Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 36 - Destroyer of Worlds

Madam Pomfrey frowned. She was worried - very much so - and worse she had no idea what to do. The Granger girl's search was not going peacefully. The girl whom she hoped would one day become a Healer of the first order was tossing and turning, crying out, and virtually swimming in sweat. For almost an hour her search had been like this.

Still, all of the protective talismans and charms were active and functioning properly. The girl was in no danger of dislodging any of the monitoring equipment. Madam Pomfrey simply had no experience with this set of spells. She did not know what to expect; how her patient was supposed to progress. This uncertainty was her greatest worry of all.

She was just not accustomed to feeling helpless.

Other observers shared these worries - if not openly. Ron had encountered Ginny in the corridor after Transfiguration.

"Oi, Ginny, I've been looking for you," her older brother shouted, grabbing her from behind by her long Weasley-red locks.

"What is it, Ron?" Ginny hissed angrily. "You're embarrassing me. This had better be important."

"Shhhh, this way," Ron hushed. "It is."

They ducked into a nearby empty classroom. "Spill," demanded Ginny.

"You know who...," Ron paused as Ginny looked horrified. "...No, not that You Know Who.... You know her was excused from Advanced Transfig to go you know where."

"Oh my...," Ginny gasped. "And so soon. I'm done with classes; I'll get over there straightaway."

"I'll be by later," Ron promised. "I talked to McGonagall after class. She says there's nothing I can really do at this point - except get in the way. So I can't very well skive off my first Quidditch strategy preceptorial for the term."

Ginny gave Ron a less-than-believing look. She had compared notes with Luna and knew that one Cho Chang was also in that seminar. Useless or not, Ron could be awhile.

Ginny was unlikely to be any more useful, but she had a free period, so she went to the Hospital Wing. Moral support was better than nothing.

She was in luck. Madam Pomfrey let the youngest Weasley stay, provided she sat quietly in a chair by the wall - and did nothing. Soon Luna joined her. Nobody had told the Ravenclaw that anything had happened. She had just known. She came because she "felt obligated to help protect Hermione."

Neville arrived shortly after Luna. He was not taking N.E.W.T. potions, having only scraped by with an "Adequate." Madam Pomfrey, rather peeved at the growing size of the audience, sternly sat him down in a chair next to Ginny. Wordlessly, he grasped her hand.

Hermione's thrashing and grunting got worse. The unfortunate girl thrashed like a bee beating against the side of a gigantic glass jar.

Finally, she cried out in unmistakable anguish, her voice rising to a crescendo. "Harry...! Let me in. Please... I LOVE YOU!!"

They all heard it - but had Harry?

With that, Hermione stopped yelling, stopped flailing, and became calm. She mumbled words that her friends could not catch.

Some fifteen seconds later, she began speaking in a much more composed voice. In clear, clipped tones she recited, "Located Harry. Surrounded by Death Eaters. Need help...."

Luna whipped out some parchment and a Quick Quotes Quill set on "verbatim." The quill started scratching away, taking down everything Hermione reported. She had obviously reached Harry. The critical question quickly became whether he could be located in time to save him - or maybe the both of them. It might be impossible to convince Hermione to leave....

Hermione continued calling out everything she could. "...In a valley. Steep cliffs. Mountains. Appears uninhabited. But some sort of castle nearby. Raining. Probably in the far north. Feels like I'm not alone...."

It was time - past time - to call for reinforcements.

Madam Pomfrey strode purposely to the Hospital Wing fireplace, grabbed some Floo powder and flung it into the flames. As they burnt green, she shouted, "Albus Dumbledore!"

* * * *

The Dark Lord paced back and forth, burning with several weeks worth of anticipation. Soon he would have Potter in his clutches. The boy would not escape again....

What a turnabout the past twenty-four hours had wrought. His high hopes of seizing the Potter boy from what turned out to be his equally callow abductors were initially dashed. The several squads of Death Eaters that he personally led unexpectedly encountered an even stronger force of Ministry and other wizards under the direct command of his personal nemesis, that Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore.

They duelled one another to a standstill. But a standstill meant failure. His attack failed - as did Dumbledore's, for that matter - and in the end the Dark forces were driven off in some disarray.

The only lasting benefit of that encounter had been the Dark Lord's identification, at long last, of the miscreants who kidnapped Potter and then masqueraded as his followers. Not wasting a second, once Voldemort had reached a safe house in one of the wilder parts of Wensleydale, he immediately sent young Draco Malfoy an ultimatum: Deliver Potter or die - slowly and painfully.

Despite young Malfoy's numerous serious transgressions of Death Eater conduct, the Dark Lord could not help but be just a bit impressed by what Malfoy fils had accomplished. If that boy could be housebroken, he would in all likelihood make a very useful Death Eater - perhaps even more than his arrogant failure of a father. If not ... then the Malfoy boy would always make a good meal for Nagini.

Then something even more unexpected happened. Little could shock, or even surprise, Lord Voldemort - but this had.

That evening, when the Dark Lord had still been licking his wounds, uninvited guests started dropping in all around him. It happened with absolutely no warning, so the first arrival, Rastaban Lestrange, almost met a Killing Curse before Voldemort realised who it was. In less than a minute, the Dark Lord was surrounded by all eleven of the formerly captured Death Eaters.

Naturally, the former prisoners all credited Lord Voldemort with their release - kissing the hems of his robes and swearing undying loyalty. He did nothing to disabuse them. Once again the Dark Lord's opinion of that whelp of a Malfoy rose. Despite acting as a free agent, the boy had actually managed to achieve his objective. Without even giving up Potter, he had bamboozled the Ministry into acceding to his demands. As a result not only Lucius, but all of the captured Death Eaters were now free, and had returned to their Master's service.

What capped it was that the younger Malfoy in all likelihood was unaware of what he had accomplished. Now, if that boy would only bring him Harry Potter, the Dark Lord might even overlook the insubordination of attempting negotiations rather than immediate obeisance - or, maybe not....

The released Death Eaters were generally in terrible shape. Azkaban under goblin control was only marginally less of a hellhole than Azkaban under the Dementors. Of all the returnees, Lord Voldemort took only Rodolphus with him when he relocated to Killiechonate Castle. Rodolphus had always been loyal, if rather reckless. The Dark Lord hoped he could find an appropriate outlet for those qualities, and soon. The sudden, unexpected return of Bella's husband had created ... a complication....

The others he left in Wensleydale to recuperate under Wormtail's questionable care, augmented by the ministrations of a hastily abducted Healer kept under the Imperius Curse.

Voldemort spent the next morning at the old, damp Scottish castle studying his options and making sure all was in readiness for the imminent arrival of Harry Potter. The incident at the Ministry had only increased his unease over the Potter prophecy. He even re-examined his own memories to try to divine new clues from a long ago incident....

He sat alone in his dungeon chambers when his lookouts alerted him that Malfoy and two followers were approaching as ordered. Using multiple security spells, he locked what he was perusing away and immediately set out. If things proceeded well, he probably would not need any of this any more, and he could simply be rid of that fleeting figment of his former self.

"You have a suitable spot prepared, Bella?" the Dark Lord asked, even before he passed beyond the stone entrance.

"Of course," his right hand witch replied. "It's quite secure, but not intended for the long term."

"Quite right," Voldemort replied wickedly. "I'm afraid that Mister Potter, charming as he may be, is expected for only a very short stay. He's only paid for a half-way ticket." The attempt at humour concealed a lesson that the Dark Lord had taken to heart. The Potter boy was more dangerous than he appeared. There would be no more elaborate rituals - no ceremonial duels.

He intended to kill Potter and be done with him, the quicker the better.

"Severus!" Voldemort bellowed. "You have the potions?"

"Yes my Lord," the former professor replied silkily. "Everything is prepared - and in duplicate - as directed."

"That is as it should be," Voldemort allowed. "Now, give me my daily booster."

"Very well," the Potions master complied, producing a goblet of white creamy liquid emitting frigid looking steam that sank over the edges.

Voldemort clutched it in his long, pale fingers and drank it greedily. "Aaahh. As excellent as this is, I will be very pleased never to have to take it again. Review for me your preparations."

"Master, I have the Paralysis Potion for Potter here." Snape showed a phial of bright blue liquid. "The 'main event' is to take place in the tower as you directed. Everything is in readiness. You are of course welcome to inspect the cauldron and its appurtenances for yourself," Snape invited obsequiously. "Once the Potter boy is deceased, we can complete the ritual and stabilise the transformation permanently."

"You have done well," Voldemort responded. "Let us see how well...."

The Dark Lord whirled around and fixed Snape with a piercing glare. He had no concerns with Snape's technical prowess, but he had, on occasion, doubted his allegiances - and Lord Voldemort was nothing if not thorough in assessing loyalty. One technique was to search his followers' minds with no warning at random intervals.

Voldemort's intense Legilimency ripped into Snape's mind. The sallow-faced turncoat had learnt to accept such bouts impassively. To resist, or even to show any reaction at all meant torture - or worse.

Fortunately for him, Snape was every bit as excellent an Occlumens as the Dark Lord was a Legilimens. That skill had saved the ex-professor's life on numerous occasions and did so once again.

After less than two minutes of intrusion, the impatient Dark Lord pronounced himself satisfied. "Your loyalty appears impeccable," Voldemort commented. "As it must be. I am told you are not to be trusted, but those concerns appear unfounded...."

"They are indeed, my Lord," Snape agreed.

"Yes," Voldemort hissed. "You answered my summons and thus showed your true Dark colours to the entire wizard world. It was necessary ... for this." The Dark Lord waved his hand around the room. "There can be no going back...."

"Thank you, my Lord," Snape replied. Verily, there could be no going back for Severus Snape.

