Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 67 - Not Chinese New Year

Hermione by his side on the Château's broad front lawn, Harry smiled broadly whilst waving good-bye to Andromeda and Ted Tonks. The newly reinstated member of the Black family and her Muggle husband had spent the last five days reacquainting themselves with a place she had not seen in a quarter of a century and he had seen exactly once - and nearly not lived to tell of it.

The presence of her parents had been just the ticket for Tonks. She seemed emotionally recharged after spending almost a week with them at the Château. Her hair, a window to her real emotions, was now something besides mousy brown almost half the time.

For the moment, it had reverted to brown.

This time, though, everyone knew why. Tonks' parents' time at the Château was over, at least for now. They had plans - Muggle plans - for New Years Eve, and thus their idyll was at an end.

Likewise almost over was the holiday for Harry and his friends.

It had been a good week, Harry thought.

Jazzy had become quite familiar with the Snitch search simulator. Secure that Harry had purchased it "for the team," she literally spent hours inside - in her own little world of her, a broom, a Golden Snitch, and perhaps an ice storm or a cyclone.

And Neville ... the previous day he finally consented to show everyone some of the magic he had been diligently practising. His demonstration had involved a fallow pasture, the Staff of Asclepius (as expected), and an expanse of grass that, Neville managed to convince was really Mimbulus mimbletonia.

But now, everyone but Neville (who intended to spend the rest of the holiday with his Gran) would depart for Hogwarts in a couple of days. Hermione's timetable drove everything. Her Healer training followed a different schedule from the usual Hogwarts classes. She had a half-term exam on three, January - two days before any other classes resumed. She wanted a full day of revising, without interruptions.

Of course, Harry insisted on returning to the Castle with her.

Harry's presence virtually guaranteed interruptions - but of a sort Hermione did not mind much (if at all). Harry could be very persuasive. She had actually been revising quite a bit over the past week....

Harry's ... um ... persuasive powers had kept the Château's staff quite busy repairing windows, rehanging pictures, reshelving books, and the like, following his and Hermione's nocturnal (and otherwise) encounters with Harmonic Convergence.

During much of the brief, pari-Solstice daylight, Harry contented himself with flying, running (pronouncing himself fully recovered from the muscular atrophy he suffered in Death Eater captivity), and trying to master the advanced magicks he was practising.

He needed the practice.

His Animagus transformations had barely advanced - but neither had Hermione's. Many more lessons with Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, respectively, would be required before their efforts would produce anything worthwhile, at least (in Harry's case) through conscious effort.

But Harry was making somewhat more progress in channelling the Fifth Element non-destructively. Whilst still not particularly useful, exercises such as creating ten-metre piles of cotton balls, or making streams flow backwards, at least were less dangerous than uncontrolled and explosive magical emissions.

Somewhat better, but still needing work, were Harry's "cryogenic experiments" - the term Hermione used to describing attempts at powering Cooling Charms with (presumably) the Fifth Element. Freezing helium was still beyond him, but at least Harry could induce superfluidity on a regular basis.

Nor had he managed to create that mysterious condensate, at least Harry thought not. The condensate presented the additional problem that nobody - that is to say, not even Hermione - knew what the stuff should look like. He might succeed and never know he had.

Occlumency was the brightest spot. Dumbledore would pose the ultimate test, but Harry's defenses had become strong enough to exclude Hermione totally (when he tried). He could also resist Mad-Eye, who was not only more experienced but played rougher. His cranky guardian provoked Harry to experiment with more ... robust ... forms of mental defense than Harry could bring himself to practise with Hermione.

Speaking of whom.... She was overtly seeking his attention. Her expression was almost severe - she rather reminded him of Professor McGonagall - so Harry knew what was coming. He had dithered long enough on his recent promise to her, and now was the moment of truth.

'Harry, you've been dilly dallying all week,' she Legilimenced to him. 'It's time we sat down and figured this out, as painful as it'll be....'

With a grimace, he nodded to her, turned on his heel, and passed under the Château's massive portcullis. It would indeed be painful, but she implicitly held out the promise of something more worthwhile when it was over....

This time for sure.

This chore completed, things would improve - a lot. He felt his back pocket. Securely inside was something that Harry hoped would make for a Happy New Year indeed. He had decided against giving it on Christmas. New Years was a more future-oriented time.

Should all go well, and it should, Harry expected that, with a couple of hot brooms, an Invisibility Cloak, and some stout Warming Charms, the couple would welcome the New Year with a Harmonic Convergence best not attempted indoors.

They entered the Proprietor's Suite. Hermione led Harry to the cozy study to the left of their bedroom. They sat across from each other, a spindly-legged table in between.

"Now, Harry, we really need to plan what exactly to tell Professor Dumbledore about Cho," she lectured. "I've let you put it off, but we can't wait any longer. We'll be returning to Hogwarts soon."

"I know," Harry responded glumly. "But when I think about it, telling Dumbledore anything finishes with me telling him everything ... about what we learnt, how, and then our ... er ... argument ... just before I was kidnapped.... He's too damn clever. I really don't want...."

"Well, we just won't get into that," Hermione declared querulously. "I'll come with you. I'm not afraid to tell him, 'None of your business.' He doesn't need to know everything, even if he asks. What's important isn't that, but Cho being controlled and forced by her parents to carry on the way she has. That's all that matters."

"But we still don't know exactly what 'carry on' is," Harry resisted. "Now your other plan...."

"My other plan is no longer feasible," Hermione briskly cut across. "Lao Kung's note shoved that into a cocked hat. That plan presumed that her parents would put a stop to things once they knew. But the tattoo means it's their own doing. So things are even worse than we thought. Cho's probably at least as much a victim in all this as Ron.... I feel terrible for her now. We've been quite cruel when what she really needed was help."

"I doubt that Ron thinks he's a victim," Harry pointed out.

Hermione sniffed at that thought. "Who cares? You and I both know that dear Ronald isn't thinking with the right head and hasn't for quite some time. The question is what we can, and should, do about it. I think we shouldn't tell Dumbledore any unnecessary details - as long as you don't mind my taking some heat for all this."

"What do you have in mind?" Harry inquired. To him it sounded like Hermione was formulating yet another scheme.

She was.

"Why don't we just say that this all started with a tip from your Muggle cousin? That has the advantage of being true," Hermione half asked and half told him.

"Okay, but then comes the part I really don't want to tell anyone," Harry pointed out.

"So skip it." Hermione raised her hand to her chin whilst thinking things through. "All that happened was you told me about Dudley and that fake name - that Liko Mee. I'll take it from there. I'll say that before the Order took over my house, I ran some computer searches and found the little nasties in question, but never had a chance to tell you. After you were rescued, we did what we did...."

Harry smiled for the first time since entering the room. "That sounds like a rather clever plan," he told her.

"...Only I don't want to involve Luna in all this," Hermione kept talking. "I'll take all the blame. She's has quite enough of her own issues not to need anything more."

Harry seized the opportunity for an answer to a nagging question. "I suppose that's what those private sessions you've been having are about?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that," Hermione responded quite quickly.

"What then?" Harry persisted.

She told him. "It started with her wanting me to teach her about all this website business. There's no connectivity here, so Luna's frustrated that she can't start with her little Onion online news service. Beyond that is her Christmas gift to me ... Druidic magic. It's eerie stuff. She's been trying to teach me, but I'm not very adept with ancient Keltoi enchantments. She's insistent, so I humour her and keep trying. That's mostly what we're doing now, since I've passed along every bit of what little I know about websites. I think we're done for now ... nothing more till back at the Castle, thankfully."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know what's worse - Dumbledore bombarding me with Occlumency and details about Voldemort, or Luna talking your head off about Druids. I know it's part of who she is, but jeez, they lost to the Romans two thousand years ago. Umm ... what are you looking for...?"

Hermione had started bustling about. "A quill and some parchment," she quickly replied. "We'd best return to the matter at hand. I'd like to write out exactly what we're going to tell Dumbledore."

