Extrapolation

Chapter Three: Playing Their Games

"It is twice the pleasure to deceive the deceiver." -Jean De La Fontaine

When he returned to Hogwarts, Harry could feel a slight tension in the air. Teachers became irritated more easily. Curfew was enforced more firmly and violations punished more severely. Even the school itself showed traces of thickening apprehension. The stairs changed often--usually at very inconvenient times and sometimes when students were still on them. The Gryffindors were gruffer than usual. The Ravenclaws snapped at anyone disturbing their quiet studying and rarely passed up the opportunity to make a member of any other house look foolish. Slytherins were especially vindictive; the school nurse had a hard time keeping up with the number of hexed students. Even Harry´s own Hufflepuffs had less patience, which had lost the house no small amount of points.

He could not dismiss the change as nerves or attribute it to cabin fever, however much he would have liked to, for one very good reason: Professor Grimm and Harry´s "study partners" were untroubled. They surveyed the heightened nervousness with something approaching smugness.

And most frustrating of all, he had not received a single letter from Perseus. It was obvious that something important must have happened in the outside world to upset the very atmosphere at the school to such a degree. But what? What?

"Watch it!" muttered a Sixth Year housemate of Harry´s when he stumbled into the younger boy´s path.

His own mood wasn´t left untouched by the school´s atmosphere, especially as days passed without him receiving a single owl post. He continued to catch himself clenching his wand so tight his knuckles turned white. Every time his Sense warned him of an approaching student, he subconsciously went on alert. And on the rare occasion he was unaware of a student´s approach, he almost hexed the startled boy or girl, which did nothing for his reputation.

And then there was the study group. With them, he tried so hard to relax that he usually accomplished little more than to make himself stiffer with the anxiety of putting up a believable, false front. But they weren´t even the worst problem he had to deal with. It was smug, creeping, never to be sufficiently damned Professor Grimm and his love affair with dark magic. If Harry had to cast one more bleeding spell in UDA, he´d practise it on the bastard himself.

But as if having to perform for everyone else in the school everyday wasn´t enough, Dumbledore, master of seeing through any charade (discounting those countless DADA professors during his school days, but the old headmaster had been, well, older), had taken an interest of his own in Harry. He´d probably heard about his strange talent for defence spells and had set out to "save" Harry from Grimm and his nasty employer.

Like I need any saving from anything but this school. Harry sighed as he saw the auburn-haired Dumbledore approach. His attempts to evade the old man and his meddling were not always that successful.

"Good evening, Harry," said the professor.

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," said Harry. Then, remembering that Hufflepuffs in general spoke more than that, he added a polite inquiry of the wizard´s health.

"I am well enough, however crushing my disappointment about receiving only books for Christmas. And you, Harry?" His glance was so intense and welcoming that for a second Harry felt like he was speaking to his Dumbledore and almost replied truthfully.

"I could really use--" He caught himself and shrugged. "I´m fine. I´m just heading to my study group."

The future headmaster half-frowned, a strange expression on him. "Yes, that´s right. Mr Riddle´s study group. What do you study?"

"Most of the others practice UDA and Transfiguration and quite a bit of charms. I do mostly defence and potions." Ah, if Snape could only see him now.

"Defence," mused the professor. "Professor Thyme mentioned to me that you managed to cast a spectacular shield charm. Well done."

Harry´s Sense prickled as he felt another professor approach, and he barely refrained from groaning or charming himself invisible. Professor Grimm. As though Dumbledore weren´t enough.

"I see you have been speaking to one of my star pupils, Professor Dumbledore," said Grimm, smiling with his customary smugness as Harry and Dumbledore turned to face him.

"Merely congratulating him on a well cast defence spell."

Harry wanted to slink away, but he was caught between the two older wizards. Under different circumstances, it might have been amusing to see them try to out-glare each other while trying to appear like they were on good terms. A doomed attempt, though Harry did not dare tell them. It would be rather like insulting a pair of old, cranky dragons. And now that he thought about it, such a resemblance...

"That reminds me," said Grimm, moving a bit so Harry could look at him. The man´s voice was gloating, which meant he was up to something. "Harry, I am very impressed by the quality of your spells. Would you be interested in some private lessons? I have a feeling you would do well."

Dumbledore looked like he had just swallowed his legendary vomit-flavoured jelly bean, and Harry probably would´ve too if it weren´t for the iron control he´d practised and practised (though practise only went so far, and when his patience ran out, so help him, he´d...). But the powerful wizard regained his bearing. "My deepest condolences, Professor. I believe that the Hogwarts charter prohibits the teaching of Dark Arts outside of class, even by credited teachers such as yourself."

"I--" Grimm glowered, and Harry inwardly cheered and contemplations of homicide receded somewhat. "I had forgotten."

"No harm done, Garrick," said Dumbledore, his good humour also restored. "Once again, magnificent job, Harry."