"Come, Bella.... I need some Cruciatus practice...."

The evil witch who served as the Dark Lord's second grinned wickedly and left with her Master. As she was leaving she glared at Snape, who returned the evil eye, stare for stare. Both of them knew that she was the source of the malicious rumours about his loyalty.

For his part, Severus Snape was passing what he believed to be his final hours on this planet. For weeks he had faithfully served the Dark Lord, biding his time. Finally Potter had surfaced.

As a double agent, Snape had practiced not being what he seemed for years. That philosophy coloured his view of everything. Snape suspected from day one that Potter's kidnapping was no Death Eater operation, as almost everyone else had believed. In response, Mad-Eye Moody and others had laughed in his face - and like so many others, questioned his loyalty. Finally he had been vindicated. But such vindication as might be would be posthumous.

What had actually transpired was still a mystery to Snape. The Dark Lord was keeping the secret of the true perpetrator's identity (or identities) closely held. Snape knew only that Potter had been confined in the abandoned Death Eater headquarters beneath Malfoy Manor. Snape suspected a rogue former Death Eater. But that was only a supposition. Instead of accompanying the Dark Lord on the raid, he had been obliged to remain behind at the castle making preparations that only he among all the Death Eaters had the skill to undertake.

Exclusion from the raid had profoundly depressed even the perennially dolorous Snape. The Dark Lord might have killed Potter on the spot, without Snape ever having the opportunity to use the one-way mini-Portkey that he made sure to have with him at all times. True, that precipitate course of action was unlikely - Voldemort knew Potter had to die near the great cauldron to stabilise his transformation properly - but nothing was certain in the heat of battle.

Snape was mostly relieved that the wait was almost over. Voldemort had designated him to administer the Paralysis Potion to the boy, which would give him the necessary opportunity to use the mini-Portkey to transport Potter to safety. With that, he would repay his life debt and could die in absolution, if not peace. He put the manner of his own death out of his mind - the Dark Lord would undoubtedly make a terrible example of his treason.

Minutes passed. Events were taking longer than anticipated. The Dark Lord received an owl from the field. He read the message and angrily threw it against the wall.

"Severus, something has happened."

"Indeed my Lord," Snape replied. "How may I best serve you?"

"Somehow Potter escaped from A and B squads," Voldemort spat. "He's no longer on the moor. The latest word is that he sprouted wings and flew into the valley. I find that extremely difficult to believe, but that's the location where the report claims he now is."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I want you to leave your precious potions for the time being," the Dark Lord commanded. "Take charge of C squad from that idiot Anniston. Go use the valley entrance ... I assume you know where that is ... and provide reinforcements. I expect it will be all over by the time you get there, but if not.... I will not have him elude me again - not after all this."

"Yes, my Lord."

"How is Potter's Occlumency?" the Dark Lord asked.

"Improving, but unorthodox," Snape replied. "He is more skilled at driving out intrusions than in preventing them in the first place."

"I can handle that," declared Voldemort confidently. "To ensure his capture, I might just try sending him my own greetings. Now go and see to it that the boy is secured."

"Are you sure that is wise, my Lord?" Snape questioned. "I have experienced the boy's powers of expulsion personally. They are formidable."

"Do not question Lord Voldemort!" the Master threatened, his voice quickly turning frigid and snake-like. "You were not at the Ministry. That was an aberration ... Dumbledore's distraction. I have visited Potter since - on more than one occasion. When I choose to use my full powers, that pitiful boy is helpless...!" Cold-hearted hatred oozed out of the Dark Lord's every pore.

Snape dutifully turned on his heel. Behind his stoic face, deep within his shuttered psyche, Snape's hopes fell. Following these new orders would take him away from the Dark Lord, possibly at the critical moment.... A second phial of Paralysis Potion was in the cloakroom.... The Master had become a believer in redundancy following Potter's last escape.... After all the planning, Snape realised he might not be in position to rescue Potter after all....

Snape did the only thing he could do - he dithered, in the hope that everything would be over before C squad would be needed. Prior to leading his Death Eaters anywhere, he began giving them a painstaking briefing on what was going on, although in truth he had no idea.

* * * *

"HERMIONE!!" Harry blurted out, even though he was enmeshed in the heat of what promised to be a futile battle.

"Yes, I'm here, Harry," she said softly. "Where is here?"

"Go!" Harry demanded. "Get out of here! It's not safe! I can't hold out much longer! I'm going to die."

"Not today, you're not. I went through Hell to find you, Harry," she spoke urgently. "I'm not going to lose you again."

"Hermione, what are you trying...?"

Harry had no idea how, but the nature of their affinity had changed dramatically. It was no longer just a one-way drain, flowing out of him. Now, her emotions were positively flooding in - vivid ones. His soul felt bathed in affection, tenderness, compassion ... and, yes, a novel, wonderful emotion that could only be love.

Even in his desperate straits, Harry gasped. "Hermione, please...," he moaned, but he could not muster the strength to order her to leave again. Warmth, of a sort he had never before experienced, was spreading through his bleeding and battered body.

The feeling flowed with an intensity that seized his heart and shook his mind. It infused him with purity of motive and clarity of purpose unlike anything he could recall feeling in his young, bleak life....

On one level, the love swirling around his mind almost left him dizzy. But on another he felt just the opposite. In a way, he felt solid and anchored - like a rock. The realisation of Hermione's amazing emotions made him want to shout, to scream, and most importantly, to survive. What he felt simply would not be denied. The warmth reached into the most atavistic recesses of Harry's being; stirring feelings he had neither given nor truly received since infancy.... It summoned forth a strength he did not know he had....

She loved him.

She loved him!

Whatever had passed before was inconsequential. She loved him.

His acceptance of that simple fact had immediate physical consequences. Harry became possessed of a powerful second wind that, until that moment, he had not realised was there.

A surge of fresh magical energy shot out from all his limbs at once and coursed into his beleaguered Protego shield. It flushed a brilliant white and in a trice the area within the shield swelled to some thirty metres on all sides. Most of Harry's attackers were bowled over by the force of the expanding shield, and were left bruised and groggy on the ground.

The sudden distension of his Protego also struck the ground itself. Scattering a hail of sharp pebbles, the recoil from his shield bounced Harry fully fifty metres into the air. On his way back down, the same shield helpfully flattened upon encountering air resistance. The parachute-like effect slowed his descent. Protected from impact by the shield, he caromed a couple of times and came to rest. Harry was left suspended several metres above the metalled ground by the force of his now almost spherical shield. All around him it glowed softly, a milky pinkish-white.

Hermione, only present in spirit, could not see except what Harry saw - which was now hazier than ever. She ignored the bizarre goings on and concentrated obsessively on her task of locating Harry so he could be rescued. She continued calling out everything she could make out about their surroundings.

The Death Eaters cautiously regrouped. Floating in midair, seemingly lit from within, and with a single scarlet wing trailing beneath him at an odd angle, Harry was a bizarre and unsettling sight. Cautiously, his foes approached the illuminated globe that contained and protected Harry. Led by Rodolphus Lestrange, they reopened fire.

Inside the sphere and independently of his only semi-conscious thoughts, Harry's glowing body started to pulse, in response to the Death Eaters' magical disturbances. Beginning as a dull yellow, his form increased its brilliance as it resisted the Death Eater curses that struck his shield. Sparks of static magic started erupting from Harry's fingers and toes. These currents - visible for all to see - flowed erratically to the surrounding shield, providing reinforcement wherever an unfriendly spell impacted it.

Ted Nott chose this moment to join the fray, firing off several wild shots with his Muggle pistol in addition to using his wand. To him, Harry, the shield, and the bolts of magic flashing back and forth within resembled nothing so much as a gigantic electrostatic VandeGraaff generator, like he had once seen in a Muggle museum in Manchester. He did not notice, as with such a generator, his own hair standing on end.

Harry's armour had a chink - the defence he had dropped that permitted Hermione's initial entrance. He had been too enthralled by her feelings to even think of cutting her off.

It came without warning.

"AAAIIIIEEEE!!" Harry screamed aloud as his scar exploded in agony.

"Welcome to my parlour, said the spider to the fly," Voldemort's cold, high voice echoed through Harry's skull. "So good of you to drop by."

In an instant Harry's mind filled with rage and hatred for the one who had killed his parents, and countless others. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Harry roared.

"All in good time, dear boy," Voldemort taunted. "As you can no doubt see, you are outnumbered by more than twenty to one.... Why don't you just surrender? I can make your inevitable death come quickly - perhaps even painlessly."

Above all else, Harry knew he had to protect Hermione - to distract Voldemort from discovering her presence. He had few options. Taunting the Dark Lord was the first thing that came to his fevered mind.

"YOU CAN'T BEAT ME TOMMY RIDDLE! YOU NEVER HAVE!!" Harry howled back.

He was scrambling with all his power to ensure that the Dark Lord focussed solely on him. He had to expel the Dark Lord from his mind before Voldemort discovered that they were not alone....

"V-V-Voldemort," Hermione gasped involuntarily. She had never been in the monster's presence, even mentally, and the noxious feeling was so awful that she could not help herself.

"Well, well, well," Voldemort chuckled mirthlessly, "maybe I was wrong. Maybe, you're only outnumbered by something like twenty to two?" He put particular emphasis on the second number.

Harry notched his concentration up another level. He did not care what happened to himself, but until his dying breath he would not allow Voldemort to harm Hermione. Just like his father and Sirius had foretold, she had come for him in his moment of greatest need. And, as he had just discovered, SHE LOVED HIM TOO!

"Come out and play, foolish girl," Voldemort beckoned. "When I'm done with you, you'll be in no shape to break my record after all...."