Quite some time later, a burgeoning collection of crumpled balls of parchment on the floor was mute testament to the devil being in the details. Each of their stabs at the truth - but less than the whole truth - came a cropper at one point or another. The frustration both felt was palpable.

"I give up," Harry growled, throwing down his quill in disgust. Greeted by Hermione's scathing glance, he hastily added: "For now, that is. I think I need to reread Lao Kung's note."

"Might not be a bad idea," Hermione sighed. "I'll get it - I need a loo break anyway. Meet me by the vanity. Those mirrors should make our reading easier. It has a ready light source."

Harry did as told, and very shortly Hermione approached with the two-page note. She cast her Translating Charm and started reading aloud.

Harry jotted down the translation. But it was awkward. After a couple of sentences, whilst reflexively squeezing his aching hand, he let go of the second page.

Deftly Hermione grabbed it. "You dropped this," she stated the obvious.

"Doesn't matter, practically nothing on it," Harry said dismissively. "What's the next sentence?"

Hermione barely heard him, she had inhaled so loudly. "Look!" she said sharply.

Harry did. At the very bottom of the second page, almost lost in the ornate marginal design, were some stray letters that, had things been different, neither would have given a second thought.

But things were not different - very much not different.

Those otherwise meaningless letters held deep meaning indeed.

K₃[Fe(CN)₆]

"Farmer's reducer!" Harry blurted out in immediate recognition.

Hermione simultaneously did the same, "Potassium ferricyanide!"

"Harry," she quickly added, "did you show Lao Kung my ... well ... I considered it a ... suicide note."

Reluctantly, Harry tried recalling that depressing and jumbled time. "Yes, I think I did.... Yes.... He had to know why I needed ... Chinese Legilimency for ... to go in - after you." It was barely more than a whisper.

Impulsively, Harry's arm slipped around her. He pulled her close and looked sadly into her eyes. "Hermione, I don't...."

"I'm oh so glad you did, Harry," she responded in kind. "But let's worry about the present right now. Why did Lao Kung decide to imitate me? Do you have any of the stuff handy here or on the grounds?"

"No idea!" Harry answered. He jumped up.

In his haste, he almost tipped the vanity, but Hermione was quick with a Stabilising Charm.

Harry bolted for the pull-cord that summoned the Château staff. "I'm sure going to find out ASAP," he told her.

Minutes later, Harry had set the staff a-scramble with an all-points bulletin for Farmer's Reducer - the free-for-all encouraged by a 500-Galleon reward to whoever first brought Harry what he was after.

That done, Hermione summoned Dobby. When she was finished, the house-elves were enlisted in the hunt.

For the next hour or so, Château Blackwalls was the site of chaotic scenes. Staff and elves alike all but stumbled over one another in frenzied pursuit of an obscure chemical. It was enough that the Proprietor and his mistress suddenly wanted it very badly - on the eve of a two-day Gringotts Holiday, no less - although both their need and urgency remained bafflingly obscure to those in the hunt.

Indeed, to some longer-serving staff members and elves, the burst of inexplicable and apparently madcap activity prompted comparisons with Arcturus Black's reign as Proprietor. Quite barmy he had been, and prone to similar fits of enigmatic mania. Still, given his much grimmer successors, most memories of Arcturus' time were relatively fond.

Ultimately, the elves won out, but not by much.

Just before the clock struck nine, Dobby, exhilarated with triumph, popped loudly into the Proprietor's Suite. By his side was very bashful little elf neither Harry nor Hermione had ever noticed before.

"We's got what you's being wanting, Harry Potter, sir," Dobby proudly announced with little pretense of servility. The other elf goggled as Dobby grabbed the large frosted glass bottle from his limp hands and thrust it at Harry. The distinctive reddish colour confirmed that the contents were exactly what the label stated.

"Thank you, Dobby." Harry grinned as he took the bottle.

"No sir, no sir," Dobby blurted. "It's not me. This elf here be a-finding it - in an old work shed, long abandoned.... He's being who deserves credit."

The extremely shy subject of Dobby's praise probably would have popped off straightaway, had Dobby allowed it. Hermione smiled at the youngish elf and asked, in her gentlest voice, "What is your name?"

"I-I's being Blonny, Mistress," the little elf squeaked.

"And what do you do?" she followed, trying to put the fidgety elf at ease.

"I's ... mostly being a riddler, ma'am," came the reply.

"That's rich," Harry chortled. "Tell us one of your riddles, then."

At that request, the poor thing nearly fainted. "I-I-I.... Master Black, sir, I's ... I's being working in the caves...."

Hermione flashed Harry a dissatisfied glare. 'He works in your champagnery, Harry,' she Legilimenced. 'Let me handle this, please?'

Turning back to the almost petrified elf, she showed him the bottle. "Blonny, you have done very well. I am most pleased. Can you tell me where you found this?"

"Yes, ma'am," was the very high-pitched response.

Hermione waited, but heard only silence. The frightened elf was acting very, very literally. "Where did you find it, then?" she asked again.

"In ... in the old picture place. Nobody's being using it, ma'am," Blonny answered.

"Why was it in the picture place?" Hermione asked.

"I's been told that ... before the magic boxes ... they's a-used it to make pictures, ma'am," Blonny shook like a leaf under Hermione's questioning. "...Pictures that's not moving," the elf added, "if such a thing's being real...."

Hermione accepted the explanation and let the plainly overawed Blonny leave. Recalling Dobby's complaints about the Château house-elves' retrograde mindset, she did not even bother offering the monetary reward. That little elf probably would have fainted - and undoubtedly would have refused it after being revived.

Dobby promised a more suitable form of recompense for Blonny.

Hermione asked Dobby to stay and help prepare the chemical solution she and Harry needed. Dobby had just trotted into the nearby master bathroom when the suite's main door opened and Annie slipped in. Seeing Harry and Hermione together, she dropped into her best court curtsey.

Harry rolled his eyes. He would never be comfortable receiving such treatment, whether from goblins, humans, or elves. "Umm ... please rise and ...er ... state your business," he spoke to the still bowed witch.

"Milord, Milady," Annie addressed them. "I have what you requested." She produced a clear bottle full of bright red Farmer's Reducer and a silver spreading tool that went with it.

"Thank you, Annie," Hermione responded brightly. "Where did you find it? You've beaten the rest of the staff."

Annie smiled a 500-Galleon smile. "It was in the same library that I showed you earlier, Milady. A note said it makes some of the fainter texts easier to read."

"Yes, palimpsests," Hermione received the bottle from Annie. At that moment, Dobby returned, levitating before him the other bottle, a cup of solution, and a damp rag.

Annie's face fell. "I see I didn't beat everyone, Milady," she sighed, using a short curtsey this time. "I'll be going now."

"Wait!" Harry blurted. "We both know the elves don't accept rewards. That was only for the staff. You found this first, so you deserve it." He scratched a couple of sentences on a stray piece of parchment, signed it, and gave it to Annie. "Take this to Jerry, and claim your reward."

"Oh, thank you Milord," Annie said sincerely. "This will mean so much to my family. And Milord...?"

Hermione looked closely at the young lady. Her face wore a troubled expression.

Harry nodded for her to continue.

She did. "Milord ... I'm not asking to know anything.... But whatever you're doing ... be careful whom you tell.... Not everyone's to be trusted.... I shan't say any more."

"Thank you for what you did say, Annie," Hermione broke in. "No matter what you might suspect, please don't tell anyone what we're doing...."

"Not at all," Annie agreed breathlessly, and let herself out.

"What was that all about?" Harry wondered after they were alone again.

"I told you about Annie," Hermione explained. "She gave me the Sophocles manuscript and showed me the library. She's a closeted Muggle-born, probably the only one on the staff. It's likely that she knew about certain other uses of Farmer's Reducer.... She's just told us not to trust the staff with this secret." She pointed to Lao Kung's note.