"Thank you, professor." Harry glanced at his watch not so subtly, delighted for once that he had to go his study group. The meeting had been scheduled much earlier than usual; it would still be light outside. "Oi! I´d better hurry along, or I´ll be late!"

With a quick smile and a cheerful wave, Harry fled, leaving the two teachers to their differences. Resolving not to run into anyone else who might bother him, he began his quiet walk to the library. The hall was unusually cold today. He tried not to notice how dim the torches seemed on his walks to meetings, but he never had been very skilled at self-delusion.

"Harry." The whisper was so faint he wanted to dismiss it as just a gust of wind. But out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the source. His ghosts were back.

In a way, the ghosts were a comforting reminder that not everything changed. Except, they weren´t actually real ghosts. No one else could see them when he pointed them out. Remus had a thousand and one theories as to why Harry saw them. Harry had a thousand and one suggestions as to where Remus could shove his theories. And then Sirius had his several thousand reasons why Harry should see a psychowizard for his "problem." His own replies to Sirius were more often than not unrepeatable. He had learned from the best, after all: the two Marauders themselves.

But the presence of the spectres certainly did not cheer him any, despite the fond memories they had just conjured out of the dusts of loneliness. By the time he finally arrived at the library, his temper had worsened considerably. For once, he didn´t care about hiding it behind an easy smile and laugh. He slammed the door open, earning a glare from the librarian. Defiantly, he closed it just as hard, matching murderous stare for murderous stare. She pursed her lips disapprovingly, but looked away and said nothing.

Harry strode to the back of the library, to the table closest to the restricted section. He dropped his books carelessly on the meeting table, ignoring the somewhat startled looks of his study partners, who had never seen him in such a foul mood.

"What?" he snapped, violently jerking a book open. Some Ravenclaws looked ready to protest such cruel abuse of books, but most students quickly glanced away. Even Riddle, used to a complacent, good-natured Harry, was taken aback.

"Anything wrong, Harry?" one student ventured.

"Of course not. If something were wrong, I would be cross, and we can easily see that I´m chipper as a Third Year high on a cheering charm."

"Ah."

Half-heartedly, he tried to clear away his frown. His efforts just distorted it into a bared smile. One girl, a Ravenclaw, made a hesitant attempt at conversation.

"Maybe we can help. Would you like to tell us what´s wrong?"

The black mood would not be shaken, and the scowl returned full force. "I would if I had the slightest suspicion someone might care beyond using it as fodder for gossip."

"Pardon me for being friendly," the girl muttered, shrinking back.

"Don´t be stupid. If you´re friendly, it´s an accident, a side effect of nosiness."

As he finally noticed how childish and out of character he was acting, he clamped his mouth shut. Deciding to ignore his study partners, if only to prevent more outbursts, he flipped the pages of his defence book to the shield charm section and pretended to read, which was frightfully boring. He´d memorised the text years ago, under the influence of more sleep-warding potions than he liked to recall.

He was immeasurably relieved when Riddle got to his feet. The Slytherin Prefect gestured for silence and conversations immediately ceased. Harry had to swallow the sudden urge to speak just to be contrary.

"I have decided to do something different for this meeting," Riddle said. Despite his irritation with the brainless sycophants surrounding him, Harry felt a stirring of interest. "We will head out by the lake and practise duelling. You shall be split into two opposing teams."

Damn Riddle and his study groups, Harry groused, his interest gone. What good would a mock battle be if he couldn´t practice anything without giving himself away? And how long would it take? He did a quick mental calculation. There would be eighteen students on each team, if Riddle participated. That could make for a lengthy fight. Then again, this was mini-Voldemort who would be participating. Scratch that, I give them one minute before he trounces them. Well, without me to balance things, anyway. But isn´t that what I do all the time? Balance?

"This way."

Minutes later, the students were outside, stamping their feet on the snow to shake off the cold. Harry watched them with amusement, warm under his heating charm, wondering why they didn´t use one. Then again, the sheer amount of magical energy it took to keep the charm up longer than a dozen minutes--well. And it was strangely gratifying to see the young snots suffer the biting chill while he remained comfortable.

The young wizards clumsily clumped into groups as Riddle divided the club, huddling closely for warmth. Once again, Harry marvelled that they did not once think to use magic to overcome the cold. Hermione would´ve had a spell ready for Ron and him before they left the school.

His face darkened, and he remained lost in a world of gloomy thoughts until Riddle signalled the start of the skirmish.

Instantly, there was chaos, and no time to dwell on anything besides not being trampled by some graceless student. Students half tripped over each other trying to get to their opponents. Bumbling and uncertain, like a bunch of Firsties trying their first spell out. There was a lot of force and power, but it was clumsily aimed. What good was a handful of powerful spells, if they didn´t reach their targets?

Quick eyes spotted the spell speeding toward him. Harry dodged and erected a glowing shield around most of his teammates. They smiled gratefully at him, and Harry winced inwardly as a few distracted ones were hit by some newly learned curses. Had he been so green once? Slipping, sliding, knocking Ferguson over, tripping and almost breaking Ron´s nose, accidentally hexing Corson himself... The memories his mind obligingly conjured brought a blush to his face.

He noticed an equally exasperated expression on Tom Riddle´s face. The Slytherin was on the opposing team, and they were doing as poorly, if not worse, for all of Tom´s furious casting. Harry contented himself with maintaining the shield and letting the rest of his group do the fighting, but when a duo actually hexed each other (how, Harry could not begin to imagine), he started giving quiet advice.

"Maybe if you organise into trios and guard each other´s backs, you won´t get hexed as often."

His advice was obeyed with the enthusiastic energy of an adrenaline-filled mob latching on to any voice of reason. He was quite certain that if he had told them to hold wands in a circle and chant nursery rhymes in even a remotely levelheaded tone, they would have complied with blind obedience.

Thankfully, it took only a few more carefully chosen words for Harry´s team to begin gaining the advantage. Gratified that years of working solo had not completely crippled his ability to command a team of wizards, he continued shouting instructions until his Sense warned him of enemy students sneaking up, using the chaos of battle to cloak their slow crawl towards him.

Taking out the leader and main defence, he thought. It must be one of Riddle´s schemes. Trying to look unaware of the danger behind, he continued directing. Then, he took a step forward and "tripped." The curses just released from his hidden assailants sailed over his head, and curses of a different kind reached Harry´s ears. He smiled devilishly and replied with a rude gesture, which was met by more swearing. Alerted by the wild curses, his teammates rushed to the aid of their shield wizard.

They were actually learning (amazing though the phenomenon seemed). Harry smiled delightedly, wondering if teachers felt like this all of the time. Then again, Fred and George and all of their antics just might be enough to offset any warm fuzzies. He stifled a snicker.

The inclination to laugh turned to surprise as he became aware of a strange burning sensation on his chest. He glanced up, startled, and met Tom Riddle´s eyes across the small battlefield. A hex. A test of his defence abilities? The young wizard cast a protective spell on himself, and relaxed slightly when the pain subsided.

The opposing team, at a great disadvantage without a shield, buckled quickly. Soon only Riddle remained, and Harry remembered the Slytherin´s final stand with awe and admiration for weeks afterward. It was as if Riddle did not even need to move his wand or mouth. All colours of magic spilled out of it, in an almost continuous beam of punishing force. The students outside of Harry´s protected circle fought well, but could not stand the onslaught. Only those under his protection remained standing.

In the end, it came down to Riddle´s curses against Harry´s shield. Harry agonised over keeping his shield up--no easy feat against a wizard of Tom Riddle´s power--and letting it fall. Would he appear too skilled if he didn´t drop it? But somehow he knew that if he gave in, Riddle would know he was holding back.

So he held his shield, though he did allow it to ripple a few times to give his fighters incentive to work harder. It was odd not being on the offensive, he thought, as he watched the battle. One hex finally got through Tom Riddle´s considerable defences, but he still found strength to take a student with him as he fell.

Still shaking his head with amazement at his opponent´s skill, Harry tallied the wizard´s "kills." The Slytherin had taken down about eighty percent of his remaining team--twelve wizards!

While the students left standing walked to their fallen classmates and revived them, Harry took down his shield. He was surprised to discover that his limbs were stiff, and that sometime during the battle he had become very sweaty. He was out of shape, no doubt due to his rather long break from casting any advanced magic. There had to be an abandoned room he could use somewhere to practise the complex magic he was accustomed to.

He looked up sharply at the sound of a hoot, and picked out a small owl flying toward him at a staggering velocity. He dropped to the ground, and if the rush of air above his head was any indication, he had done so just in time. The owl looped around and dropped a thick, rolled up bundle of parchment. Harry caught it, puzzled.

He read the first lines quickly. The letter was from Uncle Perseus. As the wizard read on, his foul temper returned.

...and Grindelwald´s attacks continue to grow in frequency and ferocity. He is growing more confident, though I´m not sure why. He must have something nasty planned. That is not all. I fear that Hogwarts itself may not be safe any longer. I´ve heard word that Grindelwald has penetrated the school. His supporters could be everywhere, but I trust you will be able to handle them.

Call me a sentimental old coot, but I am a bit worried about you. And before you reply with a dozen reasons I should trust in your abilities (and don´t deny that that was the first thing on your mind, young man), hear me out. I know you are here to help defeat Grindelwald, but no one said you had to do it alone. Dumbledore told me something about a friend of yours who is ready to help you if needed, and I want you to know that if you ever need a friend, or I suppose that would be uncle, I am here. I´ve seen countless young Aurors like you burn out, burn up, and burn things up, over the years. If you need to do one of those three, try for that last one, will you? You´ve got one friend willing to help you out with that, in any case.

Harry folded the letter and sat down heavily. Other club members milled around him chatting excitedly about the battle as if it were something grand, and though he thought the comparison to the Battle of the Founders rather unwarranted, he ignored them, instead thinking intensely about the wizarding world´s worsening state of affairs.

"You seem troubled," said Tom Riddle, the stiffness with which he sat next to Harry a testimony to his previously Stunned condition.

Harry shifted warily, but inspiration struck as it was prone to do just when situations seemed beyond repair. Grasping for his earlier grouchiness (though it really wasn´t that difficult), Harry nodded and stuffed the letter in his pocket. "It´s my uncle. He´s unhappy with me."

"Your uncle?"

"Yes," said Harry nonchalantly. "He used to be an Auror. Perseus Hudson, have you heard of him?"

"Perseus Hudson?" Riddle´s voice raised an octave. Harry suppressed a smile at the near reverent tone. Then he frowned in thought. Was Perseus famous? "He´s your uncle?"

"Yes," he continued mournfully, getting into the act. "He doesn´t like me attending these study groups. He says I should be able to work on my own. In fact, he threatened to pull me out of Hogwarts if I didn´t quit! Can you believe him? I thought he would be happy I was learning something."

Riddle practically glowed with excitement. "What´s the matter? Does he seem worried? Tell me about it," he demanded. "Did he mention my name?"

"Worried? I suppose," Harry said with a shrug. "As for your name...in fact, he did talk about you once or twice. Said you weren´t suitable company, if you can believe that. Then, he never was a great fan of Slytherins. Or even Gryffindors for that matter, you should hear what he says about Wilson Hawkfeather."

"Not suitable company," echoed Riddle, seeming to completely disregard the last two sentences, looking giddy as a teenager preparing to take his apparation test. No doubt "worrying" a famed Auror was one of the greatest accomplishments of his young life. Harry suppressed a snort of amusement. If Perseus´ letter was any indications, an owl looking at him funny would worry the Auror.

"I told him earlier that I´ll do what I want. I´m not a child anymore--I can make my own decisions."

"That´s right," encouraged Riddle, eyes bright with glee. As this image of Riddle, about ready to break into a jig, juxtaposed with one of his future self, the malevolent Voldemort in his mind, Harry didn´t know whether to burst out laughing or be afraid. "You should cultivate your independence. Don´t let your uncle choose what you do with your life."

Harry nodded emphatically. When the Slytherin did not speak again, the older wizard struggled to his feet, a surprisingly wearing feat. He attributed the difficulty to the overtaxing of his magic. Magic, like a muscle, had to be exercised to stay in top form. And, Harry thought ruefully, it also became "sore."

Riddle dismissed the club, but Harry did not return to the school with the other students. Instead, he watched the sky mix its pastel pinks and vibrant blues into the deep indigo of night. The wind blew through far off trees; the gentle rustle of their needles sounded almost like rain. His good spirits fell slowly.

How many times, he asked himself. How many times had he enjoyed these sights with Ron and Hermione and never once appreciated them? How many years would he regret that? It just wasn´t the same alone. Nature only compounded loneliness when a person gazed alone.

Soon the stars would wink into existence. It would be wise to go inside before he thought himself into yet another self-pitying depression. But he didn´t move; he kept watching. He should go, he thought. Ah, to hell with common sense. A person had to indulge in some cold angst every once and a while.

Harry closed his eyes, both to block out the painfully beautiful night (if any time of day belonged to him, it was fiery dawn, and her sister, bloody dusk) and to banish his melancholy. Then, with a start of shock, he realised where most of his misery came from. Not quite able to believe it, he searched his feelings again just to be sure. He was homesick. Homesick, of all things! He wanted to go home to the friends he had deserted and just spend time with them. How like him, to have run away from his problems without realising it.

"I never thought I´d miss them," he commented to the empty night. Silence was such a good listener. "I never thought they´d be gone someday. Besides, I´m not supposed to have attachments. Not after Ginny. Especially not after C-Ch--ah hell. I still bloody can´t say her name. They´re supposed to `get in the way.´"

He made a face at that quote, for once looking his young age. "But maybe they were wrong. Maybe I´ve been wrong all these years. Wonderful. I´ve had an epiphany, too many years too late. Story of my life."

He reached into a pocket and felt for the panic button. Dumbledore had told him to use it if he was ever lonely...but the young Auror shook his head and withdrew his hand. He should save the device for emergencies.

All half-formed ideas about going home scattered as alarm rippled through his Senses. Riddle was headed his way. He quickly got to his feet (wishing his sore muscles would just shut up, for Merlin´s sake, he knew they were tired!) and gauged the distance to Hogwarts entrance. Could he enter before Riddle met up with him?

"Williams!"

He sighed and let the Slytherin approach. "What?"

"I´m glad I found you out here. It will make things easier."

Easier? He didn´t like the sound of that. He took his wand discreetly out of his robes. "Easier?" he echoed.

"Why did you stay outside?" said Riddle, ignoring Harry´s inquiry. "The others returned over an hour ago."

Had it been a whole hour? "I was just thinking."

"In the cold?´ asked the other wizard doubtfully.

"Cold is why wizards invented heating charms."

"Heating charms!"

From the sheepish expression on Riddle´s face, Harry guessed that he, like all the others, had not thought of casting one. Not very bright as a pup, were you, Voldemort?

"You might try one sometime."

"Yeah." The Slytherin eyed Harry shrewdly. "You know? You´re pretty smart for a Hufflepuff."

Hm, thought Harry warily. What to do with that statement? Well, at least it gave him an opening for a lecture. He needed to vent some steam, and ranting about house rivalries, one of his favourite debate topics, certainly wouldn´t hurt.

"Don´t be stupid. Trying to judge people by their house is pointless." His mood lifted as he gathered momentum. And it wasn´t every day you had the chance to call a feared dark lord "stupid" to his face.

"You Slytherins think you´re so cunning, but what about Ravenclaws? So are they, in a different way. They have their own ambitions, but they hide it better beneath books and patience. And Gryffindors aren´t always brainless and rash. Their ideas might seem simple, but sometimes those are the hardest to mess up. At least a Gryffindor will never have to regret having the chance to do something and not do it. They´re very impulsive.

"And Hufflepuffs. We´re a hardworking lot, but don´t mistake our enthusiasm as compensation for lack of intelligence or magical ability. I know many people from my class that are very intelligent." A lie, actually; he did not know his housemates too well. The Slytherin in him, he supposed. "You shouldn´t judge people as a group unless you plan to regard them as one your whole life. Get to know a person individually if you want to know if he´s smart or foolish or cowardly. That´s the only way you can be sure."

"A philosophical Hufflepuff. Now I´ve seen everything."

Harry nodded amicably and started to continue his rant but stopped abruptly in surprise. The Slytherin had been--teasing? Disconcerted, Harry drew his robes tighter.

"So. What did you want?"

"I want you to meet someone."

"Meet--oh, all right. Lead on." At last, some results.

Riddle shook his head. "No. We need to use a Portkey."

Very suspicious now, Harry studied the cold snow on the ground. "Right. Well, bring it out."

The other wizard´s hand dipped into his pocket, bringing out a transparent, red sphere that reminded Harry of the prototype Remembrall. He reached out to touch the object, firmly restraining the impulse to flee. Though he had prepared himself for the unpleasant pull that accompanied Portkey travel, the harsh jerk that snatched him from Hogwarts was so violent, he almost blacked out.

The world finally came back into focus, so promptly that Harry wondered which had been the most disorienting: the ride there, or the aftershock. Riddle steadied him, and Harry murmured his gratitude. He felt the urge to straighten his glasses, which was odd. He had not worn them in years.

A pleasant voice interrupted the unnatural calm of this new place. "Tom has told me many great things about you, Mr Williams."

Grindelwald. Even without Dumbledore´s pictures, he would have known, somehow. Harry´s Sense snapped into use. He reached out with it to feel the evil wizard´s magical signature and nearly jumped back with a surprised yelp. He had recently started associating colours with magical auras, and Grindelwald´s was darker than anything he had ever come across (although he guessed that Voldemort would "feel" similar; his skill at Sensing had been almost less than nothing before defeating the Dark Lord).

The black would not have been so horrible if it weren´t for the strong, almost magnetic pull it had, like a black hole. The man´s magic sucked at every living thing around him.

"Who are you?" he asked, obligingly ignorant and dense, like most overrated heroes in Muggle telly. And, though he was loath to admit it, like most famous Gryffindor heroes.

"I am called Grindelwald." There was no gloating or pride, a fact that was worrying. Harry knew how to deal with egotistical dark wizards. They were actually very simple to deal with, if such a term could be applied to hunting dark wizards. It was the practical ones you had to worry about.

The first curse came without warning. With the lightning reflexes of years of duelling, Harry threw up a light barrier. A small pause, and the second curse, much stronger, hurtled toward him. He pulled at the strings of magic in the air and wove his second barrier. It was barely enough--the shield wobbled and groaned under the pressure.

Without waiting for the next spell, Harry added the third layer of shielding. The instant it settled in place, two spells tore at the dome. Wonderful. Voldemort-in-training had decided to join in. Practising Harry-bashing early on; no wonder he was so good at it.

Gritting his teeth, the wizard focused all his efforts on keeping the shield up. Really wishing that he had been exercising his magic more, he summoned a fourth layer. This was bad, he told himself in the very brief pause he allowed himself for thinking. He very rarely went beyond fifth layer.

The next assault was stronger; the Auror almost fell to his knees under the strain. Only iron control and a healthy supply of frustration and annoyance kept the shield from falling.

Steadying himself, violently burying terrifying thoughts of defeat and capture as deep as he could, Harry invoked the fifth barrier. This would not be enough, he knew. With demonic speed, he gathered the magic around him and said another incantation, building the rarely used sixth layer of protection. One Unforgivable...then another...and a third. They bounced away, although each impact made Harry dizzy with weakness. He was about to attempt the impossible and risk the seventh barrier when he remembered the panic button. And then the attacks stopped.

"I told you," said Riddle very calmly to his fellow evil wizard.

"I always like to know how skilled my defence wizards are. The only way to find out is to attack before they trust me. Your Hufflepuff certainly passed the test." That even voice sounded impressed--he damn well better sound impressed, thought Harry darkly, taking heaving breaths to recover from the huge energy expenditure. He´s just lucky I didn´t have time to prepare myself for the offensive.

"I´m floored by your friend´s hospitality, Riddle," he gritted out, taking down the shield carefully and trying not to sound as winded and exhausted as he felt. Or as irritated as he felt. "As if the bloody ´key weren´t enough."

"Well, you had a rather strong shield up during the mock battle. I was curious how much stronger it could be."

With admirable restraint, he did not mutter the age-old phrase about feline mortality rates in relation to curiosity.

Grindelwald spoke next, soothingly, as if he were coaxing an injured animal to let him close. "We bear you no ill will. As your young classmate said, it was a test of your abilities. Your defence skills are quite formidable."

Not as formidable as my offensive skills as I will be happy to demonstrate at a time of my choosing,thought Harry. But now was not the time, and he donned his mask of innocence yet again. "I´m not sure I understand. Why did you want to test my defence skills? This isn´t school."

"It´s quite simple," said Grindelwald, still maddeningly soothing. After Riddle´s insensitivity, it was enough to calm Harry down somewhat. "What do you plan on doing after you graduate?"

Been there, done that, still doing it. Truthfully? Kill you. "I´ve never thought about it."

"You are very talented at defence," suggested Riddle a bit too quickly for it not to have been contrived. Ah well, Harry awarded him points for the attempt.

"My uncle--"

"Yes, your famous uncle. He has some ideas for you, doesn´t he?" Even though his "uncle" had no such ideas, Harry felt a stirring of righteous anger. He quelled it hastily, and confusion replaced the feeling. Since when was he so fickle? "There are other paths, however. You can prove to him that you are capable of making the right choices."

"I think I see," said Harry, carefully dropping his façade of simple-mindedness. "But I wouldn´t really `prove´ anything to him. I would not be able let him know."

"You do understand." The older man moved closer to Harry, smiling kindly. The Auror was not fooled. Er, he didn´t think so, anyway. "Our needs complement each other. I am in need of a skilled defence wizard, and you need a purpose. Don´t all young wizards?"

"You´ve killed people," stated Harry, curious to see how Grindelwald would respond to that.

"True," agreed the other man. "What about your uncle? Has he never killed?"

"He has, I think."

"Aurors kill wizards as surely as my people do. Both use Unforgivables to accomplish this, don´t they? The only difference is that government supports them, not us. Would you be committing such a crime to side with the faction you believe can accomplish the most?"

"I couldn´t--what would--" What was wrong with him? Why were his thoughts so muddled? He tried to form a cohesive sentence. "How do I know you´ll achieve more?"

"Ask. Observe. Surely you notice the disorder that hampers the effectiveness of our government? The shroud of chaos has fallen, leaving the future clouded and uncertain. Our wizarding nations are divided, our supporters scattered. Do our people participate in the Muggle war? They don´t. And how many of our people die because of our neutrality, the very thing that supposedly keeps us safe?"

Clarity returned somewhat, and Harry suspected that the dark wizard had practised that speech many times, on many other people. "I don´t know."

"Thousands. Can those of us who support the war effort be accused, then, of sinister intentions? I wish to save lives. Surely that is a cause worth fighting for, even worth dying for. And perhaps killing for. That choice is difficult to make, but you must know where you stand when the time comes to decide."

His thoughts scrambled again. Harry closed his eyes, nauseated by the tingle of foreign emotions, a seemingly innocent stir of patriotic anger and eagerness to help this older wizard. What--was--wrong with him? He struggled to find where his feelings ended and the strange ones began. Some unseen fist released his mind, and he could once again think.

"But how can I know?" he asked a bit shakily, using the question he had asked a different wizard years ago. He was a staunch supporter of recycling. "How can I be sure what I´m doing is right?"

"You try," answered Grindelwald, giving the very answer Harry had received the first time. Apparently, fate and irony were just as environmentally consciousness.

"Then I´ll try."

"Good." Grindelwald smiled with quiet satisfaction. The sight sent chills up and down Harry´s spine. "Tom will see you back to Hogwarts. Tom?"

"Take this, Harry." Riddle held out a different globe, a green one. Harry withheld a sigh of both relief and dismay as he put his hand over it. The brutal tug was even more jarring now that he anticipated it.

Swirls of colour melted into snow and sky and stars.

"Isn´t there some way you can make the ride smoother?" the dark-haired wizard asked, massaging his pounding temples.

"No."

"Ah. It was worth a try."

The two wizards walked silently back to the school; Riddle´s silence likely due to the importance of the last hour and Harry´s because of a headache that would have amplified any sound twice as effectively as a Sonorus charm. Too drained to revel in the lack of attention his housemates paid to his late arrival (something that would have been the talk of the Gryffindor tower, had he been back in school during his own time), Harry fell into his bed.

"Night," he called out quietly.

"Night, Harry," chorused the other boys, who were engaged in the somewhat quieter pastime of wizard´s chess. And at that moment, he would have given anything to be in his dormitory listening to Ron and Seamus and Dean play Exploding Snap, headache and all.

"Night, Ron," he mouthed, wondering if his silent ghost was listening. Not that it would matter. Few things did.

---

"Alohomora!"

Harry swore bitterly when the spell failed. "We´re going to have to force our way in. Wands up." At his command, eight hands rose. "Aim." Eight wands steadied. "Cast!"

Eight beams of magic hit the door, closely followed by a thick ray that was searing with brightness, tempered by desperation. The sealed door groaned and a large crack formed in the middle. Pressing his lips together grimly, Harry performed the spell a second time. His sole effort smashed the door into a smouldering pile of splinters and molten iron.

The young wizard half-leapt into the misty room, but one of the Aurors, a grim, grey-haired one, pulled him back. "No. We don´t risk you. Move in, boys." The seven other Aurors in Harry´s unit obeyed the tall, imposing man that had spoken. Harry blinked eyes that were filling with tears not entirely caused by the smoke seeping from the exposed room.

"McClaude." His voice shook and he took a calming breath. "McClaude, please. I have to see. I want to--no. I have to know. Don´t keep me from her. If she´s still alive...She´ll have--she´ll need--"

The other man shook his head gently. Brushing at his eyes, Harry cursed again. He cursed the devotion of his men to their leader, the Death Eaters that taunted him by letting slip where they were holding Ginny before leaving, and most of all himself, because it had been his fault.

"It´s not your fault," said McClaude firmly, correctly interpreting Harry´s thoughts. Despite the man´s advantage in both size and age, he seemed reluctant to physically keep his commander away from the carnage. "Let the men do their job. If the Death Eaters saw you..." He let the sentence trail off. There was no need to say more.

If the Death Eaters saw Harry they would either kill Ginny right then, or use her to force him to go with them. If she was even in there. Harry stopped his feeble struggles and squinted at the impenetrable grey that hid the actions taking place past the smashed doorframe. Finally, a shout was raised.

"We´ve got him, move out!"

Harry clenched his hands, ignoring the pain from where his fingernails cut into his skin. All seven Aurors re-entered the hallway, a cloaked figure held tightly, almost harshly, between two of them. The duo shoved the captive at Harry, who glared with such venom, the other men looked nervous.

"This one wants to speak with you," rumbled barrel-chested Greevar, eyeing "this one" with open distaste. "Thought we´d let you talk with him before handing him over to the pokers."

"Pokers" was the cheerful nickname most Aurors used when referring to the Interrogation Wizards. The term evoked a less positive response from prisoners.

"You will let me? Really, how generous," said Harry. Greevar made an apologetic gesture. "Leave us."

His companions started to protest, but Harry shook his head fiercely. "Leave. No arguments."

In chagrined silence, the other Aurors shuffled out of the hall. As much as silent killers of dangerous capability can shuffle.

Harry studied the bound Death Eater in front of him, not bothering to mask his hatred and his fear for Ginny. Matters could explode if the two were further provoked.

"The Dark Lord has a message for you," said the captive softly, almost in a gloating singsong.

"Say it," said the young Auror through clenched teeth, his heart pounding wildly. Why was the Death Eater cooperating? He wasn´t supposed to...it didn´t make sense...Merlin, he didn´t want to know what Voldemort had to say.

"He says to turn yourself in. He says if you do, he´ll kill the girl. If you don´t, he´ll keep her alive."

"What do you mean, he´ll kill her if I give in?" snapped Harry, in no mood for more of Voldemort´s mind games. "That makes no sense."

"Makes perfect sense, if you know what happened to her." The Death Eater´s lips curved upward in a horrible parody of a smile. "If you knew what happened to her, you´d beg us to let you kill her."

"You didn´t--" Harry broke off, his mind unable to function for a moment. "Not dementors?"

"No," answered the other man breathlessly, taking obvious satisfaction in the reactions he´d provoked. "Not dementors. Men. Wands. Magic. Exactly like dementors but nowhere near as quick. She didn´t want to scream, but she gave in, in the end. She had a beautiful scream. The kind that went on and on and you listen for hours to. Like music."

Harry had to remember to breathe. Inhale, exhale, do not kill the enemy, inhale, exhale. "You..."

"Just like a dementor kissed her. Pretty ornament, now, but no one home." The voice became mocking. "Too bad, really. No fun screwing a zombie."

Exerting every ounce of willpower he had, Harry kept his wand at his side and his voice even, scornful. "And you really expect me to accept your demands?"

"The esteemed saviour of the world wouldn´t turn himself in to release his best friend?" With a sardonic bark of disbelieving laughter, the man nodded at one pocket on his robes. "There is a password-activated Portkey in there."

Harry hesitated, looking uncertainly at the slightly bulging pouch. It could very well be a regular ´key, designed to take him straight to Voldemort. Biting his lip, he reached and took a ballpoint pen out of the Death Eater´s pocket. The potential of such disaster in so ordinary (so Muggle!) an object made Harry want to laugh. But if he did that, he feared he would be unable to stop.

"Say `I invoke this Portkey,´ and it will activate." Harry stared at the pen a moment longer in detached fascination, and then put it in his own pocket. "You might not want to take too long, making up your mind. Other things can happen.

"What can I say? Some men get a kick out of fucking a living corpse. Not that it matters. She was just a Muggle-loving whore anyway. Did she spread for you, before your engagement? Maybe she did after, no telling what those Muggle lovers will do. Say, you know what she kept screaming, when we tortured her? She kept screaming and screaming your--"

Harry´s self control shattered. His wand arm was raised and aimed in less than a second. He fought to regain his calm, but the world was red and black and everything hurt, inside and outside.

"Ginny was my friend, and a great woman," he growled, grinding his wand into the Death Eater´s chest.

"Do it," said the man, showing no trace of fear. "Do it. Say it. Climb down from your pedestal and dirty yourself with some dark magic."

"I won´t," said Harry weakly, the firmness of his wand arm belying his words. "I won´t," he repeated, as if trying to convince himself.

"Maybe you shouldn´t. Maybe I should give her one more go, after you let me go."

Harry became very still. To hell with morals, and to hell with his bloody oath not to use the Dark Arts unless absolutely necessary. He aimed his wand and said very firmly, "Avada Kedavra."

The flash of green light was deep emerald, a thing of nightmares for Harry. But it worked splendidly. The prisoner fell, a dreamy, satisfied look frozen on his face. Harry faintly heard the heavy thunder of footsteps running toward him and the anxious shouts. In seconds, McClaude was at his side, asking a thousand questions Harry could not answer. He studied the dead body calmly.

"I killed the prisoner," he remarked, the total lack of emotion in his voice so eerie he barely recognised it. "The pokers won´t be happy."

"Are you all right, sir?" A tight, frightened voice--Freeman´s. Greevar´s rolling tones overrode the others´ words. "Harry?"

"It´s worse than being dead. She´s worse off." A thousand images played through his mind. His best friend laughing with him, just when he needed to be cheered up. Bringing some new confection for him to try on a bad day. Late nights studying.

"Harry, what did he--" It was McClaude again. "Damn all Eaters, anyway! What did he say to you? Harry?" The older man shook Harry, who made no response. "What did he say? What did he tell you?"

"The truth," answered Harry, feeling the edges of the numbness starting to crumple. "He told me the truth. But I´d rather he´d lied." In little more than a whisper, "I could have taken it if he´d lied."

McClaude continued to speak, in increasingly urgent tones, but Harry could only gaze at the smirking corpse not two metres away. The room grew blurry and the young wizard started shaking. He tried to stop but he couldn´t; there were rivers on his face but that didn´t matter because Ginny was good as dead. He would never talk with her or share a joke with her again. All because of Voldemort. All because of who he was. Because of a little blood.

"Give me a hand, Gregor."

"...get a psychowizard?"

"...knew we should have kept that bastard away from him..."

"...call Dumbledore...?"

"Quiet! Gregor, I want that thing out of my sight. Greevar, start the clean up, take Swanson and Jameson. Freeman, forget the goddamn pokers and get working!" McClaude shook Harry carefully. "Harry? I need you to move; you need to get out here."

Harry jerked his head back and forth. "Harry, give me your hand." The older Auror was almost pleading now. "Go on. Let´s get you...somewhere safe."

The young man took the hand, trying to focus anywhere but the pain that slashed through him, inside where it hurt the most. He could only see Ginny´s brilliant smile twist and distort into a grimace of pain and then a blank mask of nothingness. "There´s a good lad. It will be all right. Another step now, that´s good."

Was he moving? Was that him walking? It didn´t feel like it... Harry felt for the pen that rested innocently in his pocket. And with a shaking voice, he whispered a promise to one loyal friend he knew he would keep. Some of the others looked around upon hearing the sound, but Harry did not meet the glances.

"Let´s get you home," said McClaude with forced cheer. "Cho will be beside herself with worry."

Harry nodded, took a shuddering breath, and let go of the pen in his pocket.