Harry shuddered. Diversionary tactics were no use against this fiend. Voldemort obviously knew exactly whose spirit was sharing his brain at that moment. Pouring everything he had into a supreme effort at Occlumency, Harry roared, "I WON'T LET YOU HURT HER, YOU BASTARD!!!! NOT NOW AND NOT EVER!!!! YOU HAVE TO GO THROUGH ME FIRST!!!!"

As his anguished scream echoed through the U-shaped valley, Harry thought he heard an audible "click" inside his head. It was as if someone threw a switch that reconfigured the magical portion of his brain. A mental junction closed, and with the circuit complete, Harry's collected magic burst through.

The resultant magical amplification would have been impressive in any event, but Harry was channelling no ordinary magic - working without a wand, he had summoned, for the first time in his life, the full power of Fifth Element.

Nobody who saw what happened next lived to tell the tale.

In a minute fraction of a second, Harry's original Shield Charm blew out to infinity, followed closely by a blindingly brilliant pinkish-white flash of raw magical energy, radiating at many wavelengths at once. The intensity of this transient emission exceeded by many times the brightness and temperature of the surface of the Sun. For a grotesquely shining moment the dazzling glare Harry generated illuminated the clouds, and then pierced them. The fleeting, highly polarised energy Harry generated was easily visible from the Moon.

...But only for an instant. Quarks - even charmed ones - cannot exist as free particles in this world for more than a few nanoseconds. The enchanted symmetries that Harry's Fifth Element magic transiently achieved almost immediately recrystallised in the terrestrial environment. The momentary gluonic plasma state of the amplified Fifth Element converted only inefficiently into ordinary types of radiation. The chief result of this inefficiency was randomly directed energy - commonly known as heat - massive amounts of it.

With terrible potency, Harry's radiation and his heat sterilised the entire valley in explosive fashion.

As it spread and dissipated, Harry's magical emission raised the temperature of everything in the surrounding valley to "only" a thousand or so degrees Celsius. All the water in the stream flash evaporated in a burst of searing steam.

All organic matter that his magical shock wave encountered - whether animal, vegetable, or Death Eater - incinerated instantaneously. All the witches and wizards in the vicinity, and Vincent Crabbe watching from upon high, who were in the way of the full fury of this shock wave never realised what hit them. One moment they were alive and hurling their curses; the next moment their disassociated atoms were adrift in the howling, incandescently hot hurricane that arose within Allt a Mhuilinn Valley.

Following the initial flash of light, the shock wave from Harry's magical explosion pounded into the ground beneath him at supersonic speed. Everything combustible in the soil burnt instantly. The refractory remnants were pulverised and joined with the uppermost several centimetres of underlying rock as a superheated powder being sucked upwards with the expanding fireball.

The tremendous pressure crushed the underlying rock - granite, basalt, or anything else - where it survived incineration and vaporisation. The conical configuration of this shattering impact extended deep into the earth. At the same time everything left on the surface fused together under the tremendous heat to form an amorphous, translucent greenish black glass. These extreme conditions created distinctively odd minerals, coesite, stishovite, and the like....

The recoil from shock wave reverberated first from the ground, and then off the walls of the doomed valley. The effect, in that semi-enclosed space, was rather like that of a cork being removed from a champagne bottle. All of the fiery debris that Harry's explosion tore loose shot violently into the air.

In and amongst that debris was Harry Potter himself - the magical core of the explosion. His mental effort and the resultant release of extraordinary magical energies left him semi-conscious at best, but relatively unharmed. The massive energy release, after all, was all directed away from him, and his Protego shield afforded him protection from the environment he had unintentionally created.

Harry was flung upwards and outwards towards the mouth of the valley, more than two kilometres into the sky. Eventually, he was caught in the prevailing winds that blew towards the Highlands. They pushed him back towards his origin. Once his uncontrolled magical outburst ceased, Harry's Protego shield had spontaneously reconstituted. As before, that shield collapsed against itself in response to the air pressure, forming something of a parachute. He was magically depleted, badly burnt in places, but alive ... very much alive.

Upwelling behind Harry was a column of eerily glowing dust and debris, suspended in superheated air, all rising rapidly, as torrid air is wont to do. The intense heat dried up all of the low-lying clouds, and they disappeared to distance of nearly a kilometre. The initial flash, blast and shock wave left in their wake a sweltering hemisphere of more-or-less clear air pierced at its centre by the turgid, brownish-gray vertical stele of billowing smoke that marked ground zero.

Above, in the remnant higher cloud cover, and thus unseen, that fiery upwelling obelisk collided with the preexisting, damp layers of the atmosphere. With this final collision Harry's fireball slowly lost momentum, swelled outward, and eventually flattened out horizontally in all directions. As it cooled the smoke and debris eventually merged with the surrounding pall. For hours, the rainfall in the vicinity of Ben Nevis was black from the dust and ashes it contained.

* * * *

Inside the main tower of Killiechonate Castle, Bellatrix Lestrange watched lazily as her long-time Master, and newfound sex partner (she enjoyed receiving the Cruciatus Curse as much as the Dark Lord did performing it), toyed with Harry Potter's mind. That had been his plan all along - kill the mind and the body will follow. Today would culminate years of effort. Harry Potter would be no more, and the Dark forces would prevail. She would rule at his side, and they could dispense with their annoying, and to her unsettling, alliance of convenience with the White Lotus Triad.

She had not paid attention to the Dark Lord's taunts - what he mattered little - but very suddenly something very obviously went very wrong. Lord Voldemort let out a hideous scream, its pitch rapidly rising until it ended silently. He staggered backwards and abruptly burst into crimson fire. With a final supreme effort, Bella's master performed the spell that shut down his own longstanding mental link to the boy, Harry Potter. Then he collapsed.

Taking immediate action, Lestrange extinguished her burning master with a Flame Freezing Charm.

The next instant, a tremendous, thundering shock wave rocked the castle. Every window and door blew in. It became unbearably hot, and air pressure abruptly spiked. Bella screamed in exquisite agony as her eardrums ruptured. Exposed paper, cloth, and wood flared and burnt. Massive cracks appeared in solid stone walls that had survived the worst of the Scottish elements for over a millennium. The wards shattered and fell. Rock fragments began breaking loose from the walls and ceiling as Lestrange sprung forward and fell upon her prone, steaming master. She Apparated them both away just as the entire structure collapsed and disintegrated into an avalanche of smoking rubble.

* * * *

Unintentionally, Snape's filibustering saved not only his life but those of every Death Eater in C squad - at least temporarily. The unit remained ensconced in the bowels of the castle when what felt like an earthquake hit. Everyone was thrown to the floor, cracks formed in the walls, dust shook loose from everywhere, and several portions of the ceiling caved in.

"Stay where you are!" Snape commanded. "Don't even try to move until this is over." To himself he added, 'This has something to do with Potter.'

When everything was still after a few minutes, Snape ordered his dazed squad to its feet. With rock dust greying his greasy hair, Snape picked his way over, around, and through the newly fallen debris. He led his troops to the castle's valley entrance and turned the doorknob. The door would not budge.

"Alohomora!"

Even the Door Opening Charm failed. Snape was puzzled and extremely ill at ease. He pointed his wand at the recalcitrant door. "Evanesco!" The door vanished. A pile of rocks fell in. The entrance was buried in stone from the collapse of the castle above.

The falling rock brought with it stifling heat. Snape bent to retrieve a fragment that had rolled to a stop at his feet. It burnt his fingers.

"Fluvius!" he called out loudly and a stream of water poured onto the sizzling rubble.

It was not one of Snape's better moves.

Popping noises reverberated, as the abrupt temperature change exploded the overheated stones. Stinging bits of debris raised welts and cuts on Snape's exposed face and hands whilst partially shredding his robes. Beyond that, all he accomplished was to turn the corridor into a sauna.

After an exasperated groan, Snape uttered some minor Healing and Mending Charms. Then he regrouped.

"Everyone! Excavato!" Snape roared. "All follow suit," he ordered.

A chorus of Excavating Charms followed, and in due course a path was cleared through the rockfall.

Snape and his squad of Death Eaters stepped into an otherworldly scene. The very earth and the sky seemed transposed. Snape took everything in, his eyes as desolate as the landscape they surveyed. The normally green and flowering earth was utterly burnt and barren as far as the eye could see. The forlorn, cinder-strewn landscape had become a true Valley of Death. It offered nothing but the black, grey, and sooty brown. Not a leaf, not a twig, not a blade of grass survived. Even the lichens had been blasted away from the scalded and scorched rock. A thin, dark, glassy coating covered every exposed surface. It seared at a touch.

As the Death Eaters walked through the surreal scene, the very ground crunched brittlely underfoot.

"I have become Death, the destroyer of worlds," Snape murmured philosophically to himself.

"What's that boss?" one of his men asked.

"Nothing," Snape dismissed him. "Nothing at all."

All around them the valley was still as death. Only the hissing of great gouts of steam broke the stark panorama of destruction. Water still flowed from upstream; relentlessly attempting to reclaim its accustomed path to the sea. The venting steam gradually moved downhill, indicating that the water was inexorably prevailing in its eternal quest.

In brilliant contrast to the stark and colourless earth, the ordinarily sullen and overcast sky sparkled with every hue of the spectrum. Peering up into the sweltering winds that whipped in the wake of the initial fireball's vertical departure, the startled crew of Death Eaters saw the base of the now greenish-grey column of the smoke, dust, and ash that the explosion had produced. The high winds were rapidly tearing it apart.

Free magic criss-crossed the sky and lit up the clouds, mixing with constant lightning flashes generated as innumerable ionised particles discharged excess energy and returned to a grounded state. The random magic scattered and rescattered itself until it took on the appearance of a half-dozen aurora glowing at once. One wave was pink, changing to orange. An iridescent green streak merged into cobalt blue. Another ray of blinding white ended in a prismatic blossom of dazzling rainbow colours. From one wall of the steep-sided valley to the other, the heavens flickered and morphed in a constantly changing, kaleidoscopic display. Even the hardened Death Eaters were awestruck by the overpowering beauty of unfettered raw magic.

Snape ordered his underlings to conduct a search for either Potter or their compatriots - not truly expecting to find either.

"Stop gawking. Spread out and search for signs of life. Our Master wants Potter," Snape barked.

The Death Eaters dumbly complied and scattered over the devastated valley. Unlike them, Snape had some inkling of what might have happened. Potter had once drawn lightning to him - and then he had merely been angry, not threatened with death.

The valley's configuration gave Snape a good idea of where it might be best to look.

He turned his hooked nose and beady black eyes to the heavens and watched. Soon enough he spied an object spiraling downward, larger than the now-constant patter of bits of ash and other debris. As it wove lower, Snape discerned a mostly human form, with something long and odd fluttering behind it. It could only be Potter, still enveloped in what passed for a Shield Charm.

As the boy tumbled into range, Snape pointed his wand and cried, "Arresto Momentum!" Snape gently lowered the nearly naked boy to the ground, taking care to land him next to the stream, where the ground had cooled sufficiently to cause no further harm.

'Blast it. What have you done to yourself now?' Snape thought as he regarded the barely stirring young wizard.

Snape ordered the rest of the Death Eaters to stay back. He would examine the boy himself and, if at all possible, press the escape Portkey into his hand. He was just approaching Potter's softly moaning figure when a cacophonous blast of noise turned his head. A large rent appeared at the base of the cliff on the opposite side of the valley. Hell itself appeared to open and discharge its occupants.

Out of the hole, scores ... no, hundreds ... no, thousands, of enraged creatures spilled forth, all heavily armed and intent upon mayhem. In the vanguard were shock troops - howling berserkers with sharpened teeth and even sharper nails. Flitting this way and that in practiced manœuvres, the leathery-skinned warriors wore tight fitting, dull green scaly armour. They flung deadly projectiles from slings and fired magically guided inextinguishable flaming arrows from crossbows as tall and as wide as they were.

Behind them advanced the main force, thousands upon thousands of heavily armed troops in a checkerboard quincunx formation that quickly spread from one burnt-out side of the valley to the other. Over each unit fluttered the banner of the canton from which it had been raised. In precision order they discharged their weapons, launched their missiles, fell back and reformed - over and over again.

In front of the infantry lumbered the snarling forms of adult Blast-Ended Skrewts. The animals, encumbered by massive stone amour that absorbed deadly curses, discharged ear-splitting blasts of orange fire. Atop their wide backs were massive beams, and the beams supported mirror-like shields - broad enough that they overlapped all along the front. These mirrors deflected all curses that were blockable, and made it impossible for the Death Eaters to aim their unblockable curses.

The mirrors, however, worked in only one direction. The advancing forces fired their weapons through the mirrors from behind with no problems.

With fireballs and other charges exploding all about them, the isolated band of Death Eaters at first retreated in good order and formed a stout defensive front, as trained to do. The Dark Lord was somewhere in what remained of the castle. Escape by Apparition under such circumstances was unthinkable. Their resistance however was short-lived. Their curses either deflected harmlessly off the mirrored bulwarks or were simply absorbed by the Skrewts' armour.

For the first time in over three hundred years, a goblin army took the field against an opposing force of wizards. Given the numerical mismatch, the result of the engagement that followed was foreordained.

* * * *

A hundred kilometers - sixty-odd miles - away, Albus Dumbledore hastily put the finishing touches on a letter to the acting troika currently leading magical England. It was not an easy task, as he was thanking them effusively for taking the politically difficult step of freeing the eleven captured Death Eaters. Fawkes, whom the Headmaster used only for his most important correspondence, was standing by.

Dumbledore was writing furiously because Madam Pomfrey had also summoned him. That meant only one thing. The monomaniacally determined Granger girl was once again searching for Harry Potter. Unquestionably, she was the most brilliant student he had encountered in over fifty years of teaching at Hogwarts - but she was also one of the most stubborn and resourceful. These combined traits were potent, and potently dangerous.

Thus, she was engaged in the most personally reckless quest that the Headmaster had ever permitted to occur on Hogwarts grounds. He had allowed it for two reasons: first, he could not stop her; and second, the prophecy. She was now the only hope of finding Harry Potter. He knew it; she knew it; and she knew he knew it. Potter was the only one who could defeat Voldemort - but she did not know that ... not yet.

The Headmaster was just signing his name when, out of nowhere, he was knocked to his office floor by the most intense wave of non-specific magic he had ever felt. At the same instant his office was briefly bathed in brilliant pinkish-white light that made a mockery of the largely overcast day.

Dumbledore groaned as he tried to regain his footing. The magic left his head pounding, as if hung over. Fawkes screeched and flew around the office. The portraits were in disarray. Outside, in the distance to the south-south west, through a break in the clouds, the still lustrous sky was shot through with what looked like a half dozen interconnected rainbows.

But unnoticed, below that beautiful sight, an odd iridescent flutter hugged the horizon.

As the Headmaster reached his feet, the normal magical lighting in his office began fluctuating. His silvery devices all emitted strange sounds in response to wildly oscillating magical power. Dumbledore's immediate concern was the Castle's wards. The unusual goings on indicated that they were under great stress and might even be overwhelmed.

He had no idea what could be causing this.

KZZZZZTTT!! BANG!! Crash!

A cabinet located inconspicuously near the staircase abruptly erupted in pink flames. The door blew off, spun across the office at high speed, and shattered one of the windows. Inside, hot pink flames and arcing magic engulfed a set of large crystals. The power of the magical field set the crystals humming audibly. The presence of such energetic magic told Dumbledore that the Hogwarts wards had been forced into failsafe mode. He needed to insert another crystal into the mains - quickly - or risk the wards being overcome altogether.

Fortunately, he always kept a spare on hand, just in case. Eyeing the sparking, smoking, cabinet, Dumbledore Summoned the extra crystal, and it zoomed to him. He reached for it and the 25-centimetre long, perfectly hexagonal quartz crystal flew into his hand. Entering the Headmaster's grasp, it struck the large gold ring he had recently acquired with a resounding "clink."

Dumbledore took two steps towards the cabinet and stopped. He looked at the flawless, transparent crystal in his hand. He observed the ring. He regarded the fierce pink blaze in the cabinet. Was it worth the risk? He had conjured the wards' failsafe mode himself, and it appeared to be working correctly. The more benign magic was passing through, replenishing the wards and simultaneously providing energy to continue repulsing the rest. It was the colour he would expect if....

He went for it.

"AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHH!!!"

With an ear-splitting bellow, Headmaster Dumbledore lunged at the cabinet. Reaching through the angry pink fire, he rammed the additional crystal into place with his bare hand. The tendrils of flaming Light magic seared his right hand and arm all the way to his elbow as the dancing flames licked the black stone on the ring.

KAA-BLAAAAM!

A second strong explosion hurled Dumbledore across his office like a rag doll. He slammed into a bookcase next to the previously shattered window with enough force that half the books cascaded to the floor. Slumping to his haunches and bruised by the falling tomes, Dumbledore regathered his wits.

He was getting too old for this.

Half stunned, he looked at the ring. The black stone, formerly smooth and shiny, was now dull and worn. A large crack cleaved it in half. His right hand, however, was blackened and burnt. He could barely grasp anything and had no feeling left in his fingertips. Although an evil force had been consumed, it had taken its final toll.

Nonetheless, Dumbledore smiled a satisfied smile. The extra crystal grounded the excess magic. The wards were stabilising, and fluctuations in the Castle's magical power sources were damping down. He had done it, and preserved the Hogwarts protective wards at the same time. Exhaling from the effort, the Headmaster allowed himself a moment to relax.

But he only had a moment.

The Floo erupted with an urgent summons, "Albus Dumbledore, NOW!"

* * * *

Luna and her friends all glanced up in surprise when Hermione abruptly stopped her recitation of everything she saw or sensed. Instead, the girl on the bed lapsed into silence.

Madam Pomfrey, took two steps towards the bed, but stopped. Hermione's vital signs were good. In fact they were much improved since she had evidently located Mister Potter.

Maybe fifteen seconds passed.

Hermione uttered a single, frightened word, "V-V-Voldemort?"

More silence. Madam Pomfrey hesitated. This was so beyond the realm of her prior experience that she honestly did not know what to do.

That hesitation saved her life.

Abruptly, Hermione screamed out. "HARRY!!! DOOONNN'TTTTT BEEEEEEEAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" Her desperate plea merged into an inhuman shriek that rose in pitch until it passed out of the range of human hearing.

Everything started happening at once.

Madam Pomfrey rushed towards the girl's bedside as Hermione and the bedclothes around her spontaneously burst into violent pinkish-purple flames. She never reached her patient. The large orange and blue talismans hanging over her bed exploded upon contact with waves of magic that poured from the tortured girl. Sharp shards of crystalline shrapnel shot everywhere.

The force of these explosions caught up the Hogwarts Head Nurse and blasted her across the room. She struck a windowsill on the wall opposite with a sickening thud and fell still - covered with broken glass and bleeding profusely.

The shock vibrated the Hospital Wing's windows. They cracked, broke apart, and fell as one with an earsplitting crash.

BAM!! BLAM!! POW!!

A series of loud reports continued as all the remaining talismans, charms and assorted enchanted objects that surrounded Hermione were flung away with great force. They crashed randomly about the Hospital Wing, shattering themselves and splintering the wood panelling, or chipping the stone walls upon impact.

Alarms blared on every monitor that had been checking Hermione's vital signs.

Fighting a pounding headache, Neville picked himself up, pointed his wand at Hermione's flaming bed and shouted, "INCENDIUS FRIGIDIO!!" His spell stopped the progress of the flames in their tracks.

The shock wave blew Ginny into one of Hermione's monitors. She and the machine toppled over. Ginny found herself face-to-face with the monitor screen, which bore a single straight line. Even she knew what the flat line meant. She screamed out, "SHE'S DYING!!! MERLIN, DO SOMETHING TO SAVE HER!!!"

Nobody was qualified to act. Madam Pomfrey lay unconscious, bleeding from the mouth, nose, and ears, and numerous cuts where the crystalline shrapnel had pierced her.

Luna staggered in the opposite direction, to the fireplace. She wildly grabbed the entire canister of Floo powder and hurled it into the flames. She fell to her hands and knees shouting, "ALBUS DUMBLEDORE!!! NOW!!!"

Neville, on autopilot, reached Hermione's bedside. A sweep of his wand banished those few noisy sensors that remained attached to the girl's now still body. With his bare hands, he shoved the frozen flames away from Hermione's chest and face, sending them clattering to the floor. Lacking any training, save a pamphlet he had once read whilst cooling his heels at St. Mungo's waiting to see his parents, Neville was going to try cardio-pulmonary resuscitation upon his horrifically burnt friend. It was his final, last-gasp attempt to do something - anything - to save her rapidly ebbing life.

Squeak.... CRASH!!

The door to the Hospital Wing disintegrated into splinters. In the doorway stood Dumbledore, his craggy, bearded face at once terrible and magnificent to behold. At the same time, his expression betrayed profound anguish. The Headmaster raised both arms, holding his wand oddly in his left hand. His right hand seemed to be steaming. Magical power pulsed from his imposing silhouette as he briefly surveyed the chaotic scene before him.

Madam Pomfrey was prostrate with serious injuries. The mostly pink and black mess that had previously been the most brilliant witch of her age lay motionless on her still smoking bed. Hovering over her, an uncertain yet determined Neville Longbottom was about to start pumping the girl's seared chest. Acrid smoke and the awful smell of burnt flesh permeated the air. Every window in the Hospital Wing was shattered, and a layer of assorted debris obscured the floor. Ginny Weasley was screaming encouragement to Neville. Luna Lovegood was on all fours choking.

The Headmaster lowered his wand and bellowed, "PHOENICIUS EXPIATUS!!"

From over Dumbledore's left shoulder Fawkes flashed into the room, flying at top speed. Phoenix song filled the air as the bird flew straight at Hermione, becoming a red-and-gold blur as it approached and finally vanishing within her. The girl's mangled form glimmered faintly with a residual reddish glow. The beautiful tones of the phoenix song persisted, but now emanated from Hermione herself.

"You may stand down, Mister Longbottom," Dumbledore commanded. "She will not die. Not from the trauma, at least. Please help your friends."

Dumbledore turned his attention to Madam Pomfrey. He performed some stabilising magic, but the Headmaster was no Healer. He had saved Hermione's life only by sacrificing Fawkes. That prevented death, but did not really cure anything.

Dumbledore turned to the portrait of Dilys Derwent, that hung (rather lopsidedly at the moment) on the wall above the fireplace. The imposing witch in the portrait, who served as both Headmistress of Hogwarts and Chairwoman of Internal Magic at St. Mungo's Hospital, was sorting through damage done by a flying crystal fragment that impaled one of her bookshelves.

The Headmaster waved his wand and, instantly, order was restored to the portrait. Its occupant turned to offer thanks, but was stilled by the sight of Dumbledore's urgent expression.

"Dilys, I need Paracelsus Huxley here, right away," Dumbledore instructed. "Tell him it is as important as anything he has ever done for me. And he must bring a complete burn unit - here, to Hogwarts."

Hlr. Derwent raised her eyebrows at this most unusual request. "While you look like you could use it, I doubt you need an entire unit brought here."

"Look there," the Headmaster commanded, gesturing toward Hermione. "It is not for me. My injuries are trivial by comparison."

"Take her to St. Mungo's, then," the portrait responded. "Whatever treatment is required can best be performed there. You know that."

"I cannot," Dumbledore replied. "I dare not move her, and I have reasons - good ones - for not wanting her beyond the purview of my authority as Headmaster. Now please get him.... This girl's life, and maybe more, hangs in the balance."

"Very well, then. I shall fetch Healer Huxley." Instantly, the woman in the portrait turned, and with a flash of her silver curls, was gone.

Dumbledore was just turning back to Hermione, when a magical roar, louder than a thunderclap, rocked Hogwarts Castle. For a second time, klaxons sounded, and the lights flickered. Briefly, the terrible Old Testament prophet expression the Headmaster had worn upon entering the shattered infirmary returned, as he drew himself up to full height once again. Fortunately, the situation required no further drain upon his magical resources. This time, the wards protecting the Castle held against whatever had assaulted them. Dumbledore allowed himself the slightest relaxation. At last something had gone right.

* * * *

Dumbledore and Hlr. Huxley had almost completed the erection of a magical burn recovery unit in the Room of Requirement. Some six hundred litres of sterile, healing fluid glowed softly yellow whilst hovering stably in mid-air. The two wizards were concentrating on fine-tuning the Oxygen Impregnation Charms. Soon they would be ready to summon the rest of the St. Mungo's team who were painstakingly preparing what was left of Hermione Granger for total immersion in the healing solution.

Hlr. Huxley ended the silence that had hung between the long-time close friends. He called a break to the single-minded attention to the business at hand. It was time for an explanation for the horrible accident that had obviously taken place.

"Why here, Albus?" Hlr. Huxley began. "I know you say she must be stabilised, but we have two of these units on 24-hour call at the hospital."

"Believe me, Parry," the Headmaster replied," if I thought I could risk it, I would have saved you all this trouble. I am deeply grateful for your help. I am certain your absence is being felt."

"Tell me about it. I'm going to catch more flack than you can imagine when I get back. Albus, when are you going to tell me what in Hell happened - why I'm here?" the senior Healer pressed. "When you act this way, there's always more to things than meets the eye - and I daresay there is a great deal that meets the eye at the moment."

"You know me too well," Dumbledore sighed. "Miss Granger's domestic situation is...," he paused and considered his phraseology, "...shall we say, complicated. Her parents are Muggles, but recently left the country. Her father has become a fugitive from justice...."

"So she's the daughter of that Granger? The dentist." Hlr. Huxley inquired.

"You still follow Muggle events, I see." Dumbledore smiled and a slight twinkle returned to his eyes.

"It's only just about the biggest current scandal in Muggle medicine," Hlr. Huxley remarked. "Between this and the flap about the mad cows, medical issues might well cost the Muggle minister his position. It probably exceeds anything since the French AIDS disaster a few years back."

"Indeed," Dumbledore responded. "But that is not all. Her mother, who by all accounts was uninvolved in that scandal - recently turned up in Hogsmeade, demanding to see her daughter. Since your patient has yet to reach her majority, the woman was entirely within her rights. I cannot put her off much longer. You think you have Hell to pay...?"

"Then why here, Albus?" Hlr. Huxley asked again. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

The Headmaster grimaced as he answered. "Miss Granger is a good friend of Mister Potter, as you no doubt know. What you probably do not know is that the girl's family sought to withdraw her from Hogwarts several months ago, believing - correctly - that their friendship put her at great risk. To enable her to continue her studies, I promised that I would see to her safety. It appears that I have failed rather miserably...."

"You don't mean...?" Hlr. Huxley interjected questioningly.

"I mean that precisely, Parry," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "If - when - Miss Granger's mother sees her in her present state, I am afraid that she will demand immediate custody...."

"She can't ... can't do that!" Hlr. Huxley spluttered. "These are magical injuries.... Far beyond the ken of Muggle medicine.... She'd die within days...." Hlr. Huxley paused, and looked Dumbledore straight in the eye. "In fact, she should be dead already."

The Headmaster let his friend's final comment pass. "You see what I am up against," he continued. "I can at least delay things as long as Miss Granger remains subject to my authority. At St. Mungo's you would be bound by regulations to release her, even against medical judgment...."

The Headmaster busied himself with charming the devices that would be needed for removing Hermione's waste when she was submerged in the fluid.

"Albus, I'm waiting," Hlr. Huxley stated quietly.

"Waiting for what?" Dumbledore replied, not meeting his gaze.

"First of all, I'm waiting to hear about the circumstances of your own injury," Hlr. Huxley persisted. "Your wand hand is badly burnt. You need treatment too. Here, let me help you." Hlr. Huxley could still move with surprising speed, and he deftly pinned Dumbledore's right arm to a low table so he could examine it. "How did this happen?" he asked.

Dumbledore explained what he had done in his office, characterising his actions as a desperate attempt to stabilise the wards and nothing more. Hlr. Huxley drew his wand and uttered a couple of Burn Healing Charms that accomplished nothing.

"That's a bad burn indeed," Hlr. Huxley observed keenly. "Here, let me give you some Mandrake Salve, but even with that, it could take a long time to heal."

"Some wounds never heal," Dumbledore remarked matter-of-factly. "We both know that."

Ordinarily, Hlr. Huxley would have responded to such a remark with a torrent of additional questions, but Dumbledore was not the most badly injured person he was treating. "I am still waiting, Albus."

"What are you waiting for now?" Dumbledore asked, again feigning ignorance.

"Waiting for you to tell me the whole truth - the truth about what happened to her," Hlr. Huxley declared. "Albus, we go back over fifty years. I helped you ready yourself to face Grindelwald. That success, in turn, made my medical career. If this were anyone other than you, I would be reporting these events to the proper authorities right now. I'm still obligated, you know. I need a reason not to.... I need the truth."

In a dark undertone, the Headmaster replied, "Parry, some things you really have no wish to know about."

"I suppose," Hlr. Huxley answered relentlessly. "But this time, I'll have to be the judge of that."

Dumbledore heaved a mighty sigh. "Very well. I am not sure that you really want to know the truth as much as you believe. You have always thought quite highly of me - at times, considerably more highly than I have thought of myself."

"We're both at the top of difficult professions, Albus," Hlr. Huxley tried to draw the man out. "I know better than anyone that the most skilful treatment regimens are no guarantee of success. But consider the situation I am in. Only yesterday, I saw this ... this girl ... that's what she is, after all. Your student. Charged to your care...."

"I know," Dumbledore replied, shaking his head. "Believe me I know. I did not want this to happen. I tried everything to prevent it."

"Yesterday, she was ... magnificent," Hlr. Huxley continued, with a faraway look in his eye. "She had the presence of mind to bring an ample supply of Phoenix Tear Extract - something I couldn't obtain from St. Mungo's on the short notice I had. That foresight alone saved at least half a dozen lives, maybe as many as the rest of us combined...."

"She is indeed remarkable," Dumbledore agreed. "I brought you here to give her the best chance I possibly could to remain so."

The Healer continued. "...Then in the heat of battle we threw all manner of casualties at her ... and she has no formal training that I know of. She cured a bloody house-elf, can you believe it? A house-elf! Then she successfully treated that victim of Muggle gas. I thought it was a hopeless case, and I've been a Healer for over half a century. I've never seen anyone so precocious. I'd have taken her on staff in an instant...."

"Indeed," agreed Dumbledore once again. "I selected her as the initial trainee for Hogwarts' Institution of Excellence program."

If the Headmaster were expecting concurrence, he did not get it. Instead, Hlr. Huxley rounded on him. "And the next day, she's at death's door.... More than at the door, actually. She frankly should be dead. The integumentary damage alone is more than enough to have killed her. And she obviously breathed flame; her lungs are lethally seared. Yet she lives - why, Albus?"

"Everything you say is true - I know," Dumbledore responded. "And I am totally responsible, both for the injuries and for her survival."

"You say you know, but that's not enough I'm afraid. I need to know. My professional ethics demand it, dammit" Hlr. Huxley pressed.

"Very well," Dumbledore conceded. "It all comes down to Harry Potter. They were extremely close...."

"So those rumours are true, then?" Hlr. Huxley observed.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "If only it were that simple. I wish the rumours were true. Maybe they are - maybe they were - I simply do not know.... She testified to her feelings under Veritaserum. He said as much to his late guardian. But they could not seem.... It is beyond me. In any event, something happened between them. To this day I cannot fathom exactly what.... Miss Granger was tightlipped, and I thought it wisest not to pry, given her fragile mental state at times...."

"Go on ... the point, Albus," Hlr. Huxley prodded.

"It seems there was a falling out," Dumbledore explained. "Miss Granger blamed herself. When Mister Potter was taken hostage, she became, if not entirely suicidal, at least fatalistic to the point of recklessness." The Headmaster said this as he half-heartedly inspected the essentially complete equipment.

"But what could she possibly do?" Hlr. Huxley asked. "Clever as she is, she's only a student, after all."

"You betray your ignorance. You do not know Miss Granger as I do," cautioned Dumbledore. "She cannot be underestimated, as I have learned to my sorrow. What is not generally known is that, as a consequence of certain injuries suffered during the Ministry incident last June, she shares an affinity with Mister Potter. She has the ability to sense his emotions. The Death Eaters who took him did not realise this. Her affinity was how we first knew that Mister Potter had survived the London fire."

"All right," Hlr. Huxley agreed. "She's insinuated herself very deeply into his psyche. Given what I know of Mister Potter's background, that may not be a bad thing."

"I firmly believe it to be a very good thing indeed," Dumbledore replied. "But I am constrained by the rules.... Never mind that.... Miss Granger took it into her head to find a way to reverse the affinity and locate Mister Potter.... And she succeeded.... Despite my best efforts, she succeeded."

Hlr. Huxley gawked, aimlessly twiddling some monitors he had already cross-checked twice. "Is that even possible? I know of snippets in the literature, but I confess it is not my field. That would have to be extremely dangerous, particularly the locational aspect. I'm not a magical neurologist - in fact, I will order an immediate neurological consultation after her burns are healed - but I know such magic carries a risk of madness, or worse."

"The consequences can be ... and here may have been ... much worse," Dumbledore agreed sadly. "Nevertheless she persisted, and I had no choice but to allow it, because the Order had no other insight as to Mister Potter's whereabouts or condition. I even removed certain books from the library, but in the end she found me out. I am still not entirely sure how."

"That's all well and good, but even she couldn't perform such complicated magic on herself," Hlr. Huxley pointedly noted. He was determined not to allow Dumbledore - lifelong friend or not - wriggle off the hook.

"True," Dumbledore admitted. "I performed the spells ... last night ... after the failure of the rescue attempt. It was that or allow her to proceed with the assistance of a Fifth Year she had recruited. In retrospect, that would have meant her almost certain demise."

"Oh, my heavens," Hlr. Huxley said, comprehending Dumbledore's dilemma.

"It gets worse," the Headmaster hung his head. "I should have forbidden it, but I had no choice. Do you still want to know the whole truth? It involves Mister Potter."

"Yes I do," Hlr. Huxley reaffirmed. "Because you're my patient ... and my friend, as well ... and have been for fifty years. I've been in the Order since it existed to fight Grindelwald. You know from experience I'm trustworthy. I've kept your darkest secrets."

"I trust you more than I trust myself," Dumbledore declared. "But for your intervention, we both know that I would not be here. I shall not tell you everything - that might endanger you - but suffice it to say that Mister Potter is destined follow in my footsteps. That is what the incident at the Ministry was all about."

"So that 'Chosen One' crap isn't just so much Prophet pabulum," Hlr. Huxley repeated softly, more to convince himself of that fact than to prompt Dumbledore.

"Indeed," Dumbledore confirmed. "And Voldemort knows as much ... more or less. That is why Mister Potter's young life has been so tragic. It is a variant of the strategy that Grindelwald used against me. I fear the same outcome - or worse.... Harry is more powerful than I was, but also much younger, and thus far more impulsive. It is a dangerous combination."

"Has he made any attempt?" Hlr. Huxley asked.

"Voldemort? Certainly," Dumbledore responded. "He has sought to drive Mister Potter to the depths of despair, with ever more sophisticated stratagems. Mister Potter himself? Fortunately he has not as of yet attempted to harm himself, although on one occasion he sought the means. I dissuaded him in the strongest terms I knew."

"Well, one solution - and the only option that currently presents itself - is to save this girl's life," Hlr. Huxley replied. Here, at least, was an outlet for his medical talents. "Although I remain deeply troubled by her condition. As I said, she should be dead."

"I sacrificed Fawkes that she might live," Dumbledore revealed.

Hlr. Huxley was more than shocked. "You...? You did? So the phoenix song I heard up there...? I didn't pay it much attention.... It wasn't just Fawkes somewhere in the rafters...?"

"No, the phoenix song is within her now," Dumbledore admitted.

"I have heard of that theoretical possibility, but to my knowledge, successful use of the Sacrifice of the Phoenix to avoid imminent death hasn't been reported in over 250 years. I don't doubt your ability for a moment, Albus, but I would like permission to publish an article about this feat ... to bring it out of legend...."

"You have my permission, but you will need Miss Granger's," Dumbledore replied. "Unfortunately, she is in no position to consent at the moment. My fear is that Mister Potter, somehow, is the cause."

"What!? Are you implying that Harry Potter...? Wherever he is, I'm certain he's nowhere near Hogwarts.... That he somehow magicked this girl ... who's been his friend for years ... to the point of spontaneous combustion...? I thought you were implying that they were, in all likelihood, romantically interested in one another, if not actually involved?"

"That is the core of my present predicament. You must keep in the strictest of confidence what I am about to tell you," Dumbledore instructed, "as both a member of the Order of the Phoenix and as an integral part of your physician-patient relationship - with both me and Miss Granger."

"You have my word," the Healer readily agreed. "But that doesn't mean I'll approve of what you did."

"I would not expect any more," Dumbledore replied wearily. "You see, with my belated practical assistance, Miss Granger succeeded in reversing the affinity and in locating Mister Potter. At the time her injuries occurred, she was actually within Mister Potter's mind. A witness took detailed notes. The problem was that Voldemort, I believe, also entered his mind. It was something along the lines of another attempted possession - or worse."

"From your previous descriptions of Mister Potter, I gather you believe that he overreacted," Hlr. Huxley diagnosed.

"Unlike many, your skills are not inversely proportionate to your success," Dumbledore complimented. "I'm assuming that you felt the bizarre magical fluctuations of a few hours ago. Here in Hogwarts, they were strong enough to bowl me over, and they overtaxed our wards. Unfortunately, it also corresponded precisely with the infliction of Miss Granger's injuries. That I fear cannot be coincidental."

"I certainly did feel it. I suspected that emission might be involved in the girl's condition, given the timing," Hlr. Huxley observed. "Indeed, I almost felt compelled to refuse your summons because of it, but it proved more annoying than injurious in London. You think Mister Potter is the cause?"

"I believe you consulted on the treatment of one Mister Branstone some weeks ago?" Dumbledore asked.

"Indeed I did," Hlr. Huxley confirmed. "A most remarkable case.... You mean, Potter caused that...?"

"Mister Potter has intermittent access to magic of great, but unformed power. Several incidents happened this summer, as Mister Branstone's case exemplifies. Most, if not all of those incidents have involved Miss Granger in some way. I am afraid that in this instance, he may have almost destroyed her in an overzealous attempt to protect her."

"You're not implying...?" Hlr. Huxley began, and then stopped. The Healer had a quizzical look on his face as he silently held up his hand - thumb and all four fingers extended.

"That cannot be ruled out," the Headmaster answered the unspoken question. "As you would say, it remains in the differential diagnosis. Not much else does."

"Merlin's beard, he could be dangerous," Hlr. Huxley exclaimed. "Especially after this." He waved an arm in the direction of the burn unit.

"If anything, an understatement," Dumbledore agreed. "If Mister Potter has survived whatever has happened - and he is a proven survivor - I have no idea how he will react to the likelihood that he is in some way responsible for Miss Granger's hideous injuries. He may well despair and attempt to harm himself. In a worst case scenario, he could even level Hogwarts Castle in his agony. I need your help in navigating these perilous waters."

"You shall have it, then," Hlr. Huxley pledged. "My initial advice is that, assuming Potter turns up, keep them close. That's one advantage you didn't have. It doesn't matter whether Potter goes depressive or manic. He'll be far less likely to cause a catastrophe if he appreciates that doing so would further harm the Granger girl."

"That would seem to be sound advice," Dumbledore concurred. "Sound indeed."

"But only in the event that Potter is found," Hlr. Huxley went on. "No matter what, we must soldier on in the here and now. Let's bring in the patient, then. It's time to get back to work."

* * * *

The Room of Requirement was calm for a half an hour after a comatose Hermione Granger was immersed in the magical equivalent of an artificial womb. Already the Healer's monitoring equipment was reporting the beginnings of successful regrowth of both her skin and alveoli.

Hlr. Huxley was pleased with that, but only with that. Otherwise, he became increasingly perturbed by the aberrant neurological readings that the monitors recorded. "Too faint. Too bloody faint," he repeated over and over again.

"What do you make of it?" Dumbledore asked worriedly.

"It's not my specialty, but I'm afraid that over time her physical injuries will prove to be the least of our concerns," Hlr. Huxley said slowly and precisely. "You saved her physically, but maybe not mentally. Her mental state is suppressed - in a bizarre fashion I have never encountered before - but suppressed nevertheless. Her faculties are reduced to the point of coma ... but it's unlike any coma I've ever seen. I'm afraid she's not going to be regaining consciousness anytime soon."

Dumbledore buried his face in his hands. "A fate worse than death," he intoned. "I am convinced that I shall have quite a bit of explaining to do."

The situation had steadied to the point that Hermione's friends, along with an almost fully recovered Madam Pomfrey, were permitted entry to the Room of Requirement after submitting to thorough sterilisation spells. Dumbledore ordered that they not be informed of Hermione's mental condition - indeed, that they not be told much at all, except that she was stable and out of immediate danger.

Protocol demanded that next of kin be informed first. That would be extraordinarily difficult.

Dumbledore exited the after leaving strict instructions not to be disturbed except for the most pressing business. Once back at his office, he summoned his deputy before even sitting down. The conversation with Hlr. Huxley had led the Headmaster to a momentous personal decision. A few months earlier he had been relieved of his post on trumped up charges. The decisions he had made over the past few days could present valid grounds for a similar action, should they ever become known.

Hermione Granger simply had too high of a profile for her condition, - and the reasons for it - not to become public.

"Minerva, I should have listened to you, even if it meant a breach with Miss Granger," Dumbledore confessed. "Healer Huxley's prognosis is that she will live, but in a coma."

"Oh, Albus, that's terrible, just awful," Professor McGonagall admonished. "I have never known a keener intellect, not even yours."

"Nor have I," the Headmaster agreed.

"Well, what do you propose to do about it?" his deputy asked sharply.

"At this point, isn't it best just to let nature take its course?" the portrait of Phineas Nigellus interrupted - reprising his advice of several weeks earlier.

The suggestion was roundly ignored.

"I am prepared to resign my post, should you wish to assume it," Dumbledore declared firmly. "It seems that I have lost them both. Some of my predecessors have been sacked for less - I know that I have."

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" McGonagall retorted heatedly. "Resignation is the coward's way out. You'll stay on until you have resolved this mess. Besides, now isn't the time to bother with positions. We have to make this right. We simply have to, and I haven't the foggiest idea where to start. After all, I agreed with you in the end - given that wretched prophecy."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore sighed. "Mister Potter's indispensability. Must not forget that. Is there any word? Any at all? ...Or was my plea to let the Death Eaters go only the latest in my series of disastrous misjudgments?"

"You tried, Albus," McGonagall consoled the Headmaster. "That's all any of us can do. If error it was, at least it was an error of commission."

"True, indeed. In fact, that brings me to the immediate reason for this meeting. It is speculative at best under the current set of circumstances, but I have come to a decision."

"Which is?" his deputy asked.

"Not here," Dumbledore cautioned. "Come to my balcony. The sunset promises to be spectacular...."

Professor McGonagall frowned slightly but followed Dumbledore out onto the balcony. "What's of such importance that you can't utter it even in front of portraits sworn to obey you?"

"It involves, in part, the story of one of the portraits," Dumbledore mused cryptically. "But first I would like you to reconfirm your position on a matter we have touched upon previously."

"Albus, you need to be more straightforward," McGonagall chided. "I'm not following."

"I shall try," Dumbledore agreed. "My question is - do you still believe that Miss Granger is romantically inclined towards Mister Potter?"

Professor McGonagall looked at him askance, as if the Headmaster had just made an indecent proposition. Finally, she answered, "I'm ordinarily extremely reluctant to speculate on student relationships. But her recent behaviour, her testimony whilst under Veritaserum, not to mention my years of observation of those two as their Head of House, leave me no doubt that this is true."

"Thank you for the confirmation, Minerva," Dumbledore said with the first smile of their conversation. "I have also seen evidence of her feelings. Moreover, I believe the same to be true of Mister Potter, based upon both personal observation and information conveyed in confidence by his late guardian, Bill Weasley. This confluence worries me greatly."

"Albus you surprise me," McGonagall blurted, looking even more scandalised. "Personally I think it would do them both of them a world of good - assuming either lives long enough to speak to the other again." At that the Deputy Headmistress' face fell noticeably.

"Sorry, I am being obscure again, a personal failing," Dumbledore responded. "I quite share your opinion. I am worried because, despite their evident feelings, they have so far succeeded only in driving themselves apart. I thought that the affinity would unite them. It has resulted in precisely the opposite effect. What we have here is a serious failure of communication."

"Speaking of communication, where is this conversation going?" Professor McGonagall asked, quite perplexed at the turn of their discussion. "This is really none of our business, but even more so, what does any of this have to do with any of your predecessors?"

"You are, of course, aware that I do not have a very high opinion of my immediate predecessor, Headmaster Dippet?"

"You have so hinted on a number of occasions," Professor McGonagall concurred.

"There is good reason for that," Dumbledore continued. "And over the last couple of months, I have been overtaken by an ever growing sense of déjà vu. Today, I came to a decision."

"Somehow it seems to me that this 'decision' of yours must involve the Potter boy and the Granger girl," Professor McGonagall deduced.

"Indeed it does," Dumbledore confirmed. "I have been on the horns of a dilemma with potentially long-lasting consequences. Against my better judgment, I refrained from even broaching the subject with either of them. Nevertheless, I have been tempted to violate one of the fundamental tenets of my position, and today I resolve to yield to temptation."

"Albus, what on Earth are you talking about?" Professor McGonagall asked, not sure whether to be relieved or scandalised.

"Have I ever told you the true circumstances of my defeat of Grindelwald?" Dumbledore asked.

"Only in the most general terms," Professor McGonagall replied. "You must excuse me if I don't see the relevance of that at the present."

"You will shortly," Dumbledore promised. "You know of course that the final engagement occurred shortly after I translated certain enchanted runes that foretold the downfall of Grindelwald?"

"Certainly," Professor McGonagall confirmed. "That's no secret. It is in all of the history books."

"Well, as is often the case in such matters, the resultant language was imprecise. The combination of 'Hogwarts' unsurpassed,' 'faultless loss of love unspoken,' and 'vexed of Muggle relations,' did not as everyone now assumes necessarily have to refer to me - notwithstanding the situation with my unfortunate half-brother Aberforth. Another could have stood in my stead."

"But Grindelwald pursued you, slaughtering first your wife, then your son, and driving you to the brink and beyond...," Professor McGonagall responded in disbelief. "And you've always been so powerful.... Wait just a minute..., have you been having another heart-to-heart with the dear Healer Huxley?"

"I repeat what I said previously," Dumbledore answered. "You have me pegged. Yes, I had occasion to reminisce with the good Healer whilst we were preparing the Room for Miss Granger's treatment."

"In that case, I'm not sure I like where this conversation might be going," Professor McGonagall retorted, "but continue nevertheless."

"At the time of the events in question, and thereafter, another possibility existed - more akin to Mister Potter's situation than to mine," Dumbledore went on. "Indeed, my task was far less daunting than his, as I had overcome the impetuosities of youth, whereas he is so awfully young to have to face such a burden.... Which was once again, the same problem...."

"I'm afraid you're lapsing into convolutions again, Albus," Professor McGonagall replied. "Please, enough allusions. Clarity is more important right now."

"True, it is a failing of mine ... one of many...," Dumbledore agreed. "Very few know this, but Thomas Marvolo Riddle - who surpassed my overall O.W.L. marks, if not my score in Transfiguration - could very well have taken my place as the one destined to defeat Grindelwald. He had the power, and the intelligence, to have succeeded. Unfortunately, he came from a background every bit as bleak as Mister Potter's, and failed ever to find love...."

"Sweet Merlin's ghost," McGonagall exploded. "Voldemort could have been the...."

"Yes," Dumbledore reiterated. "And therein lies the rub. In no small measure, I blame myself - because I could see it coming. Unfortunately, the Hogwarts rules of professorial conduct prevented me from acting."

"How...? What...?" The Headmaster's revelation reduced his deputy to incoherence.

"Mister Riddle grew up in an orphanage, an awful one," Dumbledore explained. "He was an outcast and had practically no conception of his magical abilities until I personally told him about Hogwarts and his true nature. Here, he did spectacularly academically, but as a half blood was out of place in Slytherin. The Slytherin girls of his time snubbed him for his lineage. Beyond Slytherin, house rivalry - and his own maladroitness - prevented him from finding any other outlet. Only one woman treated him like a human, a Hufflepuff named Abigail Rosen."

"I definitely don't like where this story is headed," Professor McGonagall interjected. "That girl ... oh, and what a girl she was ... was one of Voldemort's first victims - killed along with her entire family."

"Indeed," Dumbledore again confirmed. "Riddle and Rosen were interested in one another for almost two years, but for reasons I never quite understood could not overcome their differences. I'm sure you now see the parallel...."

McGonagall availed herself of the opportunity to remain stonily silent, so Dumbledore continued.

"Riddle was such a remarkable student and powerful wizard that I sought permission from Headmaster Dippet to intervene in their personal affairs, contrary to longstanding Hogwarts protocols. Dippet refused, choosing rules over reason. So I had no alternative but to stand aside - and watch him go Dark...."

Very little astonished Minerva McGonagall, Mg.D. But the sight of Albus Dumbledore shedding tears after all these years left her thunderstruck.

"So much evil.... So many deaths.... All preventable...," the Headmaster droned as he daubed his cheeks. "I could have done something about it ... but I failed. Were I just more certain of my instincts, and had I a little more disregard for the rules.... Why, the world might never have heard of Lord Voldemort or Harry Potter.... And Mister Potter might have been able to lead the ordinary life that he so craved.... That is the burden that I must bear. This is all my fault.... All of it...."

Professor McGonagall did not know how to react. The Headmaster always kept his own counsel. He never betrayed what he truly thought, not even to his trusted deputy.

"There, there, Albus," she stammered whilst awkwardly patting the old man on the back. "That was fifty years ago. There's ... there's no need for you to dwell on ancient history...."

"If only that were true," the Headmaster replied wearily. "Why do we study History of Magic...?"

"To avoid the mistakes of the past, by understanding them" the Deputy Headmistress responded. "Professor Binns' opening remarks to the First Years have not changed in a century, if ever."

"Miss Granger, I fear, has even more profoundly touched Mister Potter than Mister Riddle was touched in his day," Dumbledore declared. "I fear for the Light within him, particularly given today's events."

"What are you proposing, Albus?" McGonagall asked.

"Minerva, I am proposing that, if I am going to persist in making mistakes, I shall at least make new ones. It seems like a long shot at present, with Mister Potter missing and Miss Granger lying near death, but I have faith in them both. Should the opportunity present itself, I shall not stand aside and watch the two of them fail. In that sense, some of my detractors in the Black litigation were correct. Given Mister Potter's power and his resources, were he to succumb to the temptations of the Dark Arts, we would be better off with Voldemort."

"Surely you don't think that Potter has Dark tendencies?" Professor McGonagall asked rhetorically.

"Not now, but were Miss Granger no longer with us, I would not care to speculate," the Headmaster replied evenly. "After all he did recently express interest...."

"...In Necromancy," McGonagall completed Dumbledore's sentence.

"Precisely," the Headmaster gravely confirmed, "and should he hold himself responsible, he might be moved to try to make amends.... He would hardly be the first."

"And that's why you're expecting me to stand aside whilst you run roughshod over our mutual oath not to concern ourselves with our student's romantic relationships?" Professor McGonagall asked fiercely.

"Not at all," Dumbledore calmly replied. "I expect, and need, your assistance. You know the prophecy, and you also know that unrequited love and its attendant despair can tarnish a wizard's powers. Mister Potter will need every edge we can give him...."

She stared at the one person at Hogwarts who outranked her - astonished at what she had just heard. After a deafening silence, McGonagall finally asked, "And just what might that entail?"

"I cannot possibly have Mister Potter know anything about my decision. It would be self defeating," Dumbledore replied. "But I likewise cannot do anything without Miss Granger's consent. That would be truly unethical. I need you to have a conversation with her offering the resources of...."

This conversation would have to be continued some other time.

"What is that Albus!?!" McGonagall gasped in alarm, pointing to a rapidly approaching object silhouetted against what had indeed become a spectacular sunset.

"I have no idea," Dumbledore replied, drawing his wand. "Be ready and stay back."

BRAAAAAK!!

A large leathery creature - a refugee from a bad science fiction movie - bore down on them. A grey-clad rider no larger than a First Year, prone on the beast's back, guided it in. Pulling back on the reins, he brought the huge animal, the size of a small airliner, to a halt by the Headmaster's balcony.

When the rider sat up in the saddle, his goblin ethnicity was quite apparent. He and Dumbledore had a staccato conversation in a language Professor McGonagall did not understand. The rider then handed the Headmaster a green jade cylinder. Then the rider wheeled the quetzalcoatlus around and departed as rapidly as he had come.

"What did it ... er ... he say, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked nervously.

"He had a confidential message for me, but did not know its contents," Dumbledore replied, equally anxious. "Come inside, I have a reader."

At that precise moment, however, Dumbledore's amulet glowed green with an urgent message through Order channels.

"What is it?" Dumbledore barked into a mirror he withdrew from his robes, his annoyance plain. This impatience only increased when the leonine features of Minister Scrimgeour appeared.

"I apologise for the disturbance, but under the circumstances this just couldn't wait," the Minister declared. "I've just had an urgent request for information from the Muggle Minister - from Prime Minister Major personally."

"What happened now?" Dumbledore asked, trying to juggle the mirror, open the cylinder, and insert its message into one of his spindly silver gadgets all at once.

"It appears that we are in the midst of an international incident," Minister Scrimgeour explained. "This goes well beyond anything that the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes is capable of handling. I've convened the highest level Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee meeting in recent history, but we're stumped. We need your help."

"Perhaps if you first told me what this is about?" Dumbledore replied coolly.

"Those ruddy magical shock waves we all felt.... Apparently some sort of magical explosion caused them," the Minister reported. "The results were detected by one of those pesky American spy saddlemites...."

"I believe that is 'satellite,'" Dumbledore corrected, "but go on." Finally, he had properly inserted the goblin message into the translation device on his desk.

"The Yanks thought Britain had been attacked with something the Muggles call a thermonuclear device," Minister Scrimgeour continued. "They went to some sort of red alert - I think Major called it 'deaf calm two.' Fortunately cooler heads prevailed as to that threat. But our problem is that the Muggles traced the source to a valley in Scotland. We just had an Accidental Magic Reversal Squad report back. They were denied access. The goblins have seized that territory. All we know is that it's total destruction up there. Far too big a job just to be covered up. Can you suggest anything?"

Dumbledore was still trying to formulate a response when the translator started its loud clattering. He tried to pay attention to both the message and the Minister.

"Dumbledore! Are you there? I can't hear you!" Scrimgeour was practically shouting from the mirror.

"I am indeed present," the Headmaster replied, "but I am also receiving an important message. Can you wait a minute?"

"Like Hell," demanded the Minister. "I'm trying to keep the bloody Muggles from starting bloody World War Three over this. Remember, it's an election year across the Pond...."

The translator clattered away.

The Headmaster's eyes nearly flew out of his head. He took two steps one way, and then remembered he was on a mirror with the Minister of Magic. He had to pull a rabbit out of his hat quickly.

Only one analogous situation came to Dumbledore's mind.

"I have to go, Minister. I have just received an important message that requires my personal attention. Yes.... I am aware Minister, that your matters are important too.... But this simply cannot keep.... I suggest that you use the same excuse that the Russian Ministry offered after the 1908 Siberian disaster - blame it on an encounter with a piece of a comet."

With that, Dumbledore sheathed the mirror with his good hand before the sputtering Minister had a chance to respond.

"My dear Minerva, I need you to alert Healer Huxley ... immediately. I am afraid his services are about be put to yet another excellent - if unexpected - use."

Sometimes it was best to obey without question. Hurling Floo powder into Dumbledore's office fireplace whilst the Headmaster continued reviewing to the message, McGonagall shouted, "Paracelsus Huxley!"

The Healer's richly bearded face popped out of the flames. "What surprise do you have up your ample sleeves now?" he asked.

"Can you accompany me on yet another difficult and delicate mission?" Dumbledore asked.

"As this patient is stable, I can," Hlr. Huxley agreed, wondering if his day could possibly become even more peculiar. "Where are we off to now?"

"I have just received word from the goblins. Mister Potter is currently in their custody. He is alive, but in rather poor condition - something unusual that seems to have been lost in the translation.... They are asking for us to provide immediate medical attention."

"I'll be there in an instant. Just a few things I need to tidy up here," Hlr. Huxley answered. His day was indeed going to be more bizarre - probably the most memorable of his professional life, which was saying something.

"Oh, and could you arrange for a ... Transfiguration specialist ... to accompany us?" Dumbledore added.

58

C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch36 destroyer of worlds.doc 10/25/04

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