"I've heard the same from Mad-Eye," Harry replied in a whisper. "Too many worked too long for Malfoy."

"The elves is being loyal," Dobby hastened to reassure. "They's being passive, but loyal. I has a crew a-working on Grimmauld tonight - like you wanted. It's being Blonny's reward."

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry told the one house-elf he trusted above all others. He took the chemical soaked cloth in his right hand.

Dobby looked ready to pop off, but Hermione told him, "Stay."

Dobby said nothing, but looked at her curiously.

"Loyalty, Dobby," Hermione explained. "We trust you and want you here. We don't know what we might have to do. Could you find Dumbledore if necessary?"

"I's not knowing where the Headmaster's being," Dobby stated. "And I was 'pecting to boss the Grimmauld elves.... But I does whatever you wants."

By then Harry was applying the cloth to the blank second page of Lao Kung's note, below the wizard's chop.

Sure enough, with a few pats emerged the same network of blue lines that Hermione's note had burned forever into Harry's memory. It gradually resolved into characters - vaguely Chinese, but much simpler than Lao Kung's usually intricate calligraphy.

"What the heck is that?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Oracle Bones script, I think," Hermione said. "We learnt just enough to recognize it in Ancient Runes, no more. It's extremely old Chinese writing, usually for Divination."

Harry looked uncertain after her mention of their mutual least favourite subject. "Will your translating spell work on this?"

She shrugged. "I doubt Lao Kung would send us a secret message that we couldn't read." Hermione performed the Translating Charm she had put to good use during Harry's disappearance.

The characters shimmered and shifted to a westernised text, but nothing Harry could decipher. "Is this written backwards, too?" he asked, looking rather put out.

Hermione held the transformed text in front of the vanity's lighted mirrors. "Yes, but it's also Latin," Hermione pronounced. "This script is so old that I guess it doesn't have a direct English translation."

"Are you going to translate, so I can read it?" Harry asked.

"I would, but my charm isn't perfect," Hermione told him. "Since I can read Latin, I thought I'd rather not lose anything more in translation."

So she read.

The more Hermione read, the more amazed and disturbed they both became.

Harry:

I regret the additional security, but it is essential. This Xiao Jing is of the White Lotus Triad, China's most powerful Dark magic society. Their infiltration of our society dwarfs that of the Death Eaters in yours. Because the Triad's tentacles reach widely, this letter could be intercepted - putting you in extreme danger. Thus, I imitate Lady Granger.

The tattoo: the design is limited to the highest levels of the White Lotus. They are as ruthless as Voldemort. Its sharp outlines connote active and recent use. Watch yourself. Not even a wizard of your power should cross the White Lotus.

Go to the authorities immediately - to Dumbledore, if a Hogwarts student is involved. Otherwise, tell a trusted Auror.

I cannot leave this to you. It is too serious. I will try contacting Dumbledore myself. However, I am not well, and you may reach him faster.

Do not delay.

"Dumbledore!" they yelped in unison the moment Hermione finished.

"How?" Harry asked frantically.

"Is the Floo Network still operational?" Hermione asked rhetorically. Glancing at the clock, she frowned and answered her own question. "It's after eleven, I doubt it." Still, she tossed Floo Powder into the Proprietor's private Floo.

Nothing.

"Can we Apparate?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

"Even if we could Apparate all the way to Hogwarts, the Château's Anti-Apparition wards will be activating. And we can't Apparate into Hogwarts, anyway. We'd be stranded," Harry answered.

"Yes, I knew that," Hermione admitted. "How silly of me ... not thinking straight...."

Harry did not even bother to rag on Hermione for her slip up. '"We have Hedwig and Athena," he remembered.

"But Hedwig's pretty tired," Hermione fretted. "Is she up to it?"

Harry's eyes brightened. "Actually, I've got better," he reminded her. "The Château's international fast post owls."

"Let's go!"

The pair bolted from the Proprietor's Suite and raced towards the Château's owlery.

"Hold it right there, yeh two," a familiar voice brought them up short. "There's something dodgy going on, and I wanna know what. Yeh should know better than this."

"Mad-Eye!" Harry yelled. He grabbed the aged Auror by the arm so roughly that the older man almost lost his balance. "In here!"

They all but dragged Moody into the nearest room. Harry had barely finished performing Silencing and other Charms when Moody asked angrily, "What the Hell do yeh think yer doing? Yeh got some sorta secret message din't yeh?" The ex-Auror's bright blue magical eye spun nearly out of its socket.

Colour drained from two younger faces. "How did you know?" Harry asked.

"I lived through the first war," Moody reminded them smugly, his magical eye slowing to what passed for normal. "I worked with resistance groups. I know what the hell Farmer's reducer is fer. But yeh two, yeh go askin' fer it, willy-nilly ta the entire blasted staff. Yeh can't trust 'em, I tell yeh."

Hermione fully appreciated Moody's relentless paranoia, but she weighed Annie's warning and Harry's comment. Maybe Mad-Eye was right. "I hope you have very good grounds to back that up, Mad-Eye," she countered.

"The bloody best!" Moody retorted almost contemptuously. Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper - despite two Silencing Charms and sundry other magic securing the room's only door - he revealed, "Whilst yeh've been lollygaggin,' I've been doin' what guardians are s'posed ta do ... that's guard. I've inspected all the bloody wards, and not just from some remote location. Boots on the bloody ground, I've done...."

"Yes," probed Hermione, prompting the older man to get to the point.

"I wasn't gonna tell yeh 'till back at Hogwarts," Moody continued, "but some sonovawitch inserted a secret back door inta the intent-ta-harm wards. Really well hidden.... Iffn I hadn't gone lookin' at each segment individual-like, I never woulda found it."

Harry and Hermione scowled in unison. Their remnant trust in the staff vanished with this stark confirmation of Annie's warning. "What does it do?" Harry asked angrily.

"Whoever did this could...," Moody lowered voice, "let Deaters inta the Château with nobody bein' the wiser. I can't remove it without touchin' off the wards and lettin' 'em know, but I covered the breach with a counter spell. Yeh two young 'uns won't trigger anything now, but anybody else.... Well let's say I used my imagination and leave it at that."

"So you think the staff has a traitor?" Hermione asked bluntly.

"More 'n one, I reckon," Moody replied gruffly. "That ward breach was new ... less'n a year old. Any of 'em coulda done it. Maybe the whole worthless lot of 'em's traitors. Wouldn't trust 'em, Harry. Not as far as I can throw this Château. So don't go broadcastin' that yeh've been receivin' secret messages."

"Where is it?" Harry wanted to know.

Instead of answering, Moody dug into his robes, producing a tattered piece of parchment. "Here, I drew a map," he showed them. "I don't think yeh know the boundaries well enough fer me ta describe it accurately fer yeh."

Harry snatched the parchment, took a quick look and agreed that Mad-Eye was right. He stuffed it in his pocket, which it now shared with that prior surprise - now quite forgotten. "Thanks ... er ... Dad." Harry stumbled on the newfangled (for him) phrase. "And we've got news for you, as well."

They told Mad-Eye everything they had learnt about Cho, Ron, and the tattoo.

Moody was sceptical, to say the least.

"Yer tellin' me that this Cho Chang is controlled by these White Lotus Triad fellers, and they're makin' her do Muggle pornos? An atop all that, these Triads are makin' her seduce yer friend Ron?"

"Umm.... That's right," Harry shakily confirmed. Mad-Eye's summation of the story they had pieced together sounded considerably less plausible than when they had thought of it themselves.

"Sounds crazy ta me," Mad-Eye declared abruptly. "What proof yeh got?"

"We sent a picture of Cho's tattoo to Dumbledore's friend, Kung Meng-tse, and he just told us about the Triads and that we should contact the Headmaster immediately," Hermione told Moody. "Would you like to see that?"

