Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 28 - Trial By Fire

British Airways Flight 17, nonstop to Singapore, was number two for departure on runway 09L/27R LHR (London-Heathrow). Captain Jonathan Mayfair was at the controls of the B747-400ER long-range jumbo jet for the thirteen-and-a-half hour flight. The long-time Muggle aviator was content. He was looking at an on-time 21:15 departure in nominal weather conditions - ceiling and visibility unlimited. There were only a few mid altitude clouds, which at this moment were reflecting the last, dying rays of the sun. Tomorrow, eight time zones later, he would deliver his 416 passengers to the steaming Asian metropolis.

Captain Mayfair was where he had always wanted to be - the most senior-grade pilot with the most prestigious airline in the Commonwealth. He had paid his dues, flying everything from milk runs to Edinburgh to the more high-risk routes involving decrepit airports in decaying countries and terror-shrouded fields in the Middle East and Horn of Africa. He had served Queen and country as well, flying Harriers off carriers in the Falklands War. In that brief contest, he had racked up four kills against the plainly overmatched Argentines.

Captain Mayfair had been shot at, flown through hurricanes and typhoons, narrowly missed mountains due to erroneous navigational charts, and had once successfully landed an almost zero-fuel-remaining airliner at night in Ottawa after a sudden blackout had darkened every alternative field for hundreds of kilometres. He was expecting no such problems tonight, on his favorite flight from his favorite city.

He pushed the throttle forward and eased the over 400,000 kg bird off the ground, goosing the four Pratt & Whitneys under his wings to the upper level of their normal thrust. He would make the wide bank to the right over Windsor, Slough, Uxbridge and Wembly before acquiring his south-southeasterly vector. Then - still gaining altitude, he would pass directly over Paddington, Mayfair, Westminster and finally the City itself on his way to France, the Alps, the Mediterranean, the Red Sea, and beyond. The view of London was glorious.

That view was in front of him now, as Captain Mayfair hummed a Gilbert & Sullivan ditty and chatted with his long-time friend and co-pilot, William Bush. All systems were functioning nominally. He was expecting an uneventful flight, and then two days mandated layover in Singapore with his lovely, almond-eyed mistress. Never married, he had no problem with acquiring "a woman in every port."

Without warning, he felt two quick lurches on the starboard side. Momentarily, the starboard wing lifted up, as if relieved of a great weight, and then even more abruptly that wing dipped dangerously, as the plane fell into a deadly spiral, driven by the two port engines still operating at full thrust. Instantly, red lights flared everywhere on the monitors. A dozen klaxons were all sounding at once. Captain Mayfair could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Simultaneously, he had lost all power from both starboard engines. Indeed, the sensor readings - or lack of them - suggested that the engines had actually rent away from the wing altogether. That was impossible, but that was what was happening.

Captain Mayfair grabbed the wireless as the airliner flipped over in midair and continued its fatal spin. "Mayday!! Mayday!! Mayday!!" He screamed, all sense of propriety and protocol being chucked right out the window. "Mayday!! BA-17, sudden, complete power loss from engines one and two. Heathrow tower.... Losing ... control.... Controls inoperable due to 100% power imbalance. I can't... Can't compensate, Heathrow! Lost.... spinning... Oh. No! Lord have mercy!" The Captain's thoughts strayed to the abject terror certain to be gripping his 400+ doomed passengers in the tumbling cabin. He had always accepted that flight could be dangerous. These innocents had not.

The nose of the dying bird turned finally and fatally down. The last thing Captain Mayfair saw in life were his beloved lights - the lights of London. He thought for a split second of the almost quarter million litres of aviation fuel the jet was carrying, but, in his mind there were more important things to consider, more important things such as his own death and moreso, what lay beyond death.

"Oh, Jesus! God in Heaven, teach me how to die...."

* * * *

The Contact watched without emotion as the stricken aeroplane pinwheeled to its cataclysmic end. They were only Muggles, after all.....

"Can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs."

Perched on an abandoned multi-storey factory building, the Contact calmly observed as a tremendous fireball erupted amongst the lights to the east. Louder than a thunderclap, the tremendous roar from the explosion followed not two seconds later. "Whitechapel, maybe Shadwell," the anuran, black-robed figure estimated. The Contact noted the secondary explosions that soon followed. "Must have hit something on the ground," the Contact commented bloodlessly. "Something major. All the better to keep the Muggles, the Ministry, and the Order all occupied."

It had taken considerably longer than anticipated to reach this point. The Contact had been at the appointed location for almost half an hour before the communication mirror had finally flashed the fifteen-minute warning. The watch across the canal, the thoroughfare, and upon at the block of flats where Potter and his ladyfriend were supposedly trysting had indeed been getting tiresome. The Contact had experienced no trouble locating the exact flat in question, and at one point had seen what was presumably the pair of them looking out the window. It had just taken them rather longer than expected to get down to business. The Contact had even wondered if the Malfoy boy had mastered his Unforgivables as well as he had claimed. He had always been the boastful type, more mouth than magic.

Once the signal had been received, however, the Contact was all business. The Muggles provided a steady stream of targets that rose from the large airfield to the west. The next one that flew into the targeting area was chosen. It was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Contact's aim with the split Severing Charm had been true. It seemed that luck was with the "Potterless Conspiracy," the silly moniker that Malfoy and his unknown recruits had hung on the plot. The target had been a large one, making for an even more spectacular diversion than promised. It was a good omen.

"Mobiliapparatus!"

That taken care of, it was time for the next step, something that promised to be trickier than merely shooting Muggles in a barrel. The Contact's wand rose, carefully aimed to where the signal about to be given would be certain to be seen. Red sparks jetted skyward. From within voluminous robes, the Contact withdrew the phylactery that the Malfoy boy had provided. It was familiar.

* * * *

Mundungus Fletcher unscrewed his silver hip flask and, hands trembling, took another shot of Firewhiskey. He usually did not drink on duty, but this had become a more worrisome outing than he had expected. First the Potter boy had left the Ministry without checking in with Elphias Doge, who had been assigned to escort him home, and then the tension had started to mount on his end. Liquid courage had its place....

Potter was late. Uncharacteristically late. Very late.

Dung was on the verge of ringing in a missing persons report on Potter - which meant that all Hell would break loose. Instead, he had the bright idea to ring up Potter's ladyfriend first, using the Muggle pay telephone booth in front of the building. Not every Order member knew how to operate a blower. From years on the lam, Dung did.

Luck had been with him. Potter had serendipitously showed up whilst Dung had still been on the phone with the lady. Dung had no idea where in blazes Potter had been, or what had possessed him to outfly his Beaters again. Frankly, he no longer cared about things like that. Dung had learnt not to make it his business to care about what went on outside his bailiwick.

Dung had just started to settle into what he hoped would now become another pleasantly relaxing-if-boring evening - keeping a loose watch over Potter whilst the young man had a well-deserved dalliance with that pretty witch of his. There were others, especially Tonks, who seemed to disapprove, but in Dung's book, if ever there were a wizard who deserved some innocent pleasure, it was Potter. He had seen Potter on the night of the attacks, and had been astounded how well he had stood up under all that barbarity.

Dung was indifferently staring into space in the general direction of the flat he was watching when what sounded like a huge explosion erupted in the distance behind him. Dung did not like explosions, even Muggle ones - especially Muggle ones - and an explosion was indeed what it seemed to be. Within minutes the air was thick with the wails of innumerable Muggle sirens.

From his usual perch, Dung was unable to see anything over the intervening buildings except for a glowing orange pall that lit up fully half the sky. He was anxious about this, and contemplated calling a premature halt to Potter's rendezvous. One thing he did not contemplate was leaving his post. Let the Muggles sort out whatever was wrong. Again ... not his bailiwick.

Then, he saw something completely different. Red sparks shot from the top of a building across the street. That was undeniably magical. Taking careful note that he would still be in full view of the flat where Potter was staying from the place where the sparks originated, Dung decided to investigate. Staying in line of sight meant that he was not leaving his post - not technically anyway.

Dung was an accomplished sneak thief. He prided himself on his ability to approach places without being seen. Rather than Apparating, he slunk to an outside fire escape, soundlessly levitated himself to its lower landing, placed a Silencing Charm on his shoes, crept to the top, and Bob's your uncle, he was on the roof. Somebody had sent a magical signal - he meant to find out whom.

Mundungus Fletcher never stood a chance. The Contact was well hidden amongst the crumbling chimneys and dilapidated water towers that were scattered across the roof of the building. Leaving nothing to chance, the Contact had inspected these premises in daylight not long before, and had laid the trap carefully.

