Semper Solus

Harry Potter and Hermione Granger walked down the narrow stone corridor that separated the cells of all the captured Death Eaters. He ignored the great globs of spit flying from both sides and landing on his and Hermione's shoes-- the prisoners had a right to hate them. After all, these cells were all full because of them. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had been called the greatest Auror team in history-- and at twenty-four and twenty-five years of age respectively, their careers weren't even close to over.

Harry didn't mind coming to Azkaban, because the Dementors no longer worked there. Six years ago, Voldemort almost succeeded in his attempt to destroy Hogwarts-- thwarted only by the secret and prestigious Order of the Phoenix, now an extinct organization ("All of Britain is the Order now," said Albus Dumbledore). After that event, Cornelius Fudge was voted out of the Minister of Magic office. Dumbledore, as temporary Acting Minister, appointed Arthur Weasley to take over the position permanently. And ever since, Azkaban has been patrolled by trained Ministry Hit Wizards.

Today, Harry and Hermione had come to question Adiel Lestrange, recently captured, one of Voldemort'sclosest supporters. When they reached his cell, Hermione conjured chairs for herself and Harry. But instead of sitting, Harry addressed Lestrange.

"Good evening," said Harry, not taking his emerald eyes off of Lestrange'smalicious black ones. "Care for something to drink?" Hermione shot him a quizzical look, which he ignored.

The inmate nodded fervently, as though he hadn't had anything to drink in years. Harry summoned a tea service from somewhere in the hall. He had prepared it himself, of course-- like Alastor Moody, his mentor, he couldn't be sure whether Dark wizards had poisoned anything offered him. When tea was finished, Hermione asked the first question.

"Where is your wife?"

"Dead. She was killed by an Auror a month ago," said Lestrangeexpressionlessly.

Harry supposed this was Blaise Zabini's doing. Unlike Harry and Hermione, Blaise and his Auror partner (Cho Chang) didn't mind using the Unforgivable Curses on other people. In Harry's opinion, this made them no better than the Death Eaters-- but to each his own.

Hermione pressed on, "Do you know how Voldemort can be destroyed?"

"Yes," was the blank reply.Hermione raised her eyebrows in an expression of both surprise and interest. She had asked this question of every Death Eater they had ever interrogated, and never before had anyone responded in the positive. Lestrangemust have been very close to Voldemort indeed... unless he was lying, of course.

"Tell us how to destroy Voldemort," she said, not really expecting an answer.

Lestrange's eyes flickered, and he responded in a monotonous voice, "My master does not carry his life within him." Hermione raised an eyebrow, and Lestrangecontinued, "It is housed far away, in the Orb of Slytherin. The Orb is located--"

But where exactly the Orb of Slytherin was located they never found out, because at that moment, AdielLestrange burst into wild green flames. Harry quickly jumped backwards to avoid being incinerated along with the Death Eater, and put both hands to his throbbing scar. Hermione did the same, only clutching her left forearm, where Voldemort's mark was just visible, a sign of Hermione's dedication to his destruction. When the flames receded, the only reminder of the cell's former occupant was a small black scorch mark on the stone bench upon which he had been sitting.

Undaunted by this seemingly extraordinary occurrence, the two Aurors calmly discussed it as they made their way out of the wizard prison.

"That wasn't your normal, everyday spontaneous human combustion," said Hermione slowly.

"Wasn't it?" said Harry. His mind was more on what Lestrange had said before being set aflame.

"Weren't you paying attention to what he was doing?" Hermione said impatiently. Not waiting for his answer, she continued, "Before the fire came, he shut his eyes very tight, as though in pain, and grabbed his arm." She imitated Lestrange's actions before saying, "His left arm. Which is where the fire started."

Harry understood what she was implying. "So you think Voldemort caused him to burn and die like that?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"Yes." Hermione rolled up the left sleeve of her light grey robes and looked darkly at her own forearm. Harry could see the very faint outline of the Dark Mark, a relic of the months she had spent as a Death Eater to get information for the Order of the Phoenix six years ago. Her spy work paid off, as her findings allowed the Order to frustrate Voldemort's attack on Hogwarts. But her treachery did not go undiscovered by the Death Eaters, and so she never returned to Voldemort's circle.

When Harry said nothing, Hermione spoke. "Well? So what do you think?"

"Oh-- yes, I agree with you completely on that one," said Harry truthfully. "Perhaps Voldemort didn't want him revealing that bit of information he was about to tell us."

Hermione scoffed, "Oh, come off it, Harry, you really believe he was telling the truth? All that Orb of Slytherin rubbish... if it were true, why was he so willing to tell us?"

"He wasn't lying."

"How do you know?"

"I laced his tea with Veritaserum," Harry said casually.

"Harry!" Hermione glared at him. "That's illegal!"

Harry replied with a small smile, "All's fair in love and war. And this is most definitely war."

But by now Hermione had forgotten that she was supposed to be angry at her partner, and was looking thoughtful. "Then it is true," she said distantly. Turning to Harry, she told him, "Go home now and let Remus know about this. I've got to look some stuff up at home-- seeing as we have next to nothing to go on about this Orb, it might take a lot of research."

Harry highly doubted that the Orb of Slytherin was the sort of thing that one could simply look up in a library book, but he didn't mention this to Hermione, who promptly Disapparated.

He didn't feel even slightly remorseful about breaking the very strict laws regarding Veritaserum. He was quite sure that the Ministry wouldn't do anything to punish him, even if they did find out about it. Having more or less single-handedly prevented Voldemort from taking full control of Britain, Harry and Hermione were the most famous and almost revered Auror pair in memory. And besides, thought Harry, even Percy Weasleywould break a rule if it helped defeat Voldemort.

He stopped walking and gazed into an empty cell to his right. Suspended in mid-air behind the bars was a golden plaque, bearing these words:

This cell held the only innocent man to ever be imprisoned in Azkaban.
Sirius Black

born 30/11/1960 - died 25/12/1998

Harry turned away and continued walking, more slowly than before. He was in no hurry to get home on this fine April evening. And as he sauntered out the enormous metal doors of Azkaban, he was thinking not of the Orb of Slytherin or Veritaserum, but of the last date on the golden plaque he had just read. December the 25^th, 1998. By far the worst day of his life-- and he remembered it as though it had happened yesterday. The problem was, he didn't like remembering it.

He kicked a stone off the cliff on which he was standing and into the crashing waves beating the shore of the island of Azkaban. When he remembered that Christmas, six years ago, he remembered Sirius, his godfather, and Ron Weasley, his best friend. More accurately, he remembered their deaths-- Ron being killed by Draco Malfoy in battle, Sirius jumping in front of a Killing Curse that was meant for Harry. They weren't the only ones who lost their lives that day-- SeverusSnape, Malfoy, and Wormtail also died. Not that Harry missed those last three.

Memories of that day were unpleasant, no doubt, but didn't depress him as they once did. Unlike in the days immediately following that tragedy, he could see that it was a victory for the Light. But he'd gotten over their deaths, and made two promises to himself regarding his future.

First, he pledged his life to destroying Voldemort.

Then, he vowed never to develop a close relationship with another witch or wizard. Never again.By becoming unfeeling and independent, he could never lose someone he loved, never experience that pain, that hurt, that total sense of loss. He would make the rest of his life the story of Voldemort's downfall-- nothing more, nothing less. So that made Harry Potter who he was now-- a wizard whose sole concern and interest was in fighting the Dark Arts.

Harry frowned in spite of himself. He knew Sirius would disapprove of the man he had become. His godfather had valued friendship and fun above all else-- two luxuries that Harry would never allow himself. But no matter-- he had learned the hard way, six years ago, that friendships only led to great sadness. And fun? What right did he have to have fun when Voldemort was still alive?