Moody was amenable, so they returned to the Proprietor's Suite. Unfortunately, Moody did not read Latin, let alone Oracle Bones Chinese, so that letter proved "the square root of sod all" to him. Hermione's oral translation remained the only confirmation.

But Moody, who did not trust many people, did trust Harry and Hermione.

"Yeh mean this is the same wizard Dumbledore brought in ta help yeh rescue Hermione last September?" Mad-Eye asked Harry.

"Exactly!" Harry exclaimed. "I'll take all the Veritaserum you want!"

"All right, all right..., that's not necessary," Moody retreated, shaking his head. "I'll contact Dumbledore fer yeh."

He raised his sleeve, revealing a copper band encircling upper arm, and made some motions with his wand.

Nothing happened.

"Merlin's whiskers!" Moody swore.

Mad-Eye repeated the process.

Again nothing.

"Merlin's bollocks," Moody swore even more vehemently.

He resorted to a couple of other communications devices (so Harry and Hermione supposed). More colourful swearing ensued.

Moody angrily threw all the artefacts to the floor. "Dammit, they've already shut down the system!" Moody cursed. "That bloody changeover ta yer friends' blasted gadgets is goin' on. Well it looks like yeh...."

Boom! Boom! BOOM!!

Three reports, each louder than the last, rattled the windows.

"Get down!" Moody screamed as he shoved the pair to the floor. The room plunged into darkness as the old Auror's Deluminator snuffed out every source of light. He crawled forward, warning, "We're under attack."

Crackling sounds followed the explosions. Bright light flooded through the windows.

From the floor, Harry and Hermione flicked out their own wands. They watched anxiously as Moody's shadowed form slouched towards the window. His magical eye left its socket altogether and crept to the windowsill. Whatever was out there was still producing staccato, popping sounds.

When the pair looked for themselves, they relaxed for the first time since translating Lao Kung's letter.

The sky above the Château's front garden was indeed alight - but with a huge pyrotechnic display.

Brilliant sodium-yellow light spelled "NEW YEAR." Above and below, formed by equally bright rubidium flare, were the words "Happy" and "Harry" - except that the Ps switched to Rs, and vice versa. The fiery words read, alternatively, "Happy NEW YEAR Harry" and "Harry NEW YEAR Happy." This text was surrounded by an ever-changing constellation of smaller Catherine Wheels and starbursts.

By now Mad-Eye was leaning from the open window, looking for somebody to hex. Harry shouted, "Mad-Eye! Stop! We haven't been attacked! I think we've got guests!" He sheathed his wand and made for the door. It was easy to find, even without interior lights, with the pyrotechnic glare lighting the room.

From the hallway Harry heard quite a commotion on the ground floor. With stomps and squeaks, wet boots jostled and slid across the polished marble of the Château's grand entryway.

"Oi! That's not a friendly welcome!" one upset - and well-known - voice squawked. "We're on your side!"

The response was unintelligible.

Another equally upset voice echoed. "Even for a goblin, it isn't!"

"I wouldn't talk to them that way," a rather put-out sounding Tonks cautioned.

Jerry McAllister's strained words echoed that warning. "You're quite fortunate you weren't Transfigured into pond scum after that stunt you pulled...."

Harry quickened his pace, moving towards the main staircase.

"Where's your hospitality?"

"Where are your manners?"

Reaching the top of the stairs, Harry called out, "Fred! George!"

The scuffling participants on the ground floor looked up. Whilst the staff bowed or curtseyed, several goblins, hearing his greeting to the two wizards they were manhandling, immediately prostrated themselves.

"Anyor!" Harry shouted to them to stop.

"To the rescue, just in time," Fred commented, his relief evident to all. "The man's specialty...."

George matched Fred quip for a quip. "We've been making the acquaintance of your incredibly convivial staff."

"With any more of their acquaintance, we'd probably be replacing our bits," Fred followed.

"That is, if we could find them," George replied.

Harry broke into their back and forth. "What are you doing...?"

"Not so bloody fast, yeh goofy gits!" Moody's cross words exploded from behind Harry. His harsh tone caused Harry's goblin guards to bare their teeth and brandish their weapons at the speaker.

"Afer we go any further, I want ta know some somethin' from yeh two that proves who yeh really are."

"As if the New Years' version of our Deflagration Deluxe isn't good enough?" George protested theatrically. "We customised it for Harry."

"Harry's been our partner for well over a year," Fred rose to Moody's challenge.

"We pranked him utterly to get him to his surprise birthday party," George offered a split second later.

"Not good enough!" Moody roared, his eye spinning. "Not tonight anyway. Too many others know those answers."

With a crowd of staff and goblins looking on uncertainly, Tonks leapt into the breach. "I posted to you two just the other day. What did I tell you about Harry?"

Harry and Moody looked peculiarly at Tonks. Not even they knew the answer to that question.

Fred began, "You told us...," then he cracked a mischievous smile, "...well, right after you finished enlightening us with all of his and Hermione's naughty goings-on, you told us he was practising with the balloons and the xistera, and was bloody good at it...."

Harry gasped. He had been practising, though not a lot, and Tonks had watched several times. But what was she doing - telling the Twins, of all people, about his sexcapades with his fiancée? He was embarrassed and Hermione would be furious....

"I did not!" Tonks all but shrieked. Looking up the stairs towards Harry, her hair sprouting orange curlicues, she protested, "Harry, now they're pranking me. Don't believe them." Turning back to the Twins, she brandished her wand threateningly. "And what did you hooligans write back?"

George answered this time. "I challenged Harry to a match, because I've been practising too ... got everything we need right outside...." He shot a sideways glance at Fred. "Oh, and then, I challenged Harry to another test of skill. Me and Angelina against him and Hermione, to.... Aaargh!"

George never finished that sentence as Tonks' wand flashed and both he and Fred started blowing bubbles - soap bubbles.

"It's them," Tonks declared. "And I didn't, Harry...."

Hermione was now standing just behind Harry. "I don't doubt that," she reassured her long-time minder, "but why were you exchanging post with those two lowlifes?"

"These lowlifes ... well, I sought reinforcements for tonight, with the changeover and all," Tonks told him.

"And the Order sent us these berks," Moody tartly summed up.

"That's us .... Pffblt...." George confirmed, still reacting to having his mouth involuntarily washed out with soap. "The bloody cavalry to the rescue, us."

"All the Order could spare," Fred picked up. "All the rest are scattered about Britain, keeping the bloody peace during the changeover. We're bearing belated Christmas presents, but they're still outside where we were ambushed."

"I'll be back, pronto," Moody told Harry. He limped off towards the Château's owlery.

As Harry's direction the staff levitated inside what presumably was a selection of the Twins' finest Wizard Wheezes. All the while he had to listen to George's boasts about embarrassing Harry's in the upcoming xistera contest, and to Fred's chortling over the fireworks display. They had ignited it without warning in retaliation for their forced flight beginning at the Château's property line, courtesy of the great estate's extensive anti-Apparition wards.

'Harry, come up. We haven't time,' Hermione's voice resonated in his mind. He turned and saw her serious expression. She jerked her head with a partial twist to indicate that he should follow her up the stairs. 'Bring them,' she added.

Her message was clear. It was time to enlist the Twins.

"Fred, George, could I speak to you privately upstairs?" Harry said, cutting off their jolly stories.

They immediately agreed, and the four started off.

"Tonks, could you come, too?" Hermione added. To the remaining onlookers amongst the staff she suggested, "We'll be back soon enough. Isn't it time to commence the New Years' festivities?"

That was the year's biggest party. The staff needed no further encouragement.

Harry led the small group into the Proprietor's Suite. Tonks uttered some protective charms after they entered. Fred and George could not help commenting on the grand and opulent lifestyle (or, at least, room) Harry and Hermione had fallen into.

"Bloody hell, look at this place," Fred exclaimed whilst gawking exaggeratedly.

"What do you want?" George carried on. "Us jesters to yuk it up for the king and queen?"