As Dung slipped over the railing, he saw and heard nobody. Still, he had a bad feeling. The orangish glow of what had to be a colossal fire was casting long shadows over the roof. He crept to the centre of the building and took in his surroundings, using wandlight to illuminate the dark spaces that remained. Whoever had been there seemed to have departed hastily and without a trace. Dung was curious about the orange glow and took several steps towards the east wall of the building.

Then suddenly a scarlet jet of magic hit Dung square in the back, disarming him and sending his body sliding across the roof. He came to rest at the rusty foot of the railing on the eastern edge. Dung reflexively began following standard Order protocol to alert others that he had been attacked, when he made the mistake of accidentally staring into the maw of the enormous conflagration.

It was astonishing in its awful majesty. At least a half-mile square was fully consumed by the inferno. Shoddily installed stopcocks in feeders for several tower blocks had failed, allowing fire to spread through broken natural gas lines. As a result the flames were also inexorably engulfing several of the towers. People were jumping from upper stories, choosing quick death over being burnt alive. Only the Thames had halted the southern progress of the blaze, and high winds were whipping it west. With an awful sound another multi-storey building collapsed in flaming rubble.

Dung screamed. The most terrible memories of his youth came roaring back. He was in Coventry again on the night of the Blitz, the German firebombing. "Mum!!" he cried. "Dad!!" Everything he had ever loved was being consumed in an incandescent holocaust. Dung never heard the Contact recite "Petrificus Totalus" and then "Alohomora." He never saw the Lethifold until it was upon him. The inky black creature slowly smothered Mundungus Fletcher's tortured thoughts and ended his anguished cries.

The Contact turned away. There was no point to watching the Lethifold feed. Fortunately the phylactery provided by the Malfoy boy kept the foul creature at bay. A Lethifold could not be controlled like a Dementor, but it could at least be repelled. The Contact had only one more task. Turning towards the block of flats, the Contact saw that the attack was finally in progress.

* * * *

Harry felt the earth move under him - literally. With a sickening "crack," the bed lurched forward, spilling him roughly onto his shocked, almost-but-not-quite lover. The bed, and everything on it, then began to fall. Eliza screamed. Harry groaned, and lunged futilely for his wand, which had already rolled to the other end of the headboard.

Whilst Harry was groping madly for his wand, too confused to think of anything else, there were two simultaneous crashes. The bed and much of the surrounding room smashed into the floor below, bashing him and Eliza painfully against one another. The bedroom window exploded and blew in as a strong Reductor Curse passed through and blasted a floor-to-ceiling hole in the opposite wall. The cowering, naked couple were showered with shards of glass, bits of aluminium frame, and pieces of wallboard.

A broom-riding Death Eater in full regalia swooped through the gaping void where the window used to be, shedding an Invisibility Cloak as he entered. Harry had barely managed to get a finger on his wand when, "EXPELLIARMUS!" the invader cried. As Harry slammed into the headboard, he vaguely saw his wand go spinning out of what used to be a window. The Death Eater followed immediately with "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS", hitting Harry neatly in the chest before he could even turn around. Harry instantly lost all ability to move, went rigid, and toppled onto Eliza. He rolled off of her and came to rest on the edge of the bed, helplessly facing away from her and staring at a blank wall.

Although immobilised, Harry could still hear. What he heard made him wish for deafness. Eliza was screaming non-stop, alternatively begging Harry for help and the Death Eater for mercy. He head a thud as the Death Eater dismounted from his broom, and then...

"And you, you disgraceful whore...! You sorry excuse for a pure-blood witch...! You have outlived your usefulness! Avada Kedavra!!"

From his petrified position, all Harry could see was the glow of the green flash of light on the opposite wall. But he had no need to see. He knew what had just happened. In his mind's eye, the permanently implanted image of Cedric Diggory's lifeless face now morphed into Eliza's. If Harry had been able to use his voice, it would have produced a howl that would have put a werewolf to shame. Tears seeped from his eyes notwithstanding his paralyzed state.

Harry was now aware that there was more than one Death Eater - and they seemed to be arguing about something.... They spoke in the odd twang of magically disguised voices.

"That went rather smoothly, now where's Tweedledee?" the one in charge said.

Whomever he was addressing seemed rather dense. "Uh.... I think he's under there. Boss, why did you kill the girl...?"

Harry was beyond caring how many Death Eaters there were. A murderous fury was building inside of him. He began to concentrate on the magic that bound him ... willing himself to rip that bloody, effing spell to shreds.... After which he would do the same to the Death Eaters who had just killed Eliza.

"Oh, shut up," the leader snapped. "If you were any slower, you'd be moving backwards. We don't want any witnesses.... You said what?"

"He's under there."

Harry was almost free; he could feel his own rage-fuelled magic straining against the constricting spell he was under. Slowly, surely, he was winning....

"I don't believe it.... You mean to tell me Tweedledee didn't have the sense not to perform a Reductor Curse directly above his own bloody head?"

Another voice suddenly rang out, "STUPEFY!" Fade to black. Harry heard nothing more.

Draco Malfoy whirled around to see Nott, in his Death Eater robes, looking down at them from what had been Eliza's flat, through the massive hole in the ceiling.

"Just what the Hell are you playing at?!" Malfoy yelled at him.

"Behind your bloody back, Potter was doing something weird," Nott snapped. "He was starting to glow or something. I knocked him out, and that seems to have put a halt to it."

Draco felt abashed for just a fleeting instant. He had turned his back on his quarry, and might well have paid for it. Fortunately nobody could see his face go red underneath the Death Eater mask.

"Greg, mate, it'll be alright, just get out, come on lad," Crabbe blubbered, pulling on an arm that extended from the rubble on which two other bodies - one dead, the other unconscious, lay. He leant down and tried inexpertly to find a pulse. "Greg, I'm sorry it turned out this way...." He turned to the others, "I-I-I think he's dead...."

Malfoy was more than a little shocked himself - shocked chiefly that even Goyle could be so daft as to drop a ceiling on his own thick skull. He helped Crabbe to his feet, and thrust a Beater's bat in his hand. It was a Portkey, and when it activated a few seconds later, Vincent Crabbe vanished.

Ted Nott levitated himself easily down to where Draco was. "What are we going to do about him?" Nott asked, gesturing at the arm that evidently belonged to the late Gregory Goyle.

"I don't think there's anything we can do," muttered Draco. "These damned pre-programmed Portkeys don't work on anyone that's unconscious - or dead. That's why I didn't care to Stun Potter. I reckon it will be all right to leave Goyle where he is, since the Contact is going to cover our tracks.... Speaking of which, we have to get out of here! We don't have time just to naff about."

"Well, at least take this," Nott admonished. He prised a hand-held Auror receiver from Goyle's already stiffening fingers.

"You take it," Draco said, "I'm going to have my hands full as it is hauling bloody, frakkin' Potter out of here on my broom under my cloak. Where is that blasted thing anyway?"

"Upstairs, I'll get it." Nott levitated himself back up to the dead girl's flat.

For the frantic couple of minutes that followed, the two conspirators methodically trussed Harry Potter's limp body to Malfoy's Nimbus 2001 using drapery cords from all four windows of the two flats. With difficulty, the ringleader draped his Invisibility Cloak over his new hostage.

When they were finished, Malfoy handed Nott another Portkey, and told him they would meet back at the Manor. As he was mounting his broom, Malfoy noticed Harry's glasses lying in the corner. One lens was shattered, but they were nonetheless easily recognisable. Malfoy Summoned them.

After that, he was off like a flash on his broom. As he exited the ruined apartment, leaving two corpses behind, he fired off a volley of green sparks.

Far below, the Contact saw the sign. The Contact's wand slashed through the air, sending one of the severed jet engines - still dripping with jet fuel - crashing into the blasted out window that marked Eliza's flat. It made a satisfyingly fiery explosion all its own. With a second wave, the Contact took careful aim and sent the other engine careening towards Central London. Then the Contact Disapparated, using a stolen wand. Phase One of the Potterless Conspiracy had been successfully completed.

* * * *

Hermione spent much of the evening in her bedroom with the door closed and magically locked. She was depressed and devastated - and there was absolutely nothing she could do and nobody she could tell about it. Although she had become close with Tonks over the past few weeks, Hermione rebuffed two attempts by the young Auror to try to get her to discuss her obvious upset. And those two attempts had just been during the short time she had needed to get herself to a suitable Apparition point at the Ministry - and to get the Hell out of there.

How in blazes could she tell anyone that Harry, of all people, had tried to force pornography - really disgusting pornography - on her? It was just too embarrassing, not only for her, but for him. Hermione laughed bitterly at the contradictions of her situation. Still thinking of Harry.... She was acting just like a bloody victim of abuse, which in a manner of speaking she was.

But still, if this episode - which seemed so stunningly out of Harry's character that even now she had trouble believing he had done it - ever found its way into the Prophet.... Hermione shook her head. She felt lost, lonely, scared, and sad all at once. How had she messed up her life this way? She should never have kidded herself. She and Harry in a relationship? Get real! Bloody Camilla Parker Bowles had as much chance of becoming Queen of England.

After almost an hour of mindless rocking back and forth, curled up in a fœtal position with her hands clutching her ankles, Hermione stirred. She turned for solace to her violin. The distraught girl attacked the Tchaikovsky piece in D, her favorite concerto in the whole world. She played it over and over again.

It helped, but only temporarily, because for the life of her, Hermione could not stop replaying the incident. Things just were not adding up, and that always bothered her. She would have been quite content simply to hate Harry with the same passion that she had loved him - at least for a while - but his reaction to the incident just did not engender hate. For once, she would have been happy with an easy way out, but he was not even allowing her that form of escape.

Their emotional link, which Hermione was fervently looking forward to ending at the first possible moment, was utterly confusing her. Harry was plainly dazed, confused, and every bit as devastated as she - perhaps worse. He seemed to be almost insensate, on autopilot. It was as if he had lost all sense of purpose.

Then why in the world had he done what he did in the first place?

Harry's profoundly penitential attitude was almost enough for Hermione to entertain the absurd possibility that he might actually have been telling the truth. The longer his contrite emotional cast persisted, the more she came to doubt herself. She was tempted to turn on the computer - what was that name he had mentioned? "Liko Mee," or something like that?

Hermione almost did - but not quite. Around eight o'clock, Harry's emotional demeanour abruptly shifted. Within half an hour after that it was absolutely clear to Hermione that he was with that Eliza woman again. So much for his redemption.... The hate option reared its ugly head again.

She knew exactly what would happen next - and probably for the entire ruddy evening. She had fought through it a number of times previous. It did absolutely no good for her to read or try to sleep when he was with her in that way. The feelings would only become all encompassing. Only some sort of strenuous mental or physical activity could even partially keep her mind off Harry's emotions - and then only to a limited extent.

Somewhat half-heartedly, she decided to revise for her upcoming do-over O.W.L. in Practical Astronomy. The intricate set-up procedure for her telescope promised to keep her mind occupied as well as anything else could. Unfortunately, even as it got dark, her revisions went just as badly as everything else had that day. The seeing conditions, not good to begin with, only deteriorated further as evening dragged into night. Damn Muggle light pollution.

She thought she had heard a rumble of distant thunder, but that was not likely, as the sky, and the dusk, had been almost cloudless if rather hazy.

The nature of Harry's emotions was also different - stronger, yet a little ... goofy ... was the best way she could describe it. Things felt vague and fuzzy with him, even more than usual through the imperfect link. He was undergoing mood swings, sometimes sad, like before, and then just as abruptly verging on euphoria. She had never felt anything quite like it.

One thing was sure though - he was definitely building up to another sexual encounter; Hermione could just feel it. He was getting randy. Ordinarily, it was hard for her not to feel a bit of the same (as much as it made her feel dirty) - but not after what had happened today. She could not shut his feelings out, but her reaction to them tonight left her utterly cold. Whatever turned him on, turned her off.

She loathed the affinity now. She knew she had lost him. Harry was acting in ways so strange that Hermione no longer thought she knew who he was. What a disaster everything had become. Dumbledore could not cut this blasted link soon enough. Maybe she should have withdrawn from Hogwarts after all....

Grimly she tried to soldier on. When she was unable even to find Saturn due to the washed out skies, Hermione gave up on Practical Astronomy in frustration. Whatever Harry was feeling, though, it certainly was not frustration....

As she locked up the little observatory on the roof, she wondered if she would ever get to use it again. Her father was scheduled to leave tomorrow for Australia, and her mother would follow shortly thereafter. The new owner was coming next week.... Everything was topsy-turvy. Nothing was as it should be.

Hermione stumbled and almost fell as, with fearsome and onrushing suddenness, a succession of strong and unexpected emotions ripped through her link to Harry. His seemingly all-consuming erotic focus vanished instantly and completely. Powerful waves of panic, shock, surprise, and confusion washed over Hermione, followed almost immediately by what felt like an all-consuming fear.

Something was seriously - terribly - wrong. Harry was as fearless as anyone she had ever known. He never panicked. To her knowledge, he had not shown real fear all summer (except maybe a little on the night that Bill died). Even during the Ashrak, when he was personally under attack, his emotions had gone from surprise to anger and determination, without ever betraying real fear. For him to show fear this frankly meant something was happening that was beyond his control - probably some perceived threat to Eliza, Hermione thought ruefully.

Then everything changed again.

In a trice, Harry's fear was almost totally replaced by piercing grief so strong that it seared into Hermione's soul as well. She stifled a scream, trying to keep her wits about her. In that, she failed.... Instead, she acted like she was eleven years old again.

She hurtled down the stairs from the roof calling wildly to her parents, although exactly what she wanted from them she hardly knew. Something too horrible for words was happening. She had to get to Harry, and somehow her parents would help her - make things better as they always did when she was little. Hermione had always liked the large house because it gave her places to hide when she wanted to be alone. But now she was having trouble locating her parents. Turnabout was most emphatically not fair play.

Where could they possibly be?

All the while, Harry's grief was changing - merging into anger and then into rage. Hermione cringed. He was positively scary when he got mad. Whatever was going on, he was steeling himself for a fight.

Then, just like that, there was nothing - nothing at all. It was as if a curtain fell, or a veil dropped. Harry's emotions simply stopped flowing altogether. He was at minimum unconscious, and maybe even.... NO!! THAT IS TOO HORRIBLE EVEN TO THINK ABOUT!! No longer even trying to stay calm, Hermione screamed for her parents.

"MUMMY!! DADDY!! HELP ... HELP ME!!"

Finally they answered her. They were in the foyer, dressed for travel and making ready to leave. Hermione's hopes rose. They just had to take her to find Harry. He was somewhere in Muggle London - wherever that Eliza woman was....

But Hermione's parents had other plans - plans that of necessity involved neither her, nor certainly Harry.

"Mum! Dad! You've got to take me with you! Something terrible has happened to Harry!"

Both her parents stiffened at the mention of Harry's name. "I'm afraid we can't, dear heart," said her mum. "Something terrible has just happened to a lot more people than just your young Mister Potter."

Seeing Hermione's furious stare, her father hastened to explain, "There's nothing we can do. We've both just been paged. For the first time since the Blitz, Civil Defence has just called all medically trained personnel to active service. There's been some terrible accident ... a plane crash, we believe. We've been ordered to report for emergency duty at Kings College Hospital. I'm sorry, but we're duty bound to go, and I haven't the foggiest when we'll be back...."

"Your friend Potter will be fine, I'm sure," Mum said in her most reassuring voice, its artificiality not fooling a soul. "He always is, you know...."

As comprehension dawned that her parents were leaving her in her time of great need, and that they would be of no help whatever, Hermione went spare - silently. Fear, despair, and grief at the thought of a life without Harry built up within her as she watched her parents close the door behind them and depart. As the door shut, those few knick-knacks in the foyer that had not yet been packed away exploded one after another, disintegrating into clouds of porcelain powder.

Feeling utterly helpless, hopeless, and worthless, Hermione dropped to her knees, pounding the marble floor in impotent frustration. Bright flashes and loud reports of spontaneous magic went off all around her. The alabaster balustrades of the great formal staircase started to detonate. The mirror which, during a happier time, had shown Harry that his hair had been charmed Weasley red, shattered and dropped to the floor with a crash. Overhead, the great chandelier rocked back and forth, its lights flickering and its hanging crystal prisms bashing into one another. Bits of glass rained down upon the distraught girl.

The truth could not be denied. This was her own fault - all of it. If she had only not lost her rag at Harry and slapped him ... for all intents and purposes forcing him into the arms of that ... that woman. If she had just shown more restraint, more reason, whatever had just befallen Harry would never have happened. How could she live if he was...?

A brass fireplace poker flew across the room and noisily imbedded itself into the far wall, quivering.

"EEEK!" A scandalised voice shouted out, "Hermione Granger, what on Earth is going on? Have you gone wonky along with the rest of the world?"

The target of those questions looked up. It was Tonks. Tonks! TONKS!! Hermione realized how appallingly foolish she had been. She had not been thinking straight - not thinking at all was more like it. Of course! The Order! They watched not only her, but Harry too.

Hermione dashed over and grabbed a handful of Tonks' maroon robes. "SOMETHING AWFUL HAS JUST HAPPENED TO HARRY!!" she shrieked at the Auror. "We have to rescue him!" Regarding Hermione carefully, Tonks did not move. "Don't just bloody well stand there! Let's go!" Hermione yelled again.

"Calm yourself, Hermione!" Tonks ordered in her most authoritative voice, hoping to jar the girl back to an approximation of the supremely clever witch that she usually was. "We'll find him, but we're not running off half-cocked into an uncertain situation until we first make some inquiries. Remember what happened to him and Sirius at the Ministry...."

Hermione froze. Tonks was right. She was not acting any more rationally than Harry had in response to his vision of Sirius being tortured. Maybe Voldemort was somehow using her link to Harry in the same manner. Could someone be putting into her head the same sort of false imagery that had caused Harry - and her as well - to fly to the Ministry on their ill-thought-out rescue mission last term?

Tonks pulled up the sleeve of her robes, revealing a metallic band around her upper arm. "I'm contacting the Order now," she said as calmly as she could. "Someone, probably Mundungus, is watching Potter. I'll get a report."

And so they remained for several minutes. Tonks sat in the old white upholstered love seat that was the only piece of furniture left in the once grandly appointed (and now thoroughly wrecked) foyer. Hermione busied herself trying but not entirely succeeding in repairing the balls-up mess she had made. If everything that was broken had been demolished naturally, or because of any spell she knew, her Reparo Charms would have worked. Probably because she had released so much spontaneous and thus unknown magic, Hermione found that most of the wreckage was irredeemably bollixed and reluctantly concluded that parts of the foyer would never look the same again.

She tried the A Priori Charm, but it too produced less than satisfactory results. Her own distraction was another factor. Hermione continually watched Tonks out of the corner of her eye, and what she saw did nothing to lift her profound sense of unease. Every now and then, the metal band would glow red. The Auror would respond in the low voice that she always used whilst discussing matters she did not want Hermione to overhear. The news could not have been positive. Tonk's hair was changing colours fairly rapidly, and the brighter the colour the more agitated that meant Tonks was. Hermione had never seen her go to Blaze Orange before.

When Tonks rolled down her sleeve after about fifteen minutes, she motioned to the girl. Then she took a deep breath....

"I need you to be strong, Hermione," Tonks addressed the younger witch. "I'm afraid that nobody can raise Mundungus. Worse than that, we're on our own. Everything's disrupted right now. There's a huge fire in Muggle London, the Ministry's been evacuated, and some of the Muggles are even suspecting magic. A large aeroplane lost two engines simultaneously and crashed."

"How does that implicate magic?" Hermione retorted impatiently.

"The two engines seem to have gone in different directions," Tonks explained. "The Muggles claim that is ballisticly impossible - and one of the engines landed less than a hundred metres from the Ministry itself."

"What does this have to do with Harry?" Hermione demanded.

"It means the bloody Ministry is in an uproar. They're not watching anything at this of all blinking moments, not even spontaneous magic in a Muggle area, and there don't seem to be any bleeding Aurors to spare, not even for Harry Chosen-One Potter!" Tonks exploded. "And if that weren't enough, I don't have any bloody backup tonight because of a bleeding Order meeting at blooming Hogwarts - hopefully the last of those! That complicates things because...."

"Nobody can Apparate into or out of Hogwarts," Hermione recited dully. "Oh sweet Merlin, we have to find Harry ourselves!" she continued, getting distraught again.

"We'll never find him if you act like that," Tonks reprimanded. "Tell me exactly why you're convinced he's in danger."

For the first time, Hermione told Tonks about her emotional affinity link to Harry. "It's ... it's ... well ...," she stammered. "I have this psychic link to Harry's emotions.... I can feel - not precisely, but not vaguely, either - the emotions that he's feeling. A little while ago ... he felt fear, then grief, then rage ..., and then ... nothing at all...."

Hermione broke into tears and fell into the young Auror's arms. Tonks was shocked - but only briefly. "You have an affinity ... with Potter?" she asked.

"Yes!" the girl wailed.

"Well, I guess that explains a lot," Tonks said thoughtfully to the heaving girl. She thought of Mundungus' leerings. Whilst that nasty little man was indulgent towards Harry's trysts, he was also something of a gossip. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped. I can just imagine what that must have been doing to you lately."

"Nobody could have helped!" Hermione spat. "Besides, Dumbledore said I should keep it a bloody secret...!"

"I can see why he would," Tonks allowed.

"Harry's never afraid! Not like that!" Hermione continued shrieking. "And now, nothing!!"

Tonks tried hard to calm the girl. Upon learning from Hermione that Harry had been with Eliza when "all Hell broke loose," the Auror instantly grasped that the boy could be in grave danger indeed. The emotions Hermione described sounded all too much like a response to an ambush. In her book that meant only one thing - Death Eaters. Tonks did not have the heart to tell the girl that in all likelihood whatever was going to happen already had.

Tonks immediately had Hermione locate Harry using her wand and her Auror partner ring. The wand pointed steadily in an eastern direction. Its tip glowed a soft red, meaning he was at a considerable distance. That Hermione had successfully located the boy (or, technically, his corresponding Auror partner ring), and that Harry's apparent location was not moving, was either a very good sign - or a very bad one.

The Location Charm gave quite precise direction, but was rather vague as to distance. The inferno burning in London had not only shut down the Floo network, but also made Apparition altogether too dangerous. Moreover, Hermione knew only basic Apparition. She could only Apparate to places she knew. Harry's warning on the night of the first attacks had deterred her from any attempt to determine, first-hand, where Eliza lived.

"It looks like we'll have to fly then," Tonks concluded. "Do you have a broom handy?"

Hermione shuddered. She had a broom all right - a very good one - but the last time she had flown it, she very nearly been killed. Still, with Harry's life possibly at stake, she swallowed her fears and Summoned it immediately.

"That's some broom," Tonks said admiringly.

"It'll do in a pinch," Hermione responded more confidently than she felt.

"You'll obviously have to lead," Tonks instructed. "Can you perform the Location Charm in flight?"

"Yes ... I think so," Hermione hesitated, "this broom has a windscreen.... Yes, I can do it." Hermione declared. "We need to go - now."

Tonks and Hermione walked crisply towards the roof. "We'll follow your ring's vector," Tonks continued. "When we get within range, you swing to whichever side is safest. That will change the angle that your ring senses. Do you know how to...?"

"I know the colour pattern and I can do the maths," Hermione replied firmly. "I taught myself rudimentary trigonometry in order to calculate the astrological angles for Divination. It was the only useful thing that I ever got out of that insipid class. Then I mastered mathemagic for Astronomy so I could calculate parallax...."

"Let's go, then," Tonks shouted. She had barely understood a word of what the girl had just said. "Just don't leave me too far behind."

They kicked off. As soon as they got above tree level, both witches received the shock of their lives. In the distance, the whole of Stepney, and maybe more, seemed to be aflame. Great spiraling jets of fire rose as much as two hundred metres into the night sky. Muggle helicopters were everywhere, and a few aeroplanes were even scooping water from the Limehouse Reach and dropping it on the fire - to little apparent effect.

Hermione shot a few red sparks from her wand and motioned them back down. She put the Valkyrie in maintenance mode and told Tonks that she would have to ride pillion behind her. The Valkyrie was under a Furtim Spell that made it virtually invisible. If Tonks stayed on her own broom, she would have to fly under an Invisibility Cloak to avoid detection by Muggles, slowing her comparatively lethargic Nimbus even further. There was simply not that much time to waste if they were to find Harry.

They were soon streaking across the obscenely erubescent London sky at a speed that Tonks had never thought possible, and that Hermione had never thought she would be able to maintain. Her wandtip moved from red, to orange, to yellow, and then to green. Almost at once, they were forced off the ring vector by the aeroplanes on the Reach. This detour actually proved beneficial because the ring vector started changing angles much more quickly than on a direct flight. At least Harry was not in that awful inferno.

As fast as humanly possible, Hermione mentally calculated distances from the rate of vector shift that the Location Charm generated. Simultaneously she tried to maintain an exact 400 kph airspeed. Her wandtip moved from indigo to violet and grew ever brighter. As she adjusted the Valkyrie's heading in response to her calculations, the broom spiraled in upon a specific location. Hermione regarded that scene intently.

"Look out!" Tonks cried. Instinctively, Hermione pushed the nose of the Valkyrie down and to the right - missing the helicopter that suddenly loomed in front of them by so little margin that they both felt prop wash from the Muggle machine.

Hermione righted the broom and took a deep breath. The near collision had almost caused her to drop her wand, so she needed to reorient the Location Charm. She had to find Harry, and thus she refused to let herself be terrified by the near miss.

They were homing in upon a high rise of some sort in Canary Wharf. Unfortunately, the upper third of the building was totally enveloped in flame. On the side of the building nearest to them was a pile of debris upon which upon which fire fighters were pouring water. Other Muggle fire engines were nearby, but their fully extended ladders reached less than halfway to the fire. The building was completely surrounded and cordoned off by numerous pieces of other fire fighting equipment, police cars and vans, medical rescue units, and other vehicles with flashing lights that Hermione could not identify.

Electrical power was interrupted in the area. Her wandtip glowed brilliant purple, reminding her of a one of her father's UV lights. After circling the building once to confirm the location, Hermione landed the Valkyrie inconspicuously next to an old factory across the street from the building. The place was dark, and well away from the crowd of Muggle onlookers.

Both of them leapt off the Valkyrie as it landed. Hermione immediately headed towards the building at a fast clip whilst maintaining and fine tuning the Location Charm. Tonks stepped off of the broom into the semidarkness - and promptly sprained her ankle. Before Tonks could get up she was set upon by something awful and very difficult to see....

At the sound of Tonks' screams, Hermione whirled around and saw the Auror's body disappearing under something even blacker than the surrounding shadows. Hermione hastily removed her ring from her wand, and concentrated on the moment, which now seemed like a lifetime ago, when she learnt that her parents had relented and would be allowing her to return to Hogwarts - and to Harry.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!!"

A silver otter erupted from Hermione's wand. Instinctively sensing what its creator wanted it to do, the otter Patronus streaked for Tonks and made short work of the Lethifold, driving it away into the shadows.

"Are you all right? What was that thing doing here?" asked a panting Hermione as she pelted back to Tonks.

Tonks babbled, "I haven't the foggiest.... Someone must have released it, because they're not native.... I'll be fine - it was trying to smother me, but you stopped it in time.... Obviously...."

As if only just then appreciating the enormity what had happened, Tonks paused. "Oh, and thanks, Hermione. You just saved my life. Wizard debt.... And where did you learn to do that? A lot of Aurors, including me, can't conjure a corporeal Patronus."

Hermione's chest swelled, "Independent Defence study last term.... Harry taught me.... Oh Merlin, Harry!" She started to run off again.

"Wait," commanded Tonks, as she struggled to her feet.

Hermione stopped.

Tonks pulled out her own wand and performed a Healing Charm on her ankle. It was not perfect, but it would do for now. As she did, she strategised with the impulsive younger witch.

"So where is he?" Tonks asked. "Not in there I hope?" Tonks was looking at the high rise fire.

"No," replied Hermione. "The Location Charm indicates he's at ground level somewhere."

Tonks thought out loud, "So either he's somewhere in this crowd, or he's...."

"He's not in the crowd," Hermione broke in. "If he were, Harry would be conscious, I'd feel it, and no force on earth could keep me away from him."

Tonks looked at her. The Auror almost made a comment, but thought better of it. Best not to discuss such things with Harry still missing. Hermione was a much more powerful witch than she sometimes gave herself credit for, and Tonks needed her in a state of mind that would permit her to be of assistance.

Getting as close to the crowd of Muggles and Muggle emergency equipment as they dared, the two witches circled the burning building, getting the best read possible on Harry's precise location. Hermione was totally preoccupied with what her wand and ring were showing. She whispered out a steady string of directions and distances to Tonks.

Using her Metamorphmagus ability, Tonks had grown to almost three metres in height. With that vantage point, she realized that Hermione's figures meant that Harry had to be under the debris pile in front of the building. This was not good ... not good at all....

Tonks took a deep breath, bent down and grasped Hermione's shoulder. The younger witch stopped in her tracks. Tonks motioned her into the shadow cast by a Muggle estate car with Civil Defence markings.

In the calmest voice Tonks could muster, she addressed Hermione. "I'm going to perform a spell that you don't know. I don't want you to watch. I want you to sit here and face the other way. It won't take long."

Wordlessly, Hermione did as Tonks wished.

Tonks took another deep breath, and steadied herself. This was going to be one of the hardest things she had ever done in her life....

"What are you going to do?" came Hermione's voice from behind her.

"No questions!" Tonks commanded.

"Exorio Pervenius Corpus Harry Potter!"

Hermione gasped. From her extracurricular use of the Aural Pensieve, she knew that Tonks had performed a spell designed specifically to summon corpses. That meant Tonks must think Harry was dead. Hermione burst into bitter tears and began ripping out divots of grass with her bare hands.

Nothing happened. Tonks repeated the spell. Nothing happened again. Tonks knelt to comfort the almost hysterical girl.

"Hermione, the spell failed," Tonks said. "You knew what it was, after all, didn't you?"

Hermione looked up and nodded. Her face was tear-stained, and her hair was now frizzed beyond any possibility of control.

Tonks continued, "If Potter is in that heap of rubble, he's not dead. If his body was anywhere in the area, that spell would have Summoned it."

At once, Hermione was on her feet with her wand out. "That means he's alive somewhere in that pile!" She pointed her wand at the crowd.

Tonks screamed, "Hermione! Wait! What on earth are you going to do? You can't! There are too many Muggles!"

"Then we'll just have to get rid of them! I'm sick of being a witch, anyway!" Hermione wailed.

Tonks lunged at the girl, knocking her down just as Hermione cast a powerful Muggle-Repelling Charm. The spell struck the ground harmlessly in front of them, kicking up some dirt. The spell did have the beneficial effect of keeping Muggles away from the two witches as they grappled with one another on the ground.

Even with a gimpy ankle, Tonks was stronger and soon had Hermione pinned. "Listen to me!" Tonks grunted, breathing hard. "For Merlin's sake ... you daft girl ... use that remarkable ... brain of yours...! I don't know ... where Potter is ..., but I'm not going to ... to lose you too...." She panted. "If he's alive, you're the only one of us with any way to reach him.... You're not going to go to Azkaban for violating the Code of Wizarding Secrecy!"

Still struggling, Hermione spat back. "You bloody well do know where Harry is! You just said he's buried in that pile of rubble. He's probably dying this very instant! Let me up! We have to get him out, Muggles be damned!"

"All we know is that his ring is in that ruddy pile!" replied Tonks. "Tell me what you think Potter was doing when all this began."

Hermione stopped struggling. She knew full well what Harry had been doing. She refused to say it, however, as if saying it aloud would confer approval and make it real. Even so, she had never considered the possibility that Harry might not be wearing his ring or even ... that his attackers - if that was what had happened - might have amputated Harry's finger to get it off.

"Can I let you up now, without your making a spectacle of yourself?" Tonks asked sarcastically.

"Yes," Hermione replied evenly. "I'm not about to start blasting Muggles out of the way or anything."

Tonks rolled off of the girl, and they both got out of the mud and grass where they had been wallowing.

Hermione replaced her ring on her wand, as if to repeat the Location Charm. Tonks was strategising again, "Now we'll need to find some spot...."

However, Hermione had lied. She had no intent of just standing around. Immediately she incanted, "Aurorus Accio Harry Potter's ring."

Tonks had forgotten that an Auror could summon that Auror's partner's ring in that fashion. That spell was, after all, rather obscure. But Hermione Granger never forgot a spell.

Within seconds, Harry's ring came flying to Hermione, along with Harry's wand, to which it remained firmly attached.

Snatching the wand from mid air, Hermione stared at it for a few seconds. She knew that she no longer had any idea where Harry, or his body, was. If he were alive, he was disarmed. Hermione looked up at the roaring fire and also understood as well that the Auror corpse-summoning spell would fail if the body being summoned had been destroyed - burnt to cinders, to use the example given in the lesson.

Heedless of her surroundings, Hermione collapsed in a heap, crying, muttering to herself, rocking back and forth, and holding Harry's wand tight to her chest. Her own wand lay forgotten at her side.

For a while, Tonks simply stood back, letting the younger witch grieve under her watchful eye. She could not make out what Hermione was saying, only that every third or fourth word was "Harry."

There was a loud pop. Tonks jerked around. Nobody had Apparated. A large chunk of flaming debris had broken loose and crashed to the ground in a shower of sparks. The screaming Muggle crowd started to stampede.

"Hermione, we have to get out of here," Tonks ordered. "It's not safe, and there's nothing more we can do."

"Leave me then," Hermione tearfully replied. "Perhaps it's for the best. There's nothing left for me anymore anyway."

"Not on your life, girl," Tonks replied, grabbing Hermione's arm. "You know more about Potter and what happened tonight than anyone else on the face of the Earth."

Hermione yanked her arm free. "NO!" she wailed. "HE'S DEAD! I FELT HIM DIE! GO AWAY!"

"You leave me no choice," Tonks muttered to herself, as the dying building emitted more pops and creaking sounds behind her. She pulled a cloth and a small bottle out of her robes, and doused the cloth in the sweet-smelling liquid. Without warning Tonks grasped a large handful of Hermione's wild hair in her right hand and jerked, pulling the girl's face up. With her left hand, Tonks slapped the cloth over Hermione's mouth and nose.

She struggled. Like a wildcat she struggled, scratching the Auror's face, and then letting out an otherworldly scream that Tonks swiftly muffled with the cloth.

More pieces of flaming debris were falling, crashing into vehicles and burying Muggles near the building alive. The crowd had dissolved into a fleeing mob, but it broke around Tonks and Hermione. Tonks silently thanked Hermione for the strength of her Muggle-Repelling Charm.

Within a few more seconds, the potion had worked its magic and sent the distressed girl into unconsciousness. Tonks grabbed Hermione's wand and summoned her broom with it. The Furtim Spell was so effective that Tonks did not even know that the Summoning Charm had succeeded until the Valkyrie came to a screeching halt less than a metre away. The Auror stumbled to her knees in surprise.

Tonks steadied the insensate girl on the broom in front of her as best she could, praying that broom would recognise its owner and therefore operate. The ruse worked, and Tonks was able to kick off awkwardly. The Valkyrie staggered into the air.

They were not even level with the top of the burning building when it started to drop. In seconds, the entire 35-storey structure collapsed in upon itself and fell straight down with a tremendous roar. Glowing clouds of flame, smoke, dust, and debris boiled out from the base of the building and engulfed the few unfortunate Muggles who had remained.

Staring at the scene, Tonks shed tears herself for the first time in years. She could not believe what she just witnessed. Harry Potter, light of the bloody wizard world, was probably dead - along with more Muggles than she could count. 'May they rest in peace,' she thought. 'And may this one find peace,' she added, nestling Hermione's inert form in her arms as best she could.

* * * *

Albus Dumbledore looked up from the parchment he was reviewing and with a concerned voice addressed a question to his visitor. "Are you certain these results are accurate, Alastor?"

"As much as I can be with anything at the ruddy Ministry, I am," Mad-Eye Moody replied gruffly. "Because of the possibility of a mole, we used the departmental drones only fer the scut work - physically takin' the inventory. That's why everything took so blasted long. We couldn't let on that this was urgent. When that was finally done, we had trustworthy Order members cross-check the Department of Mysteries files."

"So the prophecy concerning Mister Potter...?"

"They'll never be able ta sort out what happened." Moody answered confidently. "The Deaters had rifled the files, and with Potter's crew destroying so many orbs.... Well, without the files, it'll impossible ta reconstruct that period."

The Headmaster glanced back to the parchment. "And in the rest of the Hall of Prophecy, I see, there were seven prophecies in some way referencing a 'T.M.R.' that turned up missing."

"Aye, that's right," Mad-Eye replied, "a fairly common set of initials, and there hadn't been a thorough inventory of the Hall in over 200 years. There were well over a thousand missing items altagether."

"So that is the official report," Dumbledore concluded. "Is there anything more ... unofficial, perhaps, that I can announce at the meeting tonight?"

Mad-Eye smiled a twisted smile. "Aye, yeh've found me out." He reached into his robe and gave his leader a sealed envelope with Order of the Phoenix insignia on it. "Fer yer eyes only...."

Dumbledore performed an intricate wand movement and the envelope popped open. His eyebrows rose as he read the contents. "So Tom left his calling card, I see?"

"Quite right ... the blighter," Moody growled. "Took a little stroll through the Hall himself, he did, before showin' himself ta everyone. With everyone otherwise engaged, he was able ta take that one personally, as it was both about him and made ta him. Then he went inta the files ... a lot more neatly than his minions, I might add, erased all the information about it, and left a little something behind."

"Explain the 'something' please, Alastor," Dumbledore wearily requested.

"'Bout what yeh'd expect.... A damned Dark Mark booby-trap," Mad-Eye cursed. "It killed Audrey Bellmore, who had the bad luck of happening ta be cross-checking that one. Then it filled the Hall with his ruddy symbol.... We ran magical analysis on what was left, and we think it also sent a signal ta him - so it's likely that he knows somebody looked at that page."

"So, another funeral," the Headmaster sighed, "Were you able to find out anything more about this other prophecy?"

"Tom was thorough, have ta give him that," growled Mad-Eye. "No idea what it was about, only that it took place sometime in the winter of 1944, given where it had been kept in the Hall's chronological storage system. We think it was the only missing 'T.M.R.' that means anything, as the others predated his birth and their files were intact."

"So, 1944, that would have been...?"

The fireplace in the Headmaster's office flared, halting the conversation. "Albus Dumbledore!" shouted a well-known voice.

From the tone of voice, it was obvious there was some sort of emergency. Dumbledore and Moody hastened to the fireplace, where Professor Snape's plainly worried face shown amongst the flames. "Severus, what is it?" Dumbledore asked insistently.

"A short while ago, the on-duty wizard for the Order network received a message from Nymphadora Tonks, marked urgent" Professor Snape recounted crisply. "She was with the Granger girl. For some reason she would not divulge, or did not know, she stated that that Miss Granger was convinced something untoward has happened to Potter. She said to tell you at once. I've tried raising Potter's guard...." Snape practically spat out the name, "...Mundungus Fletcher. I was unable to obtain a response. Gone missing, it appears...."

The Headmaster's face paled as Snape was speaking. "Do we know where Mister Potter was?" his anxious voice inquired.

"No," Snape sneered, "all that worthless fool wrote in the ledger book was 'Potter - date.'"

Dumbledore was already on his feet, grabbing his cloak. "Sound an alarm," he instructed. "Anybody you can find ... I want all likely places checked, beginning with Privet Drive. All other available Order members are probably here, or on their way here.... And we have to find Miss Granger; she may be our only hope!"

Snape looked skeptical. "A full alert, simply on a Muggle-born's say so?"

"Yes," Dumbledore insisted. "I shall explain later. Now go!"

There was a scraping noise above them, and another familiar voice chimed in. "I'm afraid it's going to be rather difficult to carry out your instructions, Albus."

That brought another huge sigh from Dumbledore. "What is it, Phineas?"

"Another of my likenesses is not long for this world," the portrait continued. "There's quite an extensive conflagration occurring this very moment in London."

"Merlin, help us all," Dumbledore inveighed.

"You think something's happened ta Potter?" Mad-Eye asked.

"Totally convinced, Alastor," the Headmaster replied quickly, throwing the cloak over his shoulders and making for the door. "If Miss Granger sensed it, it has undoubtedly already occurred.... To the Room! I will explain on the way...."

* * * *

For several minutes, Tonks flew the Valkyrie in a vaguely southeast direction, away from all the fire. It occurred to her that she had no idea where she was going. Crossing over the M25, Tonks started looking for a suitably Muggle-free place to set down. She spotted a golf course and came in for a landing in a spinney of trees near the sixth hole. At two in the morning, and with disaster unfolding in London, it was predictably deserted.

Tonks enervated Hermione. Thankfully she was quiet, almost too quiet, after her ordeal. Leaving Hermione in the shadows, she moved towards the edge of the copse, activated the distress function on her own Auror's ring, lit her wand - and waited. Tonks had never felt so exhausted in her life. She was too tired to wonder why the girl had not followed.

The wait was not long. In less than ten minutes there was a resounding POP and Mad-Eye Moody appeared. He was in his own distinctive combat position - his good knee flexed, body bent over, wooden leg splayed out in front, and arms extended. He looked as if he had expected to Apparate into a furious firefight rather than into the absolute stillness of a fairway in the wee hours of the morning.

"TONKS! WHERE ARE YEH?" Moody bellowed. He started to perform the Location Charm using his own ring.

Tonks felt too weak to yell back. She started waving her lighted wand tip.

There were additional pops as other members of the Order appeared, all with their wands out. Lupin, Hagrid (with an umbrella instead of a wand), Snape, Arthur Weasley, Professor McGonagall.

Silently Headmaster Dumbledore arrived. He took one look at the scene and made a sweeping motion with his wand. A great ball of light appeared, turning night into day for several hundred metres.

Moody had finally managed his Location Charm. He turned in the correct direction and saw Tonks waving at him.

"THERE," he rasped out. Everyone ran over at once, except Dumbledore, who silently Apparated to Tonks' side.

"What happened?" the Headmaster asked. His expression radiated concern. "I received word that you were making inquiries about Mister Potter."

Tonks appeared startled, but answered as best she could. "I'm not altogether sure. We think Potter was attacked whilst he was with ... his girlfriend. Now we don't know where he is, or even ... if he still is...." Tonks stopped short.

"I see," Dumbledore said. "Mister Potter was scheduled to see Miss Brookings this evening, but beyond that we are at a loss. We cannot find Mundungus, and Mister Potter did not return to his relatives this evening as expected. We are all quite concerned. What can you tell us?"

"Almost everything I know is second hand from Hermione," Tonks gestured to where that girl was, waiting for her to jump in. When no interruption was forthcoming, Tonks glanced her way. Hermione shrunk back, so Tonks continued. "We flew to the place where she said Potter was, and searched, but we didn't find him...."

"I'm afraid we don't have all night to listen to this side show," Snape interrupted harshly.

"But we do...," contradicted Dumbledore.

"...Do you have any concrete proof that anything has happened to Potter?" Snape incredulously asked both the Headmaster and Tonks. "Perhaps he and his...."

"I bloody well do!" Tonks cut off Snape heatedly.

After all that had happened, she was in no mood to be disparaged by a former Death Eater. Tonks reached inside her robes and found Harry's wand. As she was removing it, she felt Harry's ring. She pulled the ring off and kept it hidden as she withdrew the wand.

"We have this." Tonks produced Harry's wand, still in its tattered wrist holster, and pointed it directly at Snape.

"Then it is true," Dumbledore pronounced. "Mister Potter is missing, if not worse. Where did you find his wand?"

"The credit for that belongs to Hermione," Tonks declared. Their flight through the flames had been Hermione's show, and Tonks felt it was high time for her to take over the narrative.

All eyes turned to Hermione. Snape lit his wand and illuminated her. The small crowd of wizards gasped. This was not the Hermione Granger they knew.

She was dirty, disheveled - almost feral - and she was wild-eyed with fear. On all fours, she tried to scuttle away, to hide behind a tree. She said nary a word.

"Enough," Dumbledore intoned. "Minerva, Tonks ... see if you can reach Miss Granger. Everyone else move away ... over here." The Headmaster led the rest in a retreat from Hermione.

Tonks and McGonagall slowly approached the panicked girl, who continued recoiling from them. She was mutely shaking her head as if indicating "no," but still refusing to say anything. Finally, after both of them had tried to get through to Hermione without success, McGonagall achieved a moderate breakthrough.

"Miss Grange ... Hermione? Do you know who I am?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

The girl had backed up against a tree. Her wild, unfocussed eyes stared back blankly for the longest time; then she slowly nodded her head.

Lowering herself painfully on ageing knees, McGonagall choked out, "You're my star student, Hermione.... The best I've ever had. I can't conceive of what you must have just gone through, but I want you to know that it's over. You're safe now. You believe me, don't you?"

Hermione hesitated, plainly uncertain. Then that unnerving blank stare started to dissipate. She nodded, slowly, once more.

"Good. Now you can't stay here, and I don't think you would want to anyway," McGonagall continued. "The best thing for you to do would be to go home and rest...."

McGonagall stopped short, as Hermione's look of glassy-eyed terror returned. The now thoroughly unglued witch was shrinking away again, creeping around towards the backside of the tree and shaking her head vigorously.

"That wasn't a good idea, was it?" McGonagall soothed, trying hard not to lose the foothold she had gained into Hermione's extremely fragile mental state. "Would you like to go to Hogwarts, then? You know it's the safest place there is."

Hermione's eyes darted all around, as if comprehending her present surroundings for the first time. Finally she nodded affirmatively.

McGonagall beamed at her. Tentatively the professor held out her hand. Just as tentatively, Hermione took it. McGonagall stood up slowly and coaxed the girl to her feet as well. Never letting go of her student's hand, McGonagall gently led Hermione to where Dumbledore and the others were gathered. Hermione shrunk back as the two of them approached the group. Professor McGonagall could feel her resistance.

Dumbledore saw what was happening and broke away from the others. Mad-Eye Moody followed, his magical eye whirling and taking everything in - but he stayed well behind Dumbledore nonetheless. Tonks started to follow Moody.

"I need your gentlest Portkey to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall told the Headmaster, "and one for me as well."

"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore said to his deputy. Addressing Hermione, Dumbledore spoke softly, "I cannot tell you how or why, but it is my unalterable belief that Mister Potter is still with us - somewhere. I give you my solemn word that, just as I brought you back from Hong Kong, I shall retrieve Mister Potter from wherever he is."

Hermione said nothing, but both her demeanour and the tears flowing from her eyes suggested considerable disbelief.

Dumbledore handed Professor McGonagall two Portkeys.

"Please alert Poppy," McGonagall added. "I want Miss Granger to have the best medical care possible."

Dumbledore responded, "I have already informed Poppy that she should be ready for casualties. Tonks' signal was enough. You will find everything in readiness upon your return."

After Hermione and McGonagall disappeared, Dumbledore turned to Mad-Eye and asked, "What do you think?"

"Shell shock," he replied sadly. "One of the worst cases I've ever seen outside of an actual battlefield."

"I can only imagine what she must have seen and felt," replied Dumbledore.

"I can do more than bloody imagine," Tonks broke in fiercely. "Hermione told me that she felt Potter die.... That's what I said - die. She's given up. You'll never convince her otherwise."

Dumbledore started to respond. But Tonks was just getting started. "And what is the meaning of permitting her to maintain a direct link to Potter's emotions? You could have killed her! You almost have...."

"I'm afraid I was too indulgent of Miss Granger's wishes," conceded Dumbledore. "Mister Potter deferred to her on that question, and so did I. She thought she would be able to help Mister Potter through his depressed periods, but unfortunately the affinity became a source of depression for her."

"I frankly don't think it's depression," Professor Snape interrupted, his voice rising indignantly. "It's post-traumatic stress syndrome. Further, I agree with Tonks! Allowing Granger to have totally unsupervised access to Potter's mind in an uncontrolled fashion was inordinately dangerous. I've seen enough of his memories to know just what a mess that boy's mind truly is."

Dumbledore cut Snape off. "Enough, Severus! I accept that I have erred. But your mind is little, if any, better. If you had been able to overcome your own emotions and help the boy, perhaps all of us would now be better off. I suggest that we all await Poppy's diagnosis."

"Shell shock, depression, post traumatic whatever," pressed Tonks. "Label it any way you want, I don't care. She's the way she is because she believes Potter's dead, she felt that happen, and she feels responsible for it - although I haven't the foggiest notion why. You must understand.... She was extremely close to Potter."

Dumbledore looked at Tonks with slightly raised eyebrows.

"Extremely close," Tonks reiterated. "I've been her regular handler now for weeks, and at this point nobody knows Hermione like I do."

Dumbledore's eyes grew especially thoughtful for a moment, as he tented his long fingers together in front of a morose frown. Finally he responded.

"Very well. If that is so, then I am afraid someone has been extraordinarily mistaken - either you, Tonks, or Mister Potter. If the mistake was Mister Potter's, then I suspect that I have failed him on an even more profound level than I have yet supposed. I can only hope that I am granted a chance to redeem myself."

"All this woolgathering may be quite touching to some," Snape groused impatiently. "But at this point, I suggest that that we retire to Hogwarts and sort out exactly what happened tonight."

"By all means go ahead," Dumbledore agreed. "I am afraid I shall not be able to join you for some time. I have to brief the Minister."

* * * *

Nobody - except Hermione - got any sleep that night. The core group, along with a constantly changing roster of other Order members, closeted themselves at Hogwarts, debating the significance of what had happened, and trying to make sense of what little they knew.

Tonks was profoundly concerned for Hermione. In retrospect the Auror felt that, to save her life, she had resorted to a level of physical force that was probably altogether too rough for the girl's delicate psyche. Tonks believed that her actions were the final push that sent Hermione over the edge. Less than good naturedly, Tonks submitted to Snape's Legilimency in order to provide exact details of what the scene at Harry's last known location had been at the earliest moment possible.

As the night pushed on towards dawn, bits of additional information became available. These generally confirmed Tonks' second-hand description of what Hermione had experienced. Muggle sources were able to confirm that the building to which Hermione had been drawn by the homing power of her ring was indeed the residence of Eliza Brookings.

Snape drew Tonks' first sight of the structure out of his own mind and placed it in a pensieve for everyone to contemplate. Amongst the flames, there was a multi-storey hole in one side of the building. This supported the Muggle authorities' conclusion that the tower block had been struck by one of the falling jet engines - although the site was still too hot and dangerous to search for physical evidence.

That two engines could simultaneously fall off a commercial Muggle aeroplane was itself highly unlikely. That the engines could just happen to follow diverse, internally inconsistent trajectories was utterly implausible. That one of those engines would seek out Harry Potter and the other would target the Ministry of Magic was simply not within the realm of chance.

What had happened was plainly a magical attack of a magnitude nobody in the Order had contemplated. If one large aeroplane part could ignite a fire that could collapse a 35-storey block of flats, more than one person at Hogwarts that night shuddered to think of what an entire aeroplane could do. No Muggle structure in the world could withstand such a blow. Even Hogwarts' wards might not be enough.

Word also came that an Order search party had located the communication band and a few other items belonging to Mundungus Fletcher. There was no sign of the wizard himself.

There was plenty of second-guessing of the decision that Fletcher would be Harry's primary watcher when he was seeing Miss Brookings. True, Dung did have more Muggle street smarts than anyone else in the Order, and he had developed a rapport with Harry. Nevertheless, many viewed Fletcher as just too unreliable and believed that, to save his own hide, he had abandoned his post when things started happening.

Hagrid was not one of those skeptics. Hearing Tonks' description of her encounter with a Lethifold, Hagrid thought that Dung had also been attacked. "Tha's not their normal nature," the Care of Magical Creatures professor insisted. "They usually attack only sleepers. But once they've made a successful attack, Lethifolds go inna feedin' frenzy - like sharks. I'll betcha anythin' tha' we never see poor Dung again. So stop badmouthin' 'im...."

Everyone present agreed that there had been an attack, but there were two distinct schools of thought about who might be responsible. A majority of the group, led by Mad-Eye Moody, blamed Death Eaters. The attack itself had all the hallmarks of major Death Eater activity - except one. There was no Dark Mark.

Supporters of Mad-Eye's theory emphasized that Harry Potter was the all-time number one Death Eater target - and nobody could dispute that. The attack was well planned and thought out, and displayed an utter insensitivity to human, particularly Muggle, life that was characteristic of Death Eaters. Equally important, the magic used to carry out the attack was concealed from Ministry detection, even before the Ministry evacuation. Only Death Eaters, or those with post-N.E.W.T. skill in Defence, could hide their magic like that.

If it were a Death Eater attack, then Hermione had been mistaken. She had not felt Harry die. No Death Eater would be so bold as to kill Harry Potter. Potter's demise was well known to be Voldemort's sole prerogative. The Dark Lord, however, did not deign to visit Muggle areas. He left that to his underlings. Thus, Harry would have been abducted.

The select few who knew the prophecy understood that only Harry and the Dark Lord were capable of destroying one another - but even now they kept that knowledge secret - out of deference to Dumbledore, and especially out of deference to Harry. They knew the significance of that aspect of the prophecy.

A Death Eater operation meant that there had been a kidnapping, and that Harry was probably still alive - albeit in mortal peril. None of the Order members knew where Voldemort was currently concealing himself, not even Professor Snape. They were looking at a massive intelligence and search effort.

The minority, led by the aforementioned Professor Snape, insisted that any attack of this spectacular nature would have been heralded by not one, but several, Dark Marks. Death Eaters never hid their handiwork; instead they flaunted it. That was one of the reasons that Voldemort's minions were so terrifying.

Further, if there had been a Death Eater operation of this magnitude in the works, Professor Snape insisted that he would have known about it. Snape's skills at espionage were as unimpeachable as his skills as a Potionsmaster. If the Death Eaters had thought that Snape was untrustworthy, they would not have gone through the effort to hide something this big from him. Rather, they would have killed him outright and been done with it.

If not Death Eaters, then whom? That was the key question that Professor Snape had trouble answering. The obvious other possibility was someone aligned with the Malfoy family, since Harry Potter had emerged as a rival claimant to a great deal of money - more than enough to make an attempt on the boy's life worthwhile....

"In fact," Professor Snape revealed, "I have been alive to that possibility. I have been surreptitiously keeping track of both Narcissa and Draco Malfoy - for precisely this reason."

"And a lot of good it's done," Arthur Weasley groaned.

"Perhaps true - but at least I've been doing something constructive," Snape spat back. "What I can tell you is that Narcissa had gone well around the twist, and often has trouble stringing two coherent sentences together. But in one of her more lucid moments, she notified me, as Head of Slytherin House, that Draco was withdrawing from Hogwarts and would be transferring to Durmstrang. I rather suspect that if he were actively seeking to do in Potter, Draco would not have fled to the other side of the continent."

Draco Malfoy's withdrawal from Hogwarts was news to most of the Order - fairly trivial news, in light of what had happened, but news nonetheless.

Snape continued, "Unlike Hogwarts - barring emergencies - Durmstrang accepts transfer students. It even has an early orientation programme for them. In full view of numerous witches and wizards, Narcissa saw Draco off late last week."

"'Ow can yeh be so ruddy sure that ever'thin' was on the up-and-up?" Hagrid pointedly asked.

"Because, just to be sure, I made discreet inquiry both with sources in the Ministry and my personal acquaintances at Durmstrang," Snape explained. "I have verified that Draco did indeed arrive - predictably sullen and standoffish ... but there nonetheless.... I'll check again right now if you wish"

Snape got up, and with his long cape trailing behind him, left. Later, he reported that, although his Ministry source had long since retired for the evening and could not be reached, Snape's personal contact at the Varangian school had confirmed visually that Draco Malfoy was at that moment asleep in his room.

Whilst Professor Snape had some powerful debating points, he was ultimately unable to offer a plausible alternative set of suspects. Thus when the meeting broke up around dawn, the Order's marching orders were to search out and engage Death Eaters wherever possible.

Snape made it a point to drop by Dumbledore's office after the meeting finally adjourned. The Headmaster was working on his own official statement on the matter, since the news of Harry's disappearance had become public overnight. Snape had equally immediate concerns.

"You know Albus," Snape began, "my hypothesis will soon be put to the test. I sincerely hope that I am mistaken."

"And why is that, Severus?" Dumbledore replied.

"Since the arrests at the Ministry, the Dark Lord is seriously understaffed," Snape observed. "He has been forced to rely more and more on those shadowy foreign mercenaries. I suspect that, if the Dark Lord doesn't have Potter, he will be every bit as eager to try and find the boy as we are. He may decide that everyone, including myself, is to be recalled to active duty."

"That would be a great shame, Severus," Dumbledore observed. "At that point you would be faced with a stark choice."

"I only wish it were truly a choice," Snape responded.

"True," Dumbledore concurred, "but you of all people appreciate the importance of young Mister Potter to our enterprise."

"Regrettably, I do," Snape conceded. "Therefore, I am prepared to execute Plan B if it becomes necessary. It is likely that the ingrate Potter will not know of my sacrifice until it is over."

"Perhaps," suggested Dumbledore, "you underestimate the boy. He did, after all, hold out an olive branch to you earlier."

Snape blanched. His wizard debt to Potter's father was bad enough. He did not want to owe anything else to Potter - ever. "In any event, I am ready," he declared.

"In that eventuality, I shall do what we agreed was necessary to provide you with the cover you would require," Dumbledore assured Snape. "But I also assure you that should you be forced to make the supreme sacrifice, there will be a remembrance, and the true nature of your effort will be known and celebrated."

Snape gave a contemptuous wave of his hand. "Spare me, Albus," Snape sneered, as they reached the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office. "It is enough that the Dark Lord be defeated."

"In that case," Dumbledore affirmed, "we had best get to work finding young Mister Potter."

50

C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch28 trial by fire.doc 12/05/04

1