Having circled the entire island, Harry finally Disapparated. He reappeared, standing on a dirt path separating two rows of tiny houses. This neighbourhood, set in a small clearing in a very dense wood, was Godric's Hollow. The house to his left was his own, and the house to his right belonged to Remus Lupin. The remainder of the of the houses were uninhabited, as they had been for over twenty years-- perhaps due to the haunting presence of a larger, abandoned, partially wrecked home at the end of the path, behind which three people were buried.

Lily Potter. James Potter. Sirius Black.

Sirius Black... Harry mentally slapped himself. Stop it. You're not sad. You're only angry-- angry at Voldemort. Turning to the right, he let himself into the house. He made his way through the familiar rooms, down a narrow flight of stairs, and through the second door in this basement hallway.

He found a man deeply immersed in an enormous book spread out on the desk in front of him. Several other volumes were stacked on the corner of the desk. Not lifting his eyes from the pages, Remus Lupin acknowledged Harry's presence-- "Harry."

With a nod, Harry greeted him back-- "Remus." He had become comfortable calling his old Professor by his first name, but had only done so at Remus's insistence.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Remus asked him, at Sirius's funeral.

"I'm fine, Professor Lupin," Harry responded, although he really wasn't.

"Call me Remus," he said. "I'm no longer your teacher. I haven't been for years."

"But--"

"Don't tell me I'm older than you. I know I am. But believe it or not, I'm only a month older than Sirius was. You called him by his first name, didn't you?" Remus said, his voice sounding clearer than it had in days. "You're eighteen years old. You're not a child-- you're my equal. In fact, technically, you're my superior."

Remus had been referring to his unemployed state, comparing it to Harry's prestigious Auror position. His lycanthropy didn't much help his social status either. Now, Dumbledore was paying a salary to Remus, much as he had paid Dobby the house-elf years earlier. The charity that sustained him didn't bother Remus-- Harry marvelled at his acceptance of situation. But then again, he'd had a lifetime to get used to it.

Harry sank into an armchair in the corner and pulled a book off of one of the bookshelves that lined the walls. He looked at it in silence for a few minutes, though not really reading it. Remus was still concentrating on his own book (A Study of the Magical History of Transylvania). After a while Harry finally spoke. He said nonchalantly, "I've just come from Azkaban..."

Remus showed no sign that he had even heard Harry, and Harry didn't continue speaking. But after a few minutes, Remus said wryly, "And are you going to tell me what you were doing there, or am I to assume you were throwing a party for the Death Eaters?"

Harry almost smiled at this show of Moony's patented dry humour. Remus's grey hair still held specks of the light brown of his youth. Clearly, some of the Marauder in him still remained.

Now, Harry was in no hurry to mention the Orb of Slytherin-- he wasn't in the mood for more work. He cast his mind around for something else to say about Azkaban, and the words came out before he knew what he was saying. "I saw Sirius's cell."

Oh, shit, he thought. He hadn't wanted to bring the subject up again, especially in front of Remus, who sighed deeply and finally moved his light brown eyes from his book and onto Harry.

It had been hard for him when Sirius, his best friend, was killed. It was especially difficult because he had suddenly found himself the only Marauder living when Wormtail and Sirius killed each other. But it had been Wormtail'sfault... and Harry's too, in a way. Wormtail's curse was meant for Harry, but Sirius jumped in front of it. This act of selflessness, like Lily Potter's love for her son, caused the curse to rebound back and kill not only Sirius, but Wormtail as well.

Remus coped by taking over Sirius's role as Harry's father. As much as Harry wanted to be independent, he allowed this, as it seemed to be the poor man's only source of comfort. So over the years Remus acted as though he was obligated to take care of Harry, but this became less and less necessary as Harry finished his Auror training and became one of the best wizards in recent memory. So now he contented himself by helping Harry in his Auror work, researching background information, offering suggestions and plans, and any other assistance he could give from the safety of his home. This was an enormous help for Harry and Hermione (who had been getting rather tired of doing all the research herself), and they were both very grateful.

Harry changed the subject before Remus had a chance to speak. "Why are you doing all this for me?" he asked, indicating the pile of books Remus was studying. "Why have you been so eager to help me?"

At these words Remus actually closed his book and looked intently at Harry. "The same reason Sirius wanted to help you. We both felt responsible for your parents' deaths, albeit for different reasons. Sirius, of course, felt guilty for convincing them to use Peter as their Secret-Keeper. But not many people know my part in the story-- something for which I'm rather glad. I've always regretted it, even though I really had no control over it." He stopped speaking. Harry, not wanting to seem too anxious, said nothing. After a minute or so, Remus continued his story in a voice that held a bitterness that Harry had seldom heard there before. "You may or may not know that your parents were in training as Aurors. I desperately wanted to follow this profession as well, but was unable to because of my condition. James, as though he hadn't done enough for me during our years at Hogwarts, offered to teach me everything he'd learned about being an Auror. In return I agreed to keep a watch on their house, and on the neighbourhood-- because, of course, Voldemort was after them. I lived in this very house, and they were in the big one down the path. So it was easy for me to keep watch.

"It was reassuring that James trusted me with this job, and I performed it admirably. Several times I stopped various Death Eaters lurking around their home-- not that they could have done anything to you or your parents, as the Fidelius Charm was still intact. But I didn't know this; like Dumbledore, I was doubting Sirius. I didn't give Peter a second thought.

"So, our arrangement worked well. I was learning enough to become a basic Auror-- which is how I got enough knowledge to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. And I was keeping your parents safe. The perfect plan... and of courser, I ruined it again. I would have been able to hold off Voldemort long enough for you and your parents to escape-- if it weren't for the full moon on Halloween."

This concluded his story. In a tone that made it quite clear that he wanted to pursue that subject no further, he asked, "So what did you really want to tell me about your trip to Azkaban today?"

Remus was clever. He had seen straight through Harry's words-- he knew Harry hadn't come simply to tell him that he had seen Sirius's cell. Now with no choice but to tell the truth, Harry told him all about Adiel Lestrange and the Orb of Slytherin. By the time he had finished, Remus was pacing back and forth in what little open space there was in his tiny library.

"Using Veritaserumillegally-- something James would have done," he said. Seeing the uncertain look on Harry's face, he quickly added, "I mean that as a compliment. It was, after all, a rather convenient shortcut to what could be the biggest clue we've had yet as to how Voldemort could be killed." Still pacing, he appeared to be in deep thought. "But still, after all I've read and studied about the Dark Arts"-- he waved his hand vaguely at one of his bookshelves-- "not once was any Orb of Slytherin mentioned. This is a start, but it will be hard to finish."

"So you'll help us with this?" Harry asked.

"Anything for the greatest Auror ever," said Remus, his proud eyes twinkling.

Harry hated when people said this about him. And, like every other person who said it, he told Remus off for it. "I'm not the greatest Auror in history. Hermione is. I'm good at combat-- she's good at combat and everything else." It was the truth-- Harry despised work that didn't involve spells and strategy, tactics and fighting Death Eaters. Work like that which he would have to do to find out where the Orb of Slytherin was hidden.

Remus gave an exaggerated sigh and said, "Okay, Harry, whatever you say." He was smiling. Like Sirius, Remus enjoyed annoying Harry. He was quite good at it, too. He was sure that Harry was much more bothered by his being called the 'greatest Auror ever' than Hermione was.

Harry stood up, and before he could leave, Remus handed him a hefty book with a black cover- Dark Arts in the Twentieth Century.

"I've read this book-- we used it in Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts in my seventh year. There's nothing about the Orb of Slytherin," Harry told him.

"We need to start going over books like these in great detail. You can start with this one-- I need you to write down everything you read about Voldemort's rise to power, no matter how unimportant it may seem. We're just looking for clues. Obviously there's nothing written about the Orb itself, so we'll have to read between the lines and find it all out for ourselves." Remus was at his desk again, flipping through a different book.

Feeling less than excited about the task assigned to him, Harry thanked Remus, went upstairs, and crossed the street to his own house. He sank into a cushy leather armchair in the sitting room. He tried to force his mind onto the Orb of Slytherin, but barely got through the first chapter of Dark Arts in the Twentieth Century. He wondered vaguely how Hermione could love books so much.

It was 11:00, quite early by Harry's standards, but he went to bed anyways. He wondered why he didn't feel more excited that they had been revealed this clue about Voldemort'smortality (or lack thereof, as it more often seemed). Perhaps it was because faces from the past seemed buoyed at the top of his mind, along with an entity that was very much in the present.

James Potter-- his real father. Though he never knew him, Harry had heard enough stories about him to receive a fairly clear idea of what he was like. Tonight he had heard a new story about him that bolstered his idea of his father's heroic character. But stories were one thing, and they didn't help him answer the question about his father that he'd had as long as he could remember-- Is he proud of me?

Sirius Black-- the name of Harry's father was almost always followed by that of his godfather. But ever since the end of Harry;s third year at Hogwarts, Sirius might as well have been his real father-- that's how close Harry was to him. Harry remembered what Remus had said to him the night after Sirius died-- "You were like a son to him." So Sirius Black had continued the work of his best friend, and died the same way as well-- for Harry.

Remus Lupin-- the contemporary face that was in Harry's thoughts tonight. A man shunned his whole life, by all except his friends-- and now his friend's son. Harry admired Remus deeply; he always had, ever since the days when he taught Defence Against the Dark Arts to Harry's third year class. His morals and strength had been a model to Harry, who was ever grateful to him for his help. He'd been the first to help Harry uncover the secrets of his parents' lives, which moulded Harry into who he was now.

Harry found himself thinking, I am lucky to have had three wonderful fathers as them. But as though he were in real danger, an alarm sounded in his head that warned him against his emotions-- They are simply part of your motivation to kill Voldemort. So he forcibly wiped those three faces from his mind, and would have done so from his memory if he'd been able to... as he drifted into sleep he ordered himself, Stop being weak.

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Harry rose with the sun the next morning-- he had a lot to do. Today he and Hermione expected to capture a Death Eater by the name of Walden Macnair. They'd been tracking him tenaciously for weeks, and finally had him cornered in Wales. On top of this, he remembered with a frown, they had to start researching the Orb of Slytherin.

He pulled his midnight-blue robes over his head. "Acciowand," he said almost lazily, and eleven inches of holly flew across the room and into his outstretched hand. This showed just how powerful he'd become-- wandless magic was extremely difficult and hardly anybody could perform it. But he'd learned how to do it, as it was an essential skill for Aurors. It used to take him nearly half an hour to perform each spell without a wand, but now he could complete simple spells almost instantaneously.

He grabbed a stale bran muffin as he walked out the door. Standing in the dim red light of the rising sun, Harry donned a pair of sunglasses. This wasn't because it was bright out-- in fact, the glasses were enchanted so that they didn't darken his vision at all. He wore them so that others couldn't see his eyes. He always wore them while he was around other people-- too much could be revealed through the eyes.

Harry Disapparated, and reappeared in the Aurors' office at the Ministry of Magic. Hermione was already there, deep in conversation with the Minister of Magic himself, Arthur Weasley, who said cheerfully, "Hello, Harry."

Mr Weasley certainly had plenty to be cheerful about. Ever since he was promoted to his current position, he had been hailed as one of the greatest Ministers of the century. Indeed, his management proved to be very successful in preventing Voldemort's full rise to power-- by imposing prudent security measures and liberally increasing funding for the Auror department, he had managed to keep the country under Light rule. Harry suspected that Mr Weasley's obsession with stopping Voldemort stemmed from his desire to get revenge for his youngest son's death.

"Morning," said Harry through a mouthful of muffin, which he swallowed hastily. "Ready to go, Hermione?"

"Just a moment," she responded. Harry went over to her desk to see what she and Mr Weasley had been studying. It was a map, on which Macnair's path around Britain had been marked with luminescent purple ink. The zigzagging, crisscrossing purple line seemed to end somewhere in southern Wales. "Cardiff," Hermione muttered, and looked at the address she had written on the edge of a city map. "According to this address, he's hiding in a tiny flat off a side alley-- that's good, there's less of a chance that we'll be seen by Muggles... then again, we'll be further from help..."

"We won't need help," said Harry impatiently. "Let's go."

"Macnair is an important Death Eater, one of the last remaining from You-Know-Who's original Inner Circle," objected Mr Weasley. "It is more than likely that he'll have some class of protection, or reinforcements of some kind..."

"Don't worry, Mr Weasley. We've never failed a mission, and we don't plan to start today," said Harry. He looked at Hermione, who nodded back to him, and together they Disapparated.

They found themselves on a narrow cobblestone path wedged between two buildings. It was raining steadily; Hermione read off the address again and studied the map, holding it under her sleeve as not to get it wet. "This way," she said, and gestured to her right. He followed her several metres down the alley, before they came to a stop in the very centre of the path. "According to the map, the entrance is right here."

Harry looked where she was pointing-- the centre of the vast wall of bricks, which had turned black from soot. He leaned against it, wondering if it was against Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross, but it was quite solid. Hermione was tapping every brick with her wand and rattling off various Revealing spells faster than Harry could even think of them. But nothing happened-- no door appeared. They felt around for invisible doorknobs or handles, but to no avail.

"Maybe the map is wrong," she said, frowning slightly.

"No, just wait," Harry said. "Stand back." He took a step backwards, and Hermione moved behind him. He surveyed the wall, glistening with rain. He may not have played Quidditch in years, but his senses were even sharper than they'd been when he was a Seeker, as a result of his experience as an Auror. Something near the ground caught his eye. He knelt down to observe, and he saw something interesting; right where the wall met the street was a miniscule carving, rectangular in shape, and no bigger than his thumbnail.

"I'll be damned," he said under his breath. "Engorgio."The lines of the carving began to lengthen, and grew until they were recognisable as a wooden door, painted black to camouflage with the filthy bricks and complete with a doorknob.

"Well done, Harry," said Hermione. "Alohamora."

They heard the lock click open. Hermione placed a quick Silencing Charm on the door (in case it creaked) before they opened it and walked quietly inside. They had entered into a barren room, with a simple stone floor and walls of the same brick as the buildings outside, though much less dirty. They stepped silently into the pitch blackness, not wanting to alert anyone of their presence by lighting their wands. Harry stood absolutely still, listening intently.

For several minutes they did absolutely nothing-- their Auror training stressed the utmost attentiveness and guardedness-- until Harry pointed his wand straight into the darkness and said, "Stupefy." There was a thud as a body fell to the floor; suddenly, the entire room was illuminated by lights coming from nowhere. They wasted no time when they saw the half dozen Death Eaters that had been advancing quietly on them-- but not quietly enough.

"Petrificus totalus!" shouted Hermione as she dodged a curse sent at her by one of the Death Eaters.

"Stupefy," Harry said again, stunning a Death Eater about to escape out the door. Without even looking he held his wand over his shoulder, aiming behind him, to put the Full Body Bind on a wandless Death Eater charging toward his back.

"Expelliarmus," said Hermione from the floor (she'd overbalanced when hit by a nasty Leg-Locker Curse). She Stunnedthe last Death Eater after Disarming him; now seven figures in black robes and white masks were lying unconscious on the floor.

"That wasn't so bad," said Harry. "Locomotor vitus."He performed the countercurse so Hermione could get to her feet.

"Thanks," she said, brushing dirt off of her emerald robes. "Which one's Macnair?"

They pulled the hood and mask off of each Death Eater, but didn't see anyone who even closely resembled the executioner they remembered from their third year at Hogwarts. These Death Eaters were all quite young.

"How strange..." murmured Hermione, absentmindedly wringing out her hair, which was still wet from the rain.

Harry stepped back outside into the downpour. He looked up and down the alley-- in a dumpster, behind some bins, inside a cardboard box-- but all was deserted. But no sooner had he turned around to go back inside than he heard a cold voice behind him cry out a spell that Harry didn't recognise.

His body exploded with pain. Looking at his hands, which were barely managing to hold on to his wand, he saw that his skin had turned the violent red colour of a severe sunburn. He stiffened; his skin was burning where it touched his robes, and the raindrops that fell on him felt like fireballs.

Biting his tongue against the pain, he whirled around to find his attacker, but no one was there. "Stupefy! Stupefy!" He sent the Stunning Spell everywhere around him as he backed as quickly as he could towards the door. He had no idea if he had actually hit someone with one of the spells. He then felt even more considerable pain as Hermione burst through the door and right into Harry, sending him crashing to the hard ground.

Harry was no stranger to pain, but this was as close to the Cruciatus curse itself as he had ever experienced.

"Harry!" she gasped, taking in his red skin and the expression on his face. "I'm so sorry... What spell was it?"

"I don't know," he said, gritting his teeth.

Harry could practically see Hermione's mind at work. He only needed to wait a minute before his pain was alleviated, because after a moment's reflection Hermione had recalled the spell and successfully performed the countercurse for him. Harry was too relieved to wonder how, where, and why she'd ever learned that particular spell, and, even more miraculously, known the countercurse, when he could honestly say that he'd never heard of such magic.

"What happened?" she said, her wand still at the ready in case Harry's attacker was still around.

Harry turned over onto his side and stretched out his arms. He'd rolled right into something when Hermione knocked him down. His hand closed on something soft-- he pulled an Invisibility Cloak off of the mysterious mass beside him to reveal the tan, healthy face of Walden Macnair. "Mission accomplished," he said, looking up into the face of his partner. Hermione smiled at him.

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After an afternoon spent returning the captured Death Eaters to Azkaban, Harry returned home, exhausted, to find Remus already sitting on the couch, waiting for him. He was holding a copy of the Evening Prophet.

"Hello, Harry," he greeted. "Congratulations." He held up the newspaper to show Harry the headline-- THE DREAM TEAM DOES IT AGAIN: MACNAIR FINALLY APPREHENDED.

"Hi, Remus," Harry rejoined. "The press don't miss a thing, do they?"

"Not from your life, they don't," said Remus. He Summoned two bottles of butterbeerfrom his own kitchen across the street, through the open window, and onto the table in front of them. "A job well done, as always. And a cause to celebrate, in my opinion."

"It's not a big deal. We probably won't get anything from him," said Harry, but he accepted the bottle Remus handed him.

"I wouldn't be so sure," said Remus thoughtfully. "He was fairly high up in Voldemort's ranks-- I'm sure he has some interesting information. And I'm sure he'd gladly divulge it to you, maybe over a little tea..."

Harry grinned and took a sip of his butterbeer. It was delicious, of course, but somehow it tasted bittersweet as well. Perhaps it was because his godfather had been so passionate about this particular drink-- any reason was a good reason to have a butterbeer or two (or a few dozen) in Sirius's eyes.

Remus was reading over the account of Macnair's capture in the paper, shaking his head disbelievingly. "Honestly, is there anything you two can't do?"

Harry pretended not to hear Remus's accolade.

Remus noticed this. "No matter what you may think, Harry, you deserve every word of praise anybody can give you. So here's a little more for you-- Sirius and James would have been proud."