"This is serious," Harry brought them up short. "It's about Ron. Something dodgy's going on...."

"I doubt it," Fred insisted. "Ronniekins doesn't have a dodgy bone in his body right about now, I reckon."

"Finally let out to play after being cooped up at the Burrow for a fortnight," George commented with a snicker.

"No, seriously, this is about Cho Chang," Harry forced himself to continue.

"So's this," Fred shot back.

"What's that?" Tonks whirled around. Her wand was out in a flash. Again, she stared out the window.

"Not us," Fred demurred. "We only set off one Deflagration Deluxe."

"One a night, that is," George couldn't help but add.

"No, that," Tonks followed. "Lumos!"

They heard a persistent soft bashing against one of the leaded windows, as if the light had attracted an overly large moth. But it was the dead of winter, and so were all local flying insects.

"That's no moth - that's an owl!" Hermione declared.

Tonks hastened to the windows. She struggled a bit until she recognised the problem. "Sorry about that," she muttered and ended her own Sealing Charm. The bird shot in, hooting like a demented oboe and flying like a pinball hexed with Tarantallegra.

"It's Pig.... That means it's from Ron," George pointed out.

As the crazed bird flitted this way and that, Harry glimpsed flashes of red in the owl's fleeting form. Suddenly straightening his course, Pig flew full speed directly at Harry.

"Impedimenta!" Hermione shrieked.

Just before slamming into the invisible barrier Pigwidgeon attempted to swerve. He bounced off and cart-wheeled three times in an arc passing directly over Harry's head. The hard spin flung off the owl's burden as, with a loud squawk, Pigwidgeon flopped headlong into the gold satin curtains that (tonight, anyway) hung about the pair's bedchamber.

Harry was watching the crackbrained little owl's progress when, "Look out, Harry...!"

Tonks' shout shifted Harry' attention to what the owl had more or less dropped at his feet.

He caught but a brief glance at the smoking red envelope before it blew open with a loud bang.

Ron's angry, profane voice boomed out, filling the large room.

"YOU BLOODY LIAR! YOU PROMISED TO SEND THE EFFING POTION! I REMINDED YOU TWICE - CHINESE NEW YEAR, DAMMIT - AND STILL YOU DIDN'T! I WISH YOU'D AT LEAST HAD THE DECENCY TO RETURN IT WHEN YOU GOT TOO BLEEDING COWARDLY TO KEEP YOUR WORD. BUT NO! YOU HAD TO SABOTAGE ME! I KNOW SHE BLOODY WELL PUT YOU UP TO THIS!! ALWAYS DEVIOUS, THAT ONE!! YOU'RE FRIGGING WHIPPED!! WELL, TO HELL WITH YOU BOTH!! I'LL DO THIS MYSELF!!!"

Its message delivered, the fiery red envelope exploded, showering Harry and the rest with bits of scarlet confetti that smelled of sulphur.

Harry's reaction, besides the severe ringing in his ears, was one of shock and surprise.

Hermione's was one of shock and realisation. She rounded on Fred and George, who were still sniggering at their younger brother's ill-timed Howler. Addressing them, she demanded, "Where exactly is Ron right this minute?"

Utterly misreading female body language, Fred responded, "If I had to guess.... I'd say ickle Ronniekins is probably enjoying the delectable Miss Chang right about now."

George paid a bit better attention. "Left earlier this evening for a Chinese New Year celebration, he did.... Probably that Howler was the last thing he managed before...."

"What Chinese New Year?!" Harry almost shouted. "Do you even know when that is?" Free magic crackled between Harry's fingertips.

George was baffled at Harry's agitation. "New Year is New Year, innit?"

"Bullshite...!"

The door to the Proprietor's Suite flew open, and Mad-Eye Moody stumped into the room. After one look at what was going on, he loudly ordered, "Harry, calm down!"

"Oh, dear, oh dear," Hermione fretted. "Ron's at the Changs', despite our not-so-stellar efforts. The sod; he didn't know that Chinese New Year isn't for several more weeks.... We all need some answers here."

"Yeah, right," echoed Fred. "Ditto for the rest of us. So how about starting with whatever set Brother Ronald off on you so badly?"

"And be quick about it," Tonks demanded. "Thanks to this changeover, we're pretty much stuck here by ourselves."

Not waiting for Harry, Hermione leapt into an explanation of what they knew about Cho Chang. Harry, his face growing redder by the moment, pointed his wand at a night table beside the main bedchamber, and incanted, "Accio Ron's potion."

A drawer opened and a small package, wrapped in grey goblin velour, zoomed unerringly into his hand.

"Ron's Howler was about this," Harry interrupted. "It's Felix Felicis potion. He won it in class. He intended to use whilst asking Cho to marry him. That's why he was going."

"Sonofawitch," Moody spat.

"Marry?" Hermione repeated archly. "You didn't tell me that!"

"Umm ... he specifically asked me not to," Harry confessed. "I didn't think that...."

"No, I guess you didn't," a rather steamed Hermione cut him off.

"Well doesn't that just suck," George shook his head.

"No, we just suck," Fred redirected his brother's words. "What do we do now?"

"First, I want those two," Tonks gestured at Harry and Hermione, "to tell us everything they know about this."

Putting aside their own tiff, they did.

"...and we'd just finished telling Mad-Eye when those two showed up," Harry finished. "There, now you know everything we do. What now?"

Moody looked thoughtful. "I think we need ta pay the Changs a quick visit - not you lot, Tonks and me, we're fully-trained Aurors...."

"But what about all those White Lotus Triads Lao Kung was warning them about?" Tonks reminded the older man.

"Can't be helped, I'm afraid," Moody said, shaking his head. "We're cut off from the Corps during this stupid changeover. I've sent out every fast owl in the owlery - Dumbledore, McGonagall, Shacklebolt, and more - but it ain't likely ta help now...."

His whizzing magical eye came to rest on the Twins.

"Yeh two ... get the hell ta the Burrow as fast as yeh can on those brooms of yers. Raise the alarm and get reinforcements as fast as possible ta.... Umm ... where do the Changs live, anyway?"

"You can't just order us away like that," Fred protested.

"I can and I will," Moody growled. "This is serious Auror business, and we don't even know where the hell ta go."

"We're members of the Order, and our orders are to stay here and help guard Harry and Hermione," George stood his ground.

"They're right about that," Tonks commented.

"I'll bloody compromise, then," Moody grumbled, looking like he was savouring a full mouthful of earwax-flavoured Bertie Botts beans. "One of yeh can stay. One can go. Now choose...."

"I ... I think I know where the Changs live," Hermione interjected into the adults' argument.

"What?"

"How?"

"When were you ever there?"

"Accio D.A. Mirror," Hermione incanted. Her quick glance at Harry let him know she had deliberately imitated him. The night table drawer on her side of the bed popped open like his had. A bulky hand mirror shot into her outstretched hand.

"I collected information on everyone who joined our reformed D.A., including home addresses - in case we needed to be in touch over a holiday," she remarked with some sense of irony. "I had Colin input that list into the mirror. Let me see...."

Everyone else - the Twins, the two Aurors, the impatient guard goblins waiting in the background - went quiet as Hermione's fingers flashed across the mirror, summoning the desired information.

Finally, she sighed in relief. "There. The Changs live at ... er ... in Blaennant Manor, Pantllefrith. Except I have no idea where that is."

"That's 'cause yer Muggle-born," Moody told her. "Pantllefrith's a warded wizard community in the Third Wor ... er ... Wales - fer those who really, really like privacy."

"And now, we'll go have a talk with the Changs, I think," Moody declared peremptorily. "Tonks, get yer broom, and let's go," he ordered, as if Tonks were still his trainee.

"Now wait a bloody minute!" George protested.

"Yeah, he's our brother," Fred chimed in. "Prat though he undoubtedly is."

"To be heard as well wish I," Slamdor, the commander of Harry's goblin guard spoke up for the first time in the conversation.

Moody gathered himself up to what was left of his full height. For once, both his eyes focussed on the same thing at the same time - the goblin captain. Trying to be as intimidating as possible, he growled, "Sorry, this is Auror business."

Slamdor did not retreat in the slightest. "Failed Impratraxis to rescue did the Aurors." He spat on the floor for emphasis. "Failed goblin nation to alert did the Aurors. If fight is it, fight do we. Army have we. A half of your hours ... anywhere in Britain can be we."

"If it comes ta that, then yeah," Moody retreated towards reasonableness. "But not 'till we know what we're dealin' with. We're in reconnaissance, not battle mode."

"And what about us?" George butted in. "We're Order, after all."

"And what about us?" Harry echoed. "We figured this out - and he's our best friend."

Moody looked around. "Tonks, are yeh with me on this?"

The more junior Auror nodded, her hair glinting gun-metal blue. Throughout the discussion, her hair had gradually, but steadily, darkened and hardened until it was now almost as solid as a helmet. "We're trained to do this. You lot, save possibly our goblin friends, are not."

The goblins, at least, were somewhat mollified. As they possessed the most visible weaponry, that was fine from Moody's standpoint. "Righto," he grunted. "Give us one of yer men, then," he spoke to Slamdor. "He can Side-Along with us. The rest of yeh needs ta protect Harry and the rest whilst we check things out."

"A plan," Slamdor pronounced, after briefly mulling things over. "What skills prefer you?"

"But we want...."

"Hermione, this isn't about what you want," chided Tonks. "Let us have our look see. You and Harry are only basic Apparators. We're talking over two hundred kilometres, and you've never seen the place." She turned to the others. "Fred, George ... one of you needs to fly to the Burrow and alert your family that Ron may be in trouble. Once this blasted changeover is done, if it's necessary, your father can get the word out as quickly as anyone. The other should stay here and do what the Order assigned ... without letting on to the staff that anything's amiss."

Just as Tonks faced down Hermione, Moody did Harry. "Harry, one way or another, we'll settle this as fast as we can. I'm tellin' yeh, what yeh need ta do is play yer Proprietor role with the staff's New Year's party. Dress up and go down there. We'll be back ta yeh as soon as wizardly possible."

Moody returned to the Slamdor's question. "English fluency's probably most critical, plus some way of bein' tracked. If we need yer army, it'll need ta know where ta go."

The leader of the goblin squad nodded. "Roxtar," he ordered. "With them go. Homing ring activate ...."

"Wait a minute!" Moody held up an arm. "Homing signal? Just who can track that?"

"If Triads mean you, then no," Slamdor told him firmly. "Never tracked goblin signals have not wizards. One reason defeat us cannot you."

Moody magical eye was turning somersaults again. He looked ready to make some remark about exactly who had won the last goblin rebellion, but bit it back. "All right," he agreed stiffly. "But can yer army follow this signal if necessary?"

"Yes, of course," Slamdor confirmed.

"Then let's get the hell out of here!" Moody urged. "Time's a wasting. Well fly ta the edge of the Château's anti-Apparition wards, and go from there. Blaennant Manor's in a valley. We can Apparate ta the hill behind it."

Moody threw open the sash to the Proprietor's Suite's largest window. He and Tonks leaned way out and summoned their brooms, taking care that the brooms arrived via the Château's exterior so they would not be seen by a less-than-trustworthy staff.

Brooms in hand, the pair of Aurors were gone in five minutes, as long as needed to instruct Roxtar in very rudimentary broom riding - holding on to Mad-Eye Moody's robes for dear life.

As the Aurors had vanished into the chill night, Fred and George began sorting through the "goodies" they had brought, in case an actual rescue were necessary.

Hermione told Harry, "I think it's time to alert the others ... hope for the best, but plan for the worst, and all that."

"Fine," Harry agreed, "but leave Jazzy out of this. She's only a third year, and we don't have Basilisk armour for her. She's not ready to fight adult wizards, if it comes to that. And tell the rest to bring along their armour, just in case."

Hermione went searching for Neville and Luna, whilst Harry - grumbling all the way - threw on dress robes and strode downstairs to preside over a party thrown for a staff he now believed was shot through with Malfoy-loyal traitors.

* * * *

He was cold. Only once in his life had he felt so cold - and that had only been some intelligence unit's defensive reaction, or so they told him. He had never really believed them. That felt so horribly lifelike.

So did this.

And this was really real. And he was really cold. His chain-link restraints were cold. The damp stone wall at his back was cold. Even the air was cold, for Ronald Weasley was stripped naked. If he could see, he supposed his breath would be visible.

But Ronald Weasley could not even see.

Wherever he was hanging was pitch black. Black as night. Black as coal. Black as Cho Chang's endless, boundless, curveless hair.

Even now, the thought of her could make part of him stir.

Not long ago, she had greeted him, utterly beguiling in yellow silk brocaded robes. The ominously silent family retainers who had escorted him inside the Changs' palatial home seemingly vanished, and she was her usual, wanton self. She wore nothing under those robes, and for good reason.

At that point he had thought, 'To hell with that stupid potion.'

He had been on the cusp of losing himself to her, when....

Angry voices spouting a language he did not understand....

Flashes of spellfire....

Pain....

Being roughly trussed up like a trapped game animal and hauled through seemingly endless corridors....

Hundreds of identically red-clad wizards - their robes bearing identical white flowery patterns....

Dozens of Death Eaters....

It had all been horrifying.

But most horrifying to Ronald Weasley was how, when they had forced him away from her, Cho made not the slightest objection. She had not made a sound - nor the slightest movement of protest - as they were separated. She passively stood and watched as they hauled him away.

Ron's deepest insecurities, his worst fears, now gripped him. What did Cho truly want with him? Who was she, really? What could a girl like her see in a guy like him?

Was Cho's soul as black as his current surroundings?

Ron was now in dire need of that potion - but bloody, fracking Harry had it, along with every other desirable thing anybody could possibly want in the world. Hermione, who once topped Ron's "desirable things" category, undoubtedly had put Harry up to it.

Their final betrayal meant his luck had just about run out.

Yet another cold shiver of fear shot through him. Ron thrashed, straining against a bar behind him that pinned his shoulders. He kicked wildly at chains that more loosely bound his legs. All that accomplished was to cause the chains to tighten until Ron could no longer move.

He felt a sticky substance oozing down the side of his right foot.

Ron was trapped, and could do nothing about it.

Finally, something creaked in the darkness. Ron was suddenly blinded by dazzling white light. He almost screamed in shock.

"Well, well, well ... wittle Wonniekins," sneered the faked falsetto facsimile of a feminine voice. "Aren't we in twouble now?"

Ron hardly cared. "Arrrgh, fuck you!" he roared at the taunting voice behind the wandlight.

"Not my department," the voice sneered, all traces of false levity vanishing. The witch lowered her wand....

Ron had seen her once before - that night in the Department of Mysteries. Her dark raven tresses framed a face that, but for overuse of blood-red lipstick and those maniacally burning eyes, might have once been beautiful....

Before a decade in Azkaban.

Bellatrix Lestrange leered at Ron.

He was powerless, even to preserve his modesty.

"Yes, I suppose you'll do quite nicely," she mocked, smiling in the same sort of smile that cats give to mice. "Let's see.... I've been told that your Boggart is a spider. How fitting.... Death by the Yellow Widow - how quaint."

She Transfigured her wand into a short rider's crop and flicked it at him. Ron's affected bits quivered in response.

"Appropriate, I think. It is rather spider-like, isn't it...? Welcome to my parlour says the spider to the fly...." Bellatrix cackled.

Ron knew she was mental ... quite a few beans short of a bag. Not all of the Dark witch was there, anymore.

But enough of her was.

She whirled violently. "Severus," she commanded. "Show it to me. I want to see exactly why this one is so dreadfully afraid of spiders."

Ron shuddered. So Snape was also involved. Figures.

One of at least two masked Death Eaters behind Bellatrix raised his wand. "Petrificus cranius," he incanted in his loathsome voice. Ron's head instantly froze in place.

Snape's fathomless eyes tore into Ron's psyche, searching....

He quickly located his mnemonic quarry: the most recent of Ron's several unhappy encounters with aggressive arachnids - real, or in this case, magically imprinted. This had been the stuff of many a nightmare - created that horrible night in the Department of Mysteries.

The skilled Legilimens drew the memory out, so the witch, less adept, could also see it.

The two sets of eyes viewing Ron's memory saw him screaming and thrashing, stuck fast on the strands of a huge spider's web. Unsuccessfully, he attempted to beat off several hairy eight-legged beasts, each smelling of dank sewage sludge. Occasionally, Ron's flailing drove them back, but they persisted - crawling, almost slithering over him, dragging their engorged abdomens across his body. An obscene, milky white substance squirted from a half-dozen orifices. The goo congealed into shiny threads that soon enough bound him fast.

Around and around went the spiders, each pass trapping him ever more firmly. Gradually, Gulliver-like, Ron lost his ability to resist and eventually even to move.

Altogether paralysed, Ron heard a faint clicking, growing in intensity. Ron felt the web dip as something heavy climbed aboard. His two blue eyes bugged out as they gazed into a half dozen unblinking dark brown orbs staring back at him.

Those eyes came closer and closer; bringing with them the overpowering stench of an abattoir. Ron could feel the beast's bristles rubbing across first the exposed parts of his arms and finally his face. Ron vomited uncontrollably as he felt sharp mandibles closing around his neck. A pause - then pressure; they sliced easily through his flesh.

Drawing his last breath, Ron screamed in helpless terror.... Then he knew no more.

"Enervate!"

Ron groaned.

"Aguamenti!"

A jet of near-freezing water rudely returned Ron Weasley to full consciousness. His tiny hope of awakening back in his bed at the Burrow was immediately dashed.

"Oh, very nice," the evil witch gloated in raspy tones. "Being eaten by a spider.... Don't know how you survived that one. Did Potty rescue you?"

Ron had no response.

"No matter," she continued. "One of death's little ironies. Yours won't be much different. But not through the neck, of course...."

She flicked him again with her wand/crop.

"But there.... Imagine, all the skin gone ... dissolved away, I'm told. Your blood flows out, and she absorbs it. But it won't stop there. To finish, she'll need more. Her fluids seep into you, sapping strength from your muscles, minerals from your bones, and finally even what passes for sense from your pathetic little brain."

She struck him hard with her crop.

"A pity I won't get to see it," Bellatrix rambled. "But then again, I'd rather not, given what comes after. I've better things to do. When my work is done, my Master promises what's left of you to me. And when I'm through with what's left of you ... well, maybe I'll send the leftovers to your notorious friend and his little Whore-mione.... That is, if they've still alive.... Which I doubt."

Ron could barely breathe. Whatever was going to happen involved much more than he. What, he had no idea - except some woman ... Cho? ... would be killing him most messily.

"Snape! Give him the potion," Bellatrix commanded.

Ron came to a decision. They would have to kill him here and now. He would not drink whatever they had concocted for him.

At least he could choose how he would die.

Behind his ivory Death Eater mask, Snape's eyes widened in comprehension. Not privy to the details, he finally understood why the Dark Lord had summoned him earlier that evening, ordered an odd array of potions, and gave him a Portkey to points unknown - this point unknown.

The first potion, an Elixir of Practically Permanent Priapism, was intended for Weasley. It promised his death and her transformation. Like a grotesque butterfly, after the metamorphosis, a succubus would be at her most fertile. Not ten minutes earlier, the Dark Lord had informed Snape that Cho Chang was the eldest daughter of the hereditary Mountain Master of the White Lotus Triad.

The second potion was for her, to ensure proper direction of said fertility. So, presumably, was Snape's own brew of Love Potion.

Therefore, the third, and last, potion must be for the Dark Lord himself.

The audacity of the Dark Lord's plot reverberated in Snape's brain as he stepped towards Ron. As to this boy, unlike Potter, he had no instructions from the Headmaster.

"You'll have to kill me first," Ron hissed through gritted teeth.

"Spare me your stupid histrionics," Snape sneered at the naked, shivering, redheaded boy chained tightly to the wall. "With one Imperius you would be on your knees begging for this potion like a dog. But then, what's the humour in that? You won't be drinking anything...."

Ron's mouth dropped in shock at the size of the hypodermic needle that Snape produced.

Again, his screams rent the dank, dirty air of the Changs' prison.

* * * *

Almost immediately, the advantages and disadvantages of bringing a goblin on this mission became starkly apparent. Seconds after Apparating to the crest of Pantllefrith Ridge - before Tonks and Moody were even fully oriented - Roxtar levelled his short, evil-looking cross-bow and fired. The bolt sizzled through the darkness and found its mark, making a sound like a rock heaved in a mudhole.

Not ten metres away, a red-robed wizard dropped like a stone. The robes looked Chinese, but not even Moody's magical eye could confirm, since the wizard (if that was what he was) had no facial features left.

"Looking this way was he," Roxtar whispered. "Now, no alarm can sound he."

Tonks rolled her eyes. Not even a minute into the mission, and already one corpse to explain. At minimum, that meant a great deal of Auror paperwork. Use of deadly force almost always did.

Moody shook his head - undoubtedly thinking similar thoughts. "Exat osteous," he incanted in the tired whisper of someone who knew this spell all too well. The corpse became a bone. Moody picked it up. He would dispose of it as soon as convenient.

"There another ... and there ... and there," Roxtar rattled off.

Moody's eye spun rapidly this way and that, but still could not see what the goblin did. The Aurors now understood that goblins, being a largely underground race, could see in the dark - utilising different wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum than could humans.

"Stay here, cannot we," Roxtar pronounced. He crossed his arms, so his tladimax touched a leather wristband worn on his opposite arm. "Karpasinat," he incanted.

"What d'yeh do now?" an extremely paranoid Moody asked. With this many unfriendly wizards about, he feared trouble ... delay ... in getting their bearings and thus accomplishing the mission.

"Cloaking magic of Gablankansta," Roxtar said tersely. "Where go we?"

"Yeh mean, I can do magic and not be detected?" Moody followed up.

"If cloak not penetrated, then yes," Roxtar told him.

"Glad yer along, then," Moody grunted appreciatively. He performed a Four Points spell on the Chang compound. Guided by Roxtar, they pushed along some animal-made crease in the ridge's dense, snow-covered undergrowth.

Goblin cloaking magic was indeed a godsend. The three passed within ten metres of another two identically garbed guards - close enough for Moody and Tonks to see them clearly - without either guard being the wiser.

Icy branches clawed at their robes as the party pushed through a copse of low, windswept trees. They reached the exposed edge of a steep slope.

"Merlin's bits and Circe's tits," Moody could not help swear at the scene below. "What in hell have we gotten inta?"

Down below, feverish activity was occurring in the Chang compound's back garden. At least two dozen masked, black-robed Death Eaters - all wearing discordant red armbands - mingled with an equal number of, presumably, White Lotus Triads. The triads wore red robes embroidered with some pale-coloured pattern.

Wizards at several tables were distributing unknown equipment.

Tonks and Moody whipped out their Auror Omnioculars.

"I count fifty-nine," Tonks muttered. "Thirty-one black; twenty-eight red.... Wait a minute, what's going on near that building...?"

"That red one's not like the rest," Moody observed. "Look at 'im."

"Alat santar," Roxtar incanted. "Step up," he told the humans.

The goblin cloaking shield was extending under their feet. It pushed against Tonks' heels before she paid attention. With muffled protest, she toppled heavily on her bum - but also onto the shield.

"What the...?" Moody growled as he felt the same pressure. Peg leg and all, though he was still more coordinated than his partner, and stepped onto the invisible charm..

"Down will go we," Roxtar explained his actions. The goblin cloaking shield morphed into a bubble of sorts and began floating down the vertiginous slope.

Tonks uttered an excited whisper. "Look there!"

One red-cloaked figure stood out from the others - lacking the patterned weave that their Omnioculars resolved into white flowers. That one was causing a disruption, sending another red-robed figure staggering backwards. Then the discordant one began grappling with a black robed Death Eater.

Another of the black robes pointed a wand and yelled, "Crucio!" loudly enough for the hidden onlookers to hear. Immediately the odd, red-robed figure fell down screaming - also loudly enough to be heard over the intervening distance.

"Bastard ... I'd know that voice anywhere," Moody swore. "Lucius bloody Malfoy."

"Some of them are disappearing," Tonks commented in a concerned voice, as she squinted through the Omnioculars.

"Red hair," Roxtar declared, pointing to the figure writhing on the ground.

The Cruciated wizard, during his agonised contortions, had partially thrown off his obscuring red cloak. Ronald Weasley's ruddy locks were plainly visible.

"Our duty should do we," Roxtar declared. The goblin understood their mission as rescuing Ron. While his ferocity was substantial, the odds of an immediate attack succeeding were not.

"Wait," Moody all but ordered, blocking Roxtar with his arm. "We can't possibly get there fast enough. Look at all those wands trained on him. They'd kill him before we'd ever cross their outer wards."

Roxtar let loose a hiss of disapproval, but did not attempt to end or exit his cloaking magic.

"There goes another group," Tonks observed. "Gone. Wait a bit more and our odds could improve a lot."

It was not to be.

The black-robed figure that was Lucius Malfoy must have cast another spell - because Weasley went limp. Two Death Eaters and two red-robed Triads bundled him up. They flopped their captive on a table, took what had to be a Portkey from the seated Death Eater, and promptly vanished.

"Blasted Portkeys," Moody spat as his magical eye drooped. "Now we don't know where in blazes he's gone."

They reached the base of the hill, a jumble of fallen rocks and tree snags choked with snowdrifts. Still under cover of goblin magic, the three spies picked their way forward. Their opponents at in the Chang compound were dispersing quickly to parts unknown.

They crept close enough to get a good view of the table where the Portkeys were distributed. Only a few were left.

"Take them can we," Roxtar urged. He bared his teeth at the squad of remaining Death Eaters, now only a dozen or so metres away.

"What about their buddies back on the hill?" Tonks asked, mindful of possible reinforcements.

Roxtar turned and gazed intently at the scarp behind them. After several seconds, he stated, "In sight is nobody. Probably also have gone they."

Moody's mood brightened, as it often did when a course of action - especially violent action - was decided. "Get ready, then," Moody growled. "Wait till there's only one or two of 'em left ... that's enough."

Luck was with them. The Death Eater distributing the Portkeys was seated with his back to the warded boundary of the Chang compound.

"Don't kill him if yeh don't have ta," Moody ordered. "On my count o' three...."

"One."

"Two."

"Three!"

Roxtar did something that made the perimeter of his cloaking magic to collide violently with the compound's security wards. With a fiercely blue-white spark of raw, arcing magic, they were breached.

"Stupefy!" Tonks and Moody roared simultaneously. Angry red jets flashed from their wands, felling the lone remaining Death Eater before he or she had time even to turn around. Their target slumped to the ground, leaving a single Portkey on the table, ready for immediate use - a badly cracked white and blue porcelain bowl.

Tonks wrapped the insensate Death Eater in a Full Body Bind. She stepped back and delivered a solid kick to the side of his head.

"Nah, only iffn he's conscious," Moody instructed. "No point ta it otherwise."

Psychological advantage was not Tonks' intent. The kick dislodged the man's mask.

"Recognise 'im?" Moody asked.

"Yes, in a wanted poster," Tonks hissed as she strained to recall. "I believe he's Fosdick Napier, a Deater spy in the Ministry who's been missing for a while."

"Should go!" Roxtar interrupted impatiently.

"You can't go," Tonks declared. The goblin's face contorted into an expression of extreme disagreement, just shy of rage. "Nor you," she told the aged ex-Auror. His ravaged face showed the cast as his disgruntled goblin compatriot.

Moody blurted out, "Whaddyehmean...?" before his voice trailed off. "...Oh, I see," he added dejectedly. His magical eye drooped.

"Go!" the goblin repeated.

"Nah," Moody grumbled, disgust fairly dripping from his voice. "She's right - watch...."

Tonks' face slowly but surely changed - until it precisely mirrored the fallen Death Eater.

"Iffn either of us used that Portkey," Moody explained to the still resistant goblin, "we'd be spotted and killed straightaway ... no benefit ta anybody, that. Tonks can change herself ta match 'im. She'll fool the Deaters."

"But I doubt I'll come back," Tonks cautioned. "I'll bet anything it's a one-way Portkey. Who knows what I might have to do to keep my cover once I get.... I know!" Turning to the goblin, she requested, as nicely as she could. "May I borrow your homing ring? That way Slamdor - and your army - can find me."

Roxtar stared at her - first resentfully, then thoughtfully, and finally resignedly - until he made a momentous decision.

"Is goblin magic," he replied at last. "Doubt for you will work. To track me need you...."

"Damn!" Tonks exclaimed.

But Roxtar was not finished. "More important than Roxtar is mission," he muttered. "Correct are you ... a chance only have you...."

Reaching over his shoulder Roxtar unsheathed a sharp dirk from a scabbard lashed across his back. Then he produced a rag of goblin grey material. Before either Tonks or Moody grasped his intent, the dirk flashed, slicing off the goblin's own finger - the one bearing the ring.

Holding the rag against the stump of his ring finger, Roxtar offered the severed digit, still dripping blood, to Tonks. "Take. Now will work. Find enemy will you. Bring army shall we."

Tonks stripped off Napier's robes, put on his mask, grabbed the Portkey, and vanished.

"And this, this ... say you ... berk, what?" Roxtar asked, pointing his bloody dirk at the limp Death Eater.

"Nah, no need ta kill 'im." Moody took a quick look around. "Mobilicorpus." Without another word, the bound Death Eater rose until Moody dumped him headfirst down one of the Changs' chimneys.

"Let's go," Moody called to the goblin, who had just gained his considerable respect. "Time's a wastin'."

* * * *

Hermione followed Harry's directions. She sought out Neville and Luna and brought them quietly to the Proprietor's Suite. But try as she might, she could not meet his other request.

Jazzy was with Luna. She interrupted the two making plans for "another" (Hermione did not bother asking) sleigh ride. Despite telling the younger girl point blank that her presence was not desired, Hermione could not dissuade Jazzy. Luna was no help - because she thought Jazzy could help.

Thus one more set of ears than Harry wanted listened as Hermione explained, yet again, what they believed had happened to Ron.

"...And nobody knows Harry like I do. Beyond doubt I am certain that if Ron really is in trouble, Harry will react the way he normally does...."

"And invent some way to blame himself for Ron's predicament?" Neville suggested.

"...True enough," Hermione had to concede. "But I'm serious. Remember Sirius Black? This is the same thing. Harry thought Death Eaters had Sirius. He was so determined to save him that we couldn't even slow him down ... and we ended up going along for the ride."

"So you think he'll do it again?" Luna asked - but not really as a question.

"Think? You know and I know he'll do it again," Hermione sighed. "That's the whole point. He spent what, a few weeks with Sirius? He's known Ron more than five years. Ron's his first and best friend...."

"Don't sell yourself short, Hermione," Neville cautioned.

"I'm not ... I'm not exactly just a friend anymore," Hermione pointed out. "But that matters, too. If Harry goes, I go ... and since you lot came the last time, it's only fair to let you opt in, or out, this time around."

Once finished, Hermione took stock of her audience. Luna was visibly upset. Oftimes whifty, the look on her face was as serious as Hermione had ever seