the officer for the rest of their professional careers and fundamentally changed them as people. Muggles viewed the taking of life as the most serious matter with which law enforcement had to contend and dealt with it very, very harshly – in some countries even as far as to inflict the death penalty as a result.



Kingsley entered the lift to the next floor down – where began the warrens that constituted the MLE central division. When the doors opened, he exited and immediately turned right, heading towards his office.



As he entered the outer office, which was appointed with dark hardwoods that were set against fine, silk Pakistani Meshkabad and Mashad rugs in tans and dark reds, his executive assistant – Penelope Clearwater – stood and greeted him. He didn’t like it that she felt compelled to do so, but he hadn’t been able to break her of the habit and so had given up. Instead, he smiled broadly at her. It was hard not to. She was a remarkably beautiful young woman who had a fine, clear, and defined moral sense and an almost fanatical devotion to both the Ministry and to her fiancé, Percy Weasley, to whom she had been engaged only a short while.



“Penelope? Please call Senior Aurors Nymphadora Tonks and Benjamin Steele, as well as all the department heads here immediately. Also, please call our contact at the Palace and have him meet us here.”



“Yes sir. I’ll do it immediately.”



Shacklebolt passed into his inner office and groaned as he saw the stack of documents that had piled up on his desk during his absence. It was the thing that he could never get used to. No matter what he did to streamline the decision-making process, he couldn’t keep his people from bumping stuff ‘up the chain’; passing the buck when it came to making hard choices. Cowardice was something that he had a hard time dealing with. Intellectually he knew that it was always easier to say ‘No’ than it was to say ‘yes’, but he still hated it – or rather, hated the instinct in people that made it happen so predictably.



Rather than dealing with all of the accumulated work, Kingsley Shacklebolt took a handful of the special floo-powder that resided in the bell-metal bowl on the mantle of the fireplace. The bowl was made of a beautifully crafted brass, hand-fashioned in Kerala State (Malayalam), in southern India. The bowl had been a gift from the Indian Ambassador to him for the work he had done in helping to destroy a death-eater plot in Thiruvananthapuram, the capital of Kerala, a year after Riddle had been defeated.



Tossing the handful into the fireplace, Kingsley waited for the flair of green fire and then called out, “Albus Dumbledore” in a clear voice. Soon, Dumbledore’s face appeared in the fire; floating as if disencorporated. “Yes?”



“It’s Kingsley, Albus. We need to speak, if you have a moment. I have information that cannot wait.”

“Oh? I’m in the middle of a number of things my friend. Are you sure that it’s urgent?”



“There’s a genuine threat against the Potters, Albus, and I need to see you. Right now.”



Rather than talk it out, Albus stepped through the fire and entered the DMLE’s office, no worse for wear.



“Thank you for coming, Albus. I would not have summoned you, if I didn’t feel like this was a genuine emergency.”



Dumbledore made a dismissive motion with his hand and then sat down. “Tell me, Kingsley, what has happened. Last I heard, all of the death eaters that had been identified had been rounded up. What changed?”



“Vincent D\'Abernon and Brooksby Nott-Carrow are plotting with Rita Skeeter to try to kill Harry and Hermione with a tainted blade this Thursday, at this feast that you’re hosting at Hogwarts. I’ve ordered my team to assemble – they should be here any moment, actually – and we’re going to bring in those we think would have access to such a weapon.”



Albus steepled his fingers and looked at the DMLE. There was a fine balance between saying too much and not saying enough and he thought for a brief moment about what might happen if he kept what he knew to himself. Deciding that it was better to be honest, the elderly Headmaster said, “We – and by that I mean Harry, Hermione, the Weasley boys, and I - already know most of this, Kingsley. We were not aware that they had decided to use a tainted blade, but it doesn’t surprise me, either.”



The Head Auror looked at the old man with shock written across his face. “How did you learn of this, Albus? More importantly, how is that the Potters and the Weasleys know of the plot?”



“Maliphila Borgin quietly contacted me on the 23rd of September, right after Rita Skeeter left. Maliphila is seeking to have her cousin released from Azkaban and hoped to use what she knew to bargain for that release. More, we have had access to certain information that confirmed that there was a plot involving Carrow and D’Abernon and we have had time to act on it and to plan for any eventualities.”



If there was a time to be angry about sensitive information getting out of his department, this was not it. Not only was he sitting across from one of the most powerful wizards in history – someone who’d not be particularly intimidated by a temper-tantrum on his part – but he was confronted by the fact that events were coalescing around him in a way that he couldn’t completely control and getting angry about it would just make matters worse, not better.



“You’ll forgive me, Albus, if I point out that you don’t seem particularly troubled by this development.”



Dumbledore smiled at his old friend. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been one of his friends for a very long time and so Albus had no difficulty reading his many moods – even though the man presented a serenely unreadable face to the rest of the world most of the time.



“Kingsley, I recently had a confrontation with Harry Potter over a small matter that happened at the school and before you get started on it, let me assure you that it doesn’t concern the MLE in any way. That confrontation – if that is what it truly was – assures me that while I am sometimes concerned about Harry’s judgment as it regards the ‘small things’ in life, I have no concerns at all when it involves his or Hermione’s safety. They and I have had long conversations about what is about to happen this Thursday and while the presence of a tainted blade might add a small wrinkle to our plans, I seriously doubt that it will even slow down Harry or Hermione. Remember, Hermione carries Morgana’s Star and while I know of some of the protections that it offers, I am not a woman and am in no position to know all of them. They are however, if the legends are correct, quite considerable.”



DMLE Shacklebolt was flabbergasted by the old man’s several revelations and didn’t really know where to start. He had just been told, in not so many words, that Hermione Jane Potter, the Lady Potter-Black, who was Muggle-born and raised; was in possession of a legendary piece of magic – something so old that it dated back to the founder’s time. Two – by dint of her ownership of it, out of the hundreds of thousands of witches on the planet, was the most powerful witch currently living. Three – Albus Dumbledore already knew that there was a plan afoot to harm Harry and Hermione and was unconcerned about it.



It was a lot to take in, even for a man trained for law enforcement since his very earliest years. Possession of an item as powerful as Morgana’s Star changed all of his calculations. He would no longer be talking about protecting Hermione’s life at any costs, for he sincerely doubted that any power on Earth could harm her, but rather, limiting the collateral damage that the confrontation might cause. It made his job both easier and harder, depending from which side a person came at it.



“Well Albus, you certainly are full of surprises today. Please don’t tell me you have a school full of animagi or something else that will cause my blood pressure to go haywire.”



The Headmaster smiled, cocked one eyebrow, and said, “Fine. I won’t tell you.”



With that he got up, gathered his cape, and said, “It’s always good to see you, Kingsley. I hope you have a marvelous rest of the day.”



The elderly wizard stood, stretched out a hand, and magically, almost hypnotically, small portion of the special floo powder left its confines and crossed the room in mid-air. A yellow flame suddenly erupted from the floor at the point where he thought the Headmaster stood. It turned emerald-green for a moment and then Albus Dumbledore was gone, as if he had never been there at all.



Kingsley Shacklebolt was left staring, wide-eyed; wondering what had just happened and why he couldn’t pull off fancy tricks like the one he had just seen.

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Twenty minutes after the legendary wizard had left, Nymphadora Tonks, Benjamin Steele, Lord Artemis Stevens Huxbary - The Lord Mont Eagle of Westport and the current Queen’s current informal ambassador to Ireland’s parliament – the Oireachtas - in Dublin (because of his role as the Lord-holder of Westport in the County of Mayo), and all of the department-heads from the MLE appeared in his office. By tradition, the head of the Unspeakables was also present. With him, Croaker had Lauren Jones and Hywell Robertson – whom he identified by name. Both nodded to Shacklebolt and took places against the wall, behind where Croaker was standing.



The other department-heads took places roughly in line with their overall importance to the Ministry. The head of the Aurors took the seat in front, at the visible right hand-side of Shacklebolt’s desk, the head of R & D for technology (Technomagery) took the middle seat, and the head Obliviator, by tradition, took the chair to the visible left. The other department-heads were arrayed behind them, still standing.



Shacklebolt stood behind his desk and looked at all of them. He cleared his throat and then began. “Thank you all for getting here so quickly. I know that each of you has much to do and not much time in which to do it, so I will get to the point.”



He paused, putting one hand down on his desk as if to steady himself. There was a rustle of papers as he did so. “First of all, as of now, General Order Four is now invoked.” There was a sudden rush of magic in the room, as each member of the senior staff felt their magic accepting the will of the DMLE.



Each person in the room knew that whatever was about to be said was highest national priority and was not to be discussed nor disclosed to anyone. To do so meant instant death.



“There has been a threat made on the lives of Lord and Lady Potter-Black and this matter is an ‘at any cost’ order: You will divert any resources necessary to the apprehension or death of the following individuals.” With a wave of his wand, 3D images of Rita Skeeter, Vincent D\'Abernon, Maliphila Borgin, and Brooksby Nott-Carrow appeared in mid-air, where all the assembled could see them. Each was a known ‘face’. The group collectively took in their images, while each person’s magic accepted the order that the four individuals pictured had to be killed or captured. It became their obsession and they would work tirelessly until the order was fulfilled.



Shacklebolt continued, even as the group continued to stare at the pictures. “I am ordering all of you to share every detail that you or your subordinates may have on these four individuals. Further, all leads on their whereabouts will be funneled to Unspeakable Croaker. His hit-wizards will make the capture if possible or their execution if it is not.”



The jet-black haired, green-eyed, very youthful-looking Nymphadora Tonks spoke up first from the back of the room. “Unforgivables?”



“Are not permitted at this time, Auror Tonks.”



He didn’t tell her that he had, in fact, received permission from the Minister for Magic herself to use the Unforgivables. He realized that they were too addicting, too dangerous to be given over as tools to law enforcement. That was a lesson that he had learned, most dramatically from Mad-Eye Moody during the First Blood War in the 1970’s, and he wasn’t willing to make the same mistake twice.



“One last thing, boys and girls. Rita Skeeter, Vincent D\'Abernon are seeking a tainted blade in hopes of using it to kill the Potters this THURSDAY, at Hogwarts. We have until then to prevent it. If we cannot, we must gather what forces we have and secure Hogwarts Castle. I will not lose the Potters to a bunch of dead-end, death-eater left-overs!! THEY WILL BE STOPPED! IS THAT CLEAR?!”



With one voice, the people in the room responded, “Sir! Yes Sir!”



“Good. You have your orders. Dismissed.”

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Headmaster’s outer office – 5:30 PM - November 22nd



Arthur Weasley and all of his children stood gathered around Harry and Hermione. Luna Lovegood stood next to her betrothed, while the youngest Weasley sat in the only other available chair, wrapped in the arms of her intended, Neville Longbottom.



Besides them, Minerva McGonagall, Fillius Flitwick, Remus Lupin, Rubeus Hagrid, and Poppy Pomfrey stood as a group, waiting to hear what their Headmaster would say.



Dressed in a dark-blue, almost midnight blue robe, Albus Dumbledore looked at the collection of individuals that had come together to listen to him and to help him find a way out of the situation that was developing.



“I know that all of you know what’s coming and I know that each of you feels as though you have your own private reasons for anger. Now is not the time for that.”



Both Harry and Ron shifted uncomfortably. They both had reasons to hate Rita, in particular, and neither had reason to like Nott-Carrow.



Dumbledore continued, “We have until Thursday morning to agree on a plan that will force Rita Skeeter into being Molly’s second, in the duel that we need Hermione to provoke.”



There were nods all around. Each present knew that Molly had been poisoned – or at least seduced by the affects of a potion - and that the only way to get her the help that would save her was to see her defeated in a duel and then committed to St. Mungo’s long-term potion-accidents care ward.



It was the diminutive Professor Flitwick who broke the silence and spoke first. “Albus, are you sure that Lady Potter can beat Molly? She was the Slytherin 7th year dueling champion when she was here. I taught her myself. She’s very, very good – if she’s kept up her skills.”



Albus looked at his short friend and smiled sadly. “Yes, Fillius, I’m sure. However, if you doubt her, you are welcome to test the Lady Potter’s skills. That is, of course, if it is alright with Hermione.”



Hermione turned and smiled at Fillius. “Professor, if you want, we can duel this evening. I think I might be able to show you a thing or two.”



Harry’s voice was gentle in her mind. “He’s in for a surprise, love. He’s never seen you really open up.”



“You’re right, love. I think it would be fun.”



“Well, Lady Potter, if it is agreeable with you, we can meet in the Great Hall at 8 pm. We should have time to have a good dinner before seeing if you are everything that the Headmaster thinks you are.”



“Rules then, Professor?” Hermione said with a touch of humor in her voice.



“Like usual, Lady Potter. No Unforgivables, no fatal curses, no weapons.”



“You’re on then, Professor.” Turning, Hermione looked around. Everyone’s eyes were on her and she felt uncomfortably like she was in the spotlight. Hoping fervently that she’d be able to win, Hermione took Harry’s hand and the two of them sidled closer to each other.



Sensing that the meeting - for the moment - was over, Dumbledore quietly dismissed the students, along with Twins. Arthur Weasley and all of the professors stayed back and both Hermione and Harry wondered, as they descended the spiral staircase, whether they were again missing out on something that would ultimately affect them as much as it did anyone else.

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The Potter’s joint instincts, as usual, were spot on… but not for the reason that they might have thought.



Looking at the smaller group, Albus Dumbledore felt every bit of his almost one hundred and sixty years. “Thank you all for being here. I recognize that each of you feels compelled to defend Hermione against what is coming.”



Minerva moved slightly, shifting her balance from one foot to the other. Someone who was very good at reading body movements might have recognized the shift as an abruptly halted move which would have taken her into the headmaster’s space, allowing her to confront him.



“I know, Minerva. You don’t like this one bit and think I’m playing God again. I know, I know. It’s hard enough when you don’t care about a student….”



“You’re damn right, Albus. What are we doing, deliberately setting up what might be a life-or-death confrontation? Is that our job?”



She almost spat out the last four words, so frustrated with the situation was she. It was Arthur who put a calming hand on hers and steadied her. “It’s my Molly we’re talking about, Minerva” he said gently.



That was all it took for Minerva. The tears started flowing and she turned and looked at the man she had herself taught when he was younger. Arthur did an uncharacteristic thing and brought her into a hug, attempting to soothe her fears. His eyes caught those of his former Headmaster and they met and locked for a moment. There was a look of sincere appreciation for what Arthur was doing in the moment and Arthur had the sudden realization that there might be a great deal more between the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress than he might have otherwise ever guessed.



Stroking his beard, Dumbledore continued. “I received an urgent fire-call from Kingsley Shacklebolt this morning. There was a meeting last night between Rita Skeeter, Vincent D\'Abernon, and Brooksby Nott-Carrow at Carrow’s home. They are seeking a tainted blade.”



There was a sharp intake of breathe from everyone in the room a those words. There was only one use for such a weapon – as a tool for assassination or cold-blooded murder.



Flitwick looked at the man who had been his friend for more than a hundred years. “I’ve faced them before, Albus. They are scary, yes, but there are ways to deal with them. I’m more concerned about what Skeeter might be carrying or what she may be prepared to do when Molly is defeated.”



Arthur, having released Minerva from their hug, actually smiled at bit at what the charms professor said. He was, as much as it hurt him, much more worried about Molly winning against Hermione than he was about her losing. Everyone present knew that he had a great deal invested in Molly’s defeat – because it would mean that he would, eventually (it was hoped) actually get his wife back and that the woman who would return to him would be free of whatever was driving her towards the dark side and towards murder.



“Are you sure that Hermione can do it, Fillius?” Minerva asked, subdued.



“We’ll know more in a couple of hours, Minnie, but I am confident that Hermione will do fine. Molly, for whatever potions or curses have been laid on her, is still well past her prime for dueling and there’s no reason to think that Hermione should even have to resort to throwing magic at her. There are plenty of ways to disarm an opponent, and Hermione knows most of them.”



It didn’t even occur to the Charms professor to think about the fact that Hermione could apparate within the grounds of the school – even though he had seen it with his own eyes. It was a huge tactical advantage that could be exploited in any number of ways. It was too bad, too, because he was going to see it ‘up close and personal’ much sooner than he anticipated, whether he wanted to or not.

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Dinnertime – The Great Hall - November 22nd



The “Gryffindor Six” – Harry, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Ron, and Luna (though Luna was a Ravenclaw, she was an accepted part of the group) – sat together at dinner and talked quietly. They sat as three couples, facing each other, with the Weasley Twins sitting on either side. The twins’ business was rolling along at a furious pace and neither could afford to be away from it long, but for this evening, they made an exception and joined their younger siblings at the long, well-remembered dinning table.



At the periphery of the group sat, in general order of their friendship with Harry and Hermione, Susan and Rebecca Bones, Pansy, Daphne, Seamus, and Dean. The other students – those who knew Harry but were not personal friends – watched from the other tables and wondered what it was going to be like in a few years when Harry and Hermione Potter, and those that they were closest to, were running things in Wizarding England. No one, not even for a second, thought that there was any chance at all that Harry wouldn’t become the Minister for Magic eventually or that Hermione wouldn’t become whatever she set her mind to becoming. Some of the students watched as Harry and Hermione paused for a moment, put their utensils down, and kissed in front of everyone. What some might have called odd was that neither spoke a word as they moved almost entirely synchronously. Ron, Luna, Ginny, and Neville thought nothing of it, of course, as they had seen the ‘golden couple’ behave like that many times during the fall and they were used to it.



When at last dinner was done, Hermione and Harry bid their friends goodbye and told them that they would see them just a few minutes before 8 pm in the Hall. All nodded their understanding and then they all shrugged as the two disappeared without a sound.



The twins, however, watched in complete amazement and started talking fast and low, using their unique form of half-completed sentences to convey entire thoughts to the other. Ginny and Ron were used to it, as they had grown up around it, but others listened, half in horror and half in amusement as the twins discussed what they had just seen.



Finally, Ron looked at them and said, in a tone that conveyed threat, “Alright, enough. Both of you. Harry and Hermione don’t need it spread around that they can do that. I’m sure that Harry would have a few things to say if you ever spilled it to the wrong person and put Hermione in danger.”



It was that last bit that shut the Twins up faster than even their mother could. Neither wanted Harry mad at them and both knew just how defensive Harry was of her: Enough to be willing to kill without pity, mercy, or remorse. It was a very, very sobering thought.

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8 PM - The Great Hall.



Fillius Flitwick adjusted his dueling outfit for what seemed like the tenth time as he went through his pre-duel ritual. It included prayers for his opponent, a ritual cleansing, a review of his favorite combat-spell chains, and finally, a shot of the finest Firewhiskey that money could buy.



When he was satisfied that he had done all that he could do, he left the room which was right off the Great Hall and walked to the towering (to him) double doors. The room had been transformed into a standard combat arena, complete with spectator stands and first-aid area. People rose in respect as he made his way towards the center of the room and were completely silent as he formally announced his presence to Dumbledore.



Once he was seated, Hermione Jane, the Lady Potter-Black, made her way into the room. Harry accompanied her to the center of the room, kissed her once, and then made his way towards the other side, so that Hermione would have the chance to also formally announce her presence to the Headmaster.



Once the formalities were satisfied, Dumbledore rose and moved to where he could be seen by all. Looking around, he realized that every student in the school, plus all of the professors, were present. Nothing moved the blood like combat, the old man realized.



“Good evening, everyone. Tonight we have a rare treat. Our own Head Girl, Hermione Jane, The Lady Potter-Black, will face off against the fifteen-time All-European Dueling Champion, our own Fillius Flitwick!”



There was an enthusiastic round of applause for both, which didn’t die down until the Headmaster motioned for calm. “Alright. Now, the rules for tonight’s duel are as follows: No Unforgivable curses, no curses that can result in immediate death, and no weapons. All other magics are available. The duel is considered over when one combatant cannot move or fight back.”



Hermione and Fillius stood and moved to their respective starting places. “At the sound of the bell, you may begin.”



Dumbledore looked at Fillius and then at Hermione. When both had signaled their readiness, the bell sounded.



Hermione disappeared immediately, catching the Charms Professor off-guard. He looked around and realized that he had just seriously miscalculated. It was all he had time to do. Turning, his eyes flitted from one corner of the dueling area to the other. He started to back up, hoping that he could present as small a target as possible for whatever was coming. He didn’t realize that he was backing straight into his defeat.



It was immediately apparent to everyone present that the Charms Professor was both outclassed and outfought as they watched Sagehunter appear from nowhere, leap up, and sink her teeth into the back of the small professor’s unprotected neck. She bit down hard enough that the man recognized his defeat and signaled it with sparks from his wand.



A great cheer went up from the crowd as Hermione spit him out and walked to the center of the dueling stage as Sagehunter, transforming back only once she made it to her proscribed starting-place.

Shaken, Fillius walked to the center as well, bowed, and then retreated to his room. Ten seconds. That was all it had taken for him to be thoroughly and completely defeated for the first time in sixteen years - and by a student, no less. Not an ordinary student of course, but a student none-the-less. It was humiliating.



Meanwhile Hermione was celebrating in the stands with her husband and those others who loved her best – Ron, Luna, Neville, and Ginny.



“You did it, Hermione! That was absolutely frigging awesome!” Ron effused to her, as she leaned back and let Harry’s arms surround and comfort her. Ginny, too, congratulated her and told her how exciting it was to watch her duel. “You never even cast a spell! How awesome was that?!!”



Luna simply walked forward and kissed Hermione – right on the lips. “I love you, sister. That was wonderful” she said, quietly, when she pulled away.



Hermione looked at the young, beautiful girl and wondered what had just happened.



“Something’s special about that girl, ‘Mione. She must have worried that you were going to be hurt. I wonder if she can see things that all of us can’t see.”



The kiss had shaken her though – not because it wasn’t pleasant, but because it was so unexpected. “She acted as though it was perfectly normal. I wonder….”



Before she could express her thought completely, Dumbledore came striding over and interrupted the group. He looked disturbed.



“Lady Potter-Black” Dumbledore said, formally addressing her, “I need to see you in my office right now. Alone.”



Hermione immediately bristled at his tone and looked at him and then at Harry. “No, Headmaster, I think not. If you need to speak to me, you can do it in the presence of my husband. I shall not speak with you alone.”



Dumbledore considered it for a moment and then turned and strode away.



The confrontation left the group very puzzled and left Hermione angry at the Headmaster’s presumption. Ron reached out and put his hand on top of hers, causing her to turn in Harry’s arms, so that she was facing towards him a bit. “There’s something not right, Hermione. I’d be careful if I were you. Something’s telling me that the Headmaster’s motives are not altogether pure. He’s up to something or he wants to know what just happened.”



Luna nodded her agreement, as did Ginny, the Twins, and Neville. If anyone looked really put out, it was Neville. “My gram never trusted him, you know. She always thought that he doesn’t know how to let go. He wants to control everything and the way he does that is by knowing everything. I think you’ve got him spooked. He wasn’t expecting you to win that fast tonight.”



“We need to talk to Remus, love. We also need to talk to Arthur. He knows a lot more than he’s letting on, I’m pretty sure, and we probably ought to talk to Amelia. Susan can help with that.”



Hermione bit her lower lip and nodded. Harry could feel the worry that was coursing through her and the need to feel as though what she had just done was really all right. More, she didn’t want Professor Flitwick mad at her.



“You want that I should go and talk to him for you?” Harry sent to her over their bond.



“Would you?”



“You don’t need to ask that, love. You know the answer.” Hermione turned and wrapped her arms around her husband and held him tight.



They stayed clinched for several long minutes as the small group around them talked quietly. Finally, Harry looked at the group and said, to no one in particular, “Take care of her, ok? I’ll be back in thirty. If Dumbledore comes anywhere near her again, I’ll be back in a flash.”



All of them nodded and promised to protect Hermione for him. Ron and Luna were particularly fearsome in their will to make sure she stayed safe, but Harry knew that he could count on all of them to watch out for her.



Kissing Hermione one more time, Harry closed his eyes and focused on his connection with the school. It wasn’t a skill that he had ever discussed, but it was handy when he needed it. He felt where the Professor was and then disappeared.

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Professor’s wing – a few moments later.



The top of the door to the Charms Masters’ suite was, predictably, only a half a foot or so above the diminutive professors’ full height – and so it was more than a foot below Harry’s height.



Figuring that knocking politely was better than barging in magically, he bent down, rapped on the door smartly with his knuckles, and then stood back to wait. It didn’t take long for the door to open a fraction. “Yes? Can I help you?”



Keeping his voice friendly, Harry said, “It’s Harry Potter, Professor. May I speak with you?”



The door pushed open further and Harry saw that the famous charms mater was sporting a very large bandage across the back of his neck. Some of it was flecked with green blood. Goblin blood.



“Come in if you must, Lord Potter. I suppose now is as good a time as any to talk.”



“Yes, sir” Harry replied, more tentatively than he probably should have, given the circumstances. Harry followed his professor into the suite and the door closed, of its own volition, behind him.



Flitwick pointed one finger at a seat and it enlarged to accommodate Harry’s size. Harry waited next to it until Flitwick sat down before seating himself.



Not knowing what else to say, or how to begin the meeting, Harry just jumped in, hoping for the best. “Thank you, sir, for agreeing to see me. Hermione is worried, you see, and…”



“And she wants to know if I am angry with her”, Fillius finished for him. Harry nodded, hoping that he, too, would not have to face the charms professor in the dueling pit. “You don’t think that I am that petty, do you Potter?”



His immediate reaction was blurted out even before he could truly formulate a reasoned response. “NO! Never! You’ve never treated us badly in class or shown favor to anyone.”



Fillius fixed his gaze at Harry. “You know Harry that I am one-half Goblin?” Harry nodded again. “And did you know that Ragnok is my first cousin?”



Shaking his head, Harry swallowed hard. THAT was news. He’d never, ever considered what Flitwick’s bloodlines were. Somehow, though, it made a certain sense.



“You know then, don’t you Potter, that anything that Ragnok knows, I’m also likely to know? And might you have the sense enough to think about the possibility, indeed the probability, that anyone who is called “Goblin-Friend” is someone I might be inclined to favor?”



It made sense, of course, but it was also something he had never stopped to consider, even for a moment. “Sir, I didn’t know. Your private life is your own. Hermione and I have never even speculated about who is family to you. We always just assumed that you were a friend and left it at that.” Honesty, Harry figured, was pretty much always the best policy, and in this case, what he had said was the total and complete truth, as far as he knew it.



Pressing the bandage against his neck with one hand, Fillius slapped his knee with the other. “Very good, Potter. Very good. It is exactly how Albus said it would be.”



“What do you mean, Professor?” Harry asked, feeling truly and completely puzzled.



“I mean, Potter, that Albus predicted your responses even before you came here tonight and told me that it was up to me whether I should be angry at your wife. I choose not to be. I am, however, angry at myself.”



Harry looked at him and said, “Don’t be, Professor. Hermione is the most powerful witch currently living.”



Fillius’ reaction was a look of doubt – sincere, but true doubt – that told Harry that the Headmaster had been less than honest with his charms professor. “Professor, would it bother you if I told you that Hermione wears Morgana’s Star?”



Watching his professor fall backwards off the stack of pillows that he had called a chair was answer enough.



A sputtering, unhappy-looking charms master looked at him, after had regained his feet. “What do you mean, Potter?” he said, somewhat angry now.



“Hermione wears Morgana’s Star, Professor. She was given it; or rather it found her, right after our wedding. Dumbledore said that the Star has not sought out an owner in more than seventy years, but that it sought out Hermione.”



“Albus has much to answer for, Potter. He should not have kept that from me. I never had a chance against your wife.”



“No, you didn’t, sir. I wondered why you seemed so confident this afternoon. I thought that for sure, the Headmaster would have told you that Hermione wears Morgana’s Star and that your chances of beating her were about that of a snowball in hell, if you’ll pardon the expression.”



“What about you, Potter? Can you beat her?”



“Yes sir, I can. I’m the only one, though, and it would take all my power, and a willingness to kill her, to do it. Since doing so would kill me too, it’s probably best that I don’t try.”



“Ah, yes. Of course. You two are soul-bonded.” Harry smiled. If Flitwick didn’t know about the ‘other’ charm that he and Hermione shared, Harry was certainly not going to tell him. “Yes sir. We are.”



“Then I am not worried about Hermione facing Molly. There’s no power that I know of that Molly could use that would give her power sufficient to challenge your wife.”



“What about the tainted blade?”



“There are ways of dealing with that, if Molly finds a way to sneak one past our defenses. I shall teach both of you, between tomorrow morning and Thursday morning, all that you need to know.”



A breath of thankful relief came to him and he thanked the professor for his willingness to teach them what they needed to know and at the same time, not hold a grudge.



When they were finished speaking, Flitwick shook Harry’s hand and told him to reassure Hermione that he bore her no ill will and never would. Harry thanked him again and then disappeared, without so much as a sound. It left the charms professor thinking about how lucky he was to have met and taught the two most powerful people that wizarding Britain might know for a thousand years to come.



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Before dawn, Thanksgiving morning, Thursday, November 26, 1998

The day that many had been waiting for finally arrived. Cold and blustery, the Thursday-morning dawn sparkled with frozen dew on every leaf, branch, rock, and window-pane. That they had the day off from classes was a novelty, but so too was the fact that all of the prefects had gathered the night before and informed the Head Boy and Girl that they should not, under any circumstances, roust themselves out of bed any earlier than was absolutely necessary, and that the morning security rounds were being parceled out in such a way as to guarantee coverage throughout the entire school.



Hermione Jane, the Lady Potter-Black, lay curled up, with her husbands’ body securely surrounding her; protecting her from everything and everyone.



Their dreams wove in and around each others’ as they slept together and their hearts beat at the same time. In that way, they were as unified as any two people could ever be and there was no force on Earth that could ever separate them.



When finally their bodies told them, via their bladders, that it was time to get up, the two shivered in the cool morning air. The fire in the fireplace had died down overnight, such that there were just embers left. Closing his eyes for a moment, Harry summoned Dobby quietly and asked him to re-build the fire while he and Hermione went for their morning ablutions.



Hermione had stopped grousing about the House-elves at Hogwarts, having seen how well they were treated at the school – but she had not given up wanting to see a fundamental shift in magical society’s attitudes towards magical, sentient creatures. The lessons she had begun to learn about human slavery, both in Great Britain and in the United States made her think that wizarding Britain wouldn’t more towards enlightenment and equality for all until all creatures were treated with respect.



As they stepped into the shower-built-for-two, Harry could feel his wife’s oscillating emotions. At one moment she was scared and wanted to be held and at the next, she was angry for having been thrust into the center of the action, exactly where she didn’t want to be. Being appropriately sensitive to his wife’s needs was a challenge, but one that Harry willingly embraced, because she had done it for him so very many times.



Sweeping a lock of wet hair away from her eyes, Harry smiled at her as he held her in his arms. Touching so intimately, the Head Girl and Boy were linked together totally; allowing them to feel together and share images - completely transcending the spoken word.



When at last they were done, they stepped out of the shower, drying each other off with not even so much as a wave of the hand. Their will was enough. Magic did the rest.



“What will you wear?” Harry asked, as he watched her move, naked and beautiful, across the room.



“What would you have me wear, my lord husband?” she thought to him with a smile.



Harry thought about the Acromantulas-silk, dark-green, long-sleeved and floor-length dress that fit her so wonderfully. With a leer, he also pushed at her the mental image of one of her particularly fetching pairs of silk knickers. “That’s all, my lord?”



He thought about it for a moment and then sent her the image of the platinum and precious-stone tiara which had been a gift from The Queen. Hermione did as bidden; found it, and placed it on her head – securing it with a modified sticking charm. Then she turned to him for another inspection. “Beautiful, love. That’s perfect.”



Harry dressed to her standards, putting on one of his crisp white dress shirts, dress black pants, and the dark green and gold sweater that Hermione had knit for him. Slipping on his best pair of loafers, Harry turned to look at his wife. She looked like a goddess to him – which caused a very, very determined stirring in the black silk boxer-briefs that he was wearing.



She felt the immediate thrill of his desire. “That for me, love?” she sent to him over their bond.



“And only for you, love.” Harry replied, pushing all the love and desire he could back at her.



She swayed back and forth as his powerful desire for her made its way to her core. She steadied as he took her in his arms and kissed her soundly. “We’re going to be all right, love. We’ve done everything we could to prepare. All you have to do now is act the part of the imperious, demanding, self-centered Lord’s wife and Molly will be unable to resist challenging you.”



Before they went out the door, each took up a wand. Hermione’s was real – her original wand – but his was not. His had been destroyed at the Battle of Hogwarts and he had never found a replacement for it. A transfigured piece of willow, made to look like his original wand, served in its stead. Not even Dumbledore knew that Harry’s magic had been entirely wandless for almost two years.



“Ready?”



“Ready as I’ll ever be.”



“Just remember, everyone knows that what you’re about to do is an act.”



Just because she knew it intellectually didn’t mean that she didn’t feel bad about what she was about to say and do in front of everyone. She hoped that once the truth came out, everyone would realize that there was only one way of getting Molly the help that she needed while at the same time punishing those who had used her so badly.



“Let’s go, love, before I lose my nerve and back out of this.”



Harry took her in his arms and they disappeared; leaving their sanctuary/home as silent as the stillness of a grave.

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11 AM In Hogwarts’ Great Hall



Ron Weasley looked at his beloved and saw something that he didn’t expect. Her hair – which had been a lustrous, almost platinum blonde – was now strawberry blonde. “How could I have not noticed that?” he thought.



Pulling her close, he whispered in her ear, “Did you change your hair this morning?”



Luna giggled and then turned to face him, so closely that their noses were touching. “No, silly! It’s doing that on its own. It will be all red the day we get married. I’m becoming a part of the family… so my hair is changing to match. Isn’t it wonderful?”



Ron was stupefied. He had never thought of it before. Once he did though, he remembered that Fleur Delacour’s hair had also once been blonde, but was now more a deep strawberry color. The drop-dead gorgeous Veela was not present for the gathering, but Ron thought back to the last time he had seen her and realized, quite strongly, that in fact his memory was correct.



Meeting his betrothed’s gaze, he said “Of course, love. It’s wonderful. It’s just that I didn’t expect it, that’s all.” He smiled at her will all the love he felt for her and hoped that she would be alright with what was about to happen. A part of him thought that it could get very ugly indeed. That part was, of course, right.

As all the Weasleys were gathering near the Head table, the mighty, double-doors to the Hall opened. Harry and Hermione Potter were escorted into the Hall in the company of armed Hit-Wizards. Nymphadora Tonks, Benjamin Steele, and twelve of their colleagues surrounded and protected Harry and Hermione. Hermione was dressed to impress, with her tiara in full view and her deep-red Canadian Sable shawl wrapped about her shoulders against the chill of the pending winter. Harry’s outfit had been carefully chosen to look pale in comparison to hers, so that all eyes and attention would be on her.



The outfit had its intended effect. Molly Weasley started sputtering obscenities almost immediately once she saw Hermione. Normally someone would have made an effort to shut her up, but everything over the last three months that had been done had been designed to bring about this moment and no one was going to muck it up by interfering.



Arthur even said, in a voice that was just one setting too high for what would have otherwise been considered ‘proper’ said to his wife, “What was that, Molly. I didn’t hear you.”



She was too far gone to realize that she was being set up, so she turned to her husband of more than twenty years and pointed towards Hermione. “I said, the miserable bitch is flaunting her wealth in our faces and she doesn’t fucking deserve it. That money should be ours – Ginny’s. We’re pure-bloods and she’s nothing but a mudblood.”



Nymphadora Tonks winced at the word. She had heard it often enough, but it grated every time… and especially so when it referred to someone she cared about. Hermione was one of those.



“Tonks” knew the plan and knew that she could not… must not… interfere with what was about to happen… unless it appeared that Hermione’s life was in immediate danger.



Hermione, for her part, turned and kissed Harry – with quite a bit more passion and drama than she ever would have, if she wasn’t trying to annoy and provoke Molly. Once they broke their clinch, she turned and walked over to where Luna was standing. “Go with me on this, Harry” she thought to her husband. Bending slightly at the waist, Hermione cupped Luna’s chin in her petite hand and then kissed the beautiful girl right on the lips. Luna’s eyes sparkled with mirth as she thought about the kind of apoplexy that Hermione was most assuredly causing Molly Weasley.



Breaking the kiss, Hermione whispered to Luna, “Thank you. That was wonderful.”



“Any time” Luna her herself say instinctively, wondering just which one of them enjoyed it more.



Ginny, for her part, sat smirking at Hermione’s show. She knew from early on what Hermione, Harry, Luna, and Ron had planned and now she had the chance to watch it all come to fruition. It didn’t hurt that Hermione’s ability to act might mean the difference between saving her mother and losing her for all time.



Dumbledore, the Deputy Headmistress, and all of the teachers sat back and watched the drama unfold. Each was painfully aware that what was happening was a delicate dance that had to come out right in order for a larger tragedy to be averted. Each also had his or her hand firmly clutching a wand, just in case.



The Aurors and Hit-wizards watched as Hermione swept around and looked at Molly, as if to announce that she was finally ready to deal with the caustic insults that the red-haired matriarch had so casually thrown her way. Tossing her shawl to Ginny, who caught it and happily wrapped herself in it, Hermione sashayed over to a spot about eight feet from where Molly stood, spouting.



Every Auror and Hit-wizard in the Hall eased off the walls they were leaning against and gently raised their wands up and to the ready. Molly didn’t see them, however. She was too focused on Hermione. The Aurors, on the other hand, were extremely aware of every movement the older woman made… because somewhere near her, either on her person or on an exposed surface, was the signature of the witch they had been actively hunting since receiving their orders, three days previous.



They had been told, before entering the Hall, that looking for Animagus signatures was going to do them no good, as pretty much every student in the school, save for an unfortunate few, was an animagus, and telling them apart was impossible without hair or blood samples.



Hermione’s smile twisted into something more vindictive as she appraised her foe. “Well, bitch, you have something to say to me?”



Molly was caught off guard for a moment. Everything that Rita had told her about Hermione led her to believe that the young girl didn’t have the stomach for direct confrontation and that she, Molly, was going to have to provoke the fight. She didn’t expect Hermione to bring the fight to her.

“You little mudblood…” Smack!



Molly’s cheek – really the whole left-hand side of her face - was suddenly alive with pain as she recoiled from Hermione’s open-handed slap.



Hermione snickered at her. “My name is Lady Potter-Black and you, you foul, loathsome fool… I suggest that you learn to use it. If you don’t, you will regret it.”



Molly glared at her, but stood her ground. Rita had said that Hermione was formidable and that she shouldn’t underestimate her, but that Molly knew more than Hermione about dueling and would win, in the end. Rita had even gone so far as to show her the ‘special’ knife that she had acquired to kill Harry with, after Molly finished off Hermione.



Presented with the reality of facing the young woman, Molly’s nerves were not as steady as she had hoped, and dueling with the young, physically perfect woman who was radiating magical power, suddenly seemed much more daunting.



Seconds ticked by before Molly made her decision.



When she did, she gave it her all. The wand came up fast and the curse that she had practiced over and over again sped from her lips. “Avada Kedavra!”



Three things happened almost simultaneously. One – Harry conjured a huge slab of rock out of nowhere that intersected the god-awful killing curse, stopping it in its tracks before it could get anywhere near his wife. Two, Hermione disappeared and reappeared off to Molly’s left, out of her immediate line of sight, but in a place that gave her maximum physical advantage. Three, every Auror in the room moved to protect those in his or her immediate vicinity. Most all of them conjured long, massive, thick oak tables or something similar as shields, so that no student was in the potential line of fire.



The last thing that happened was the appearance of Godric Gryffindor’s sword in Hermione’s outstretched hand. She brought the blade up to where its lethal edge rested against Molly’s throat. Hermione prayed as she had never prayed before that Arthur’s fortitude would hold out just a little longer, giving her the time to issue the challenge that everyone was counting on.



“Molly Prewett Weasley, your life is forfeit to me, for use of the killing curse. You may ask for a clean death right here, right now, or you can meet me on the Dueling field at 1 pm, where we will settle this. Speak, bitch, or die now.”



Hermione was feeling every bit as angry as she appeared and no one in the room thought that second-guessing her was a good idea. Not even the Headmaster.



Molly looked genuinely scared. The blade at her throat had nicked the skin and was drawing blood. All Hermione had to do was to press even a little bit and she would die. It was not the way things were supposed to happen!



Molly thought, after a moment, that what she really needed to do was to get some room in which to work – and perhaps she’d be able to kill the girl and get away. Her life was forfeit in any case, but living was much preferable to dying.



A semblance of her earlier sneer returned – even if it was forced – and she said “I’ll duel you, bitch. You’re no match for me.”



Hermione knew better, but didn’t bother to correct the woman.



As the Aurors moved in to take temporary custody of Molly, for they couldn’t do anything else, given that they had all seen her use an Unforgivable, Hermione stepped back and then turned and fled towards Harry.



Harry was not the only one waiting for her, though. Ron, Ginny, the Twins and even Charlie and Bill all moved in to hug her and reassure her that what she had done, she had to do, and they were all happy that she was unharmed. Ron was the most blunt about it. “I almost pissed myself, ‘Mione. Seeing the killing curse brought back a few too many things.”



Hermione nodded her agreement numbly and then threw herself into Harry’s arms, where she cried for several long minutes.



Finally, Arthur made his way across the Great Hall and to where Hermione and Harry were standing. Arthur’s reaction to everything had weighed very heavily on Hermione’s conscience, so when he hugged her and told her that it was alright – that he didn’t blame her at all – Hermione hugged him back and said a very tearful ‘thank you’.



The only person who was horrified with the outcome was Rita Skeeter. Watching from a nook in the rafter which ran parallel to the staff table but ten meters up, she saw all of her plans, all of her efforts and months of training and guiding the gullible redhead go to waste.

As she skittered farther into the shadows, she cursed herself for letting Molly be alone. If she had had the fortitude to dare to show her face at Hogwarts, she might have helped her protégé actually beat the mudblood. She thought about all the alternative outcomes and what she could do and realized, with the number of Aurors and Hit-wizards present at the school, that there wasn’t any hope of getting Molly to do her dirty-work. She was going to have to do it herself… if she could only find the right opportunity. The problem was, she was running out of time. Molly, she was sure, would die at 1 pm.

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1 PM – Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch



In the intervening hours between the initial confrontation in the Great Hall and the time for the duel, the Aurors from the MLE, along with their Hit-wizard brethren, made short work of eliminating all of the students’ magical signatures from their registry. Most all of the students, it seemed, were animagi… and barely an eighth of them were registered with the Ministry… but somehow that didn’t seem important. What was important was that there were still several animagi who were showing up on their detectors that couldn’t be accounted for.



Everyone was on high alert and there was an extraordinarily high amount of security everywhere. Because Rita Skeeter had yet to be found wands were out and students were warned, again and again, that anything that they did might accidentally be construed as an attack, so it was best not to even think about disobeying the rules about magic in the hallways or in the Great Hall.



Once it was made known that Lord and Lady Potter were also animagi, along with the Headmaster, the Deputy Headmistress, and several of the staff, the detectors were showing only two left that couldn’t be identified. It took another half-hour for it to be worked out that Arthur Weasley was also an animagus, though his form was listed as ‘classified’. That left just one signature that they could not identify and every Auror and Hit-wizard vowed to find that witch or wizard.



At just a few minutes before 1 pm, Harry and Hermione made their way to the pitch. Because lunch had decided that it wasn’t going to sit right until the whole unhappy matter was behind them, Hermione decided to forego it and practiced all of her most advanced, most dangerous moves. Since there weren’t going to be any restrictions on the duel, she had to be prepared for anything.



As they walked, Aurors and Hit-wizards formed a protective phalanx around them, shielding them from any potential magics that could be thrown at them. Curse-breakers and other specialized personnel scoured the grounds, looking for traps or any other magics that might ensnare the Lady Potter. The stands were checked and then re-checked to make sure they were safe and that there was no one present, in any form, anywhere near where Lord Potter and his friends were expected to sit. It was security the likes of which Hogwarts had never seen before, and hopefully never see again.



Once both combatants were on the field, Dumbledore announced the reason for the duel and the one restriction – no Unforgivables. Everything else was fair game. The duel was over when one combatant lay dead.



Hermione accepted the terms with equanimity. She knew that she’d be the one who walked off the pitch at the end.



They both walked to their respective starting points. “Get it done, Hermione. Put her down and come back to me.”



“I will. Now shut up and let me work”.



“Love you.”



With that, Harry closed off their link and sat back to watch. He wasn’t afraid for Hermione – but he was afraid for Arthur. What he was about to see wasn’t going to be nice.



And it wasn’t.



The moment that the Headmaster signaled a fair start, Hermione disappeared and Molly did what Hermione had expected her to do, which was to turn around and look behind her.



The moment that she did, Hermione re-appeared, became Sagehunter in one smooth, practiced motion, and tore into the older woman as if she were so much tissue paper. It was violent and bloody and no one who was present was able to completely hold down his or her lunch after seeing it.



What was left of Molly was identifiable as a human female and that was about it. When she was carried off the field (still alive), both of her arms were gone (bitten off savagely above the elbow), her left leg was shredded and bleeding, and there were bloody, awful gouges down her back that might never completely heal.



When she was finished, Hermione bravely transformed and then threw up, all over herself. The blood and bile that she had taken in as Sagehunter covered the ground in front of her. Great sobs racked her body as she cried over what she had been forced to do.



Harry apparated to her side immediately and vanished all the bile and vomit with a thought. He cleaned her off magically as well and did what he could to cushion the emotional blow by entering her thoughts and sharing the experience with her, so that he could assure her that what she had done was the right thing.



As they stood together, he reminded her of the magical oath that she had made to all of the Weasleys that she would not throw magic at Molly, under any circumstance, and that she didn’t have any alternatives.



Picking her up in his arms like a child, Harry started to walk back towards where Ron, Luna, Ginny, Neville, and both the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress stood. Everyone was somber and respectful of Hermione. Each was grateful to her for having spared Molly’s life, whether it was pretty or not.



It took some minutes for the rest of the school’s students and professors to file out through the archway which led into the Quidditch pitch (near the home-team locker rooms).



Since the security cordon was outside the pitch and not inside, none of the Aurors or Hit-wizards saw the small beetle which flew up at Harry and Hermione from somewhere in the dirt on the path in front of them. Something felt wrong and Ron threw himself into the Beetles’ path, smacking it aside and causing it to land hard in the dirt again.



The moment the beetle landed, things began happening fast. The transformation from animal to wizard or witch can happen in less than a second, if the person has practiced… and it was obvious that Rita had practiced. Rita sprang up out of the dirt, with a glinting silver blade in her right hand. Flipping it around in her hand, she threw it hard at Harry, hoping to take advantage of the fact that his hands were full.



He needn’t have worried though. Ron did the impossible… or at least the really, really amazing, and pulled off the best Quidditch-type save that he might ever make in his whole life. Somehow, he was able to throw himself into the air and catch the dagger by the handle as hilt went whizzing by. The force of the throw caught Ron off-guard and he was forced to re-direct the blade so that it buried itself into the wooden post behind and to the right of where Harry stood.



Harry goggled at what his best male friend had just done for him and the woman he loved more than life itself. Luna simply smiled a knowing smile and moved to congratulate her husband to be in a most personal fashion.



Dumbledore, on the other hand, moved to fulfill a much more personal promise. Stunning Rita with the barest flick of his finger, the aged wizard shared a look with his long-time lover and friend.



Minerva McGonagall looked at the woman who lay, face down, in the dirt and found that she felt no pity for her nor any remorse for what was about to happen to her.



The Headmaster looked at Harry, who was still holding Hermione in his arms, and then at Ron, Luna, Ginny, and Neville. “Do it”, Ron said. “Do it” both Ginny and Neville said, quietly. “Do it” Luna said, without even a hint of remorse or pity. Finally Harry and Hermione both said, “Do it.”



Dumbledore enervated the woman and then paralyzed her, so that she couldn’t move, but could see and hear everything around her.



“Rita, I told you that the next time I saw you, I would kill you. You have come onto the grounds of Hogwarts for the last time. You have attempted to kill Harry and Hermione Potter and for that, I am going to kill you, here and now. Before I do though, I have one thing more to say to you.” He took from an outer pocket of his robe, a perfect, cut-crystal vase, about five inches high and three inches across. It had a fitted top, which the Headmaster removed. Pointing his wand at the evil woman’s heart, he said, “Preda Bellica” and then “Silencio”.



Rita began silently screaming almost immediately, as her magic was ripped from her. Slowly at first, and then at a much more rapid pace, it filled the jar that the Headmaster held up.



When it was done, Albus Dumbledore placed the lid back on the jar and handed it to Neville. “You’d better hold on to this carefully. We’re going to need it sooner than you think.”



Neville nodded, not quite understanding what had just happened, but trusting the Headmaster to his word. Harry turned and handed Hermione to Ron, who carefully, and with a great deal of love for his best friend, held her gently and affectionately in his arms. Harry, free for the moment, of the responsibility of carrying his beloved, walked over to where the Headmaster stood.



Harry looked at him and nodded. “Together, then?”



“Together”, Albus replied, and with that, the two wizards focused their will on the (now) muggle woman before them and spoke the terrible curse that only they knew and only they could perform. “Mortuis”



Rita Skeeter began to bleed from every orifice, even as she began to scream silently once more.



The Aurors and Hit-wizards who were on the other side of the fence, not thirty meters away, never heard or saw a thing.

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WOW! Finally done this longest-of-all chapters. I hope that you’ve enjoyed reading it. I’ll get started on the next one once I’m done with a chapter (or two) of “The Master’s Gambit” and “A New Order”.



If you have questions or comments, please write to me. I love hearing from my fans (and critics).



Reviews are the stuff of life. Please….let me know if you’ve managed to make it all the way through this chapter and if you have, what you thought of it!!



Thanks,



The_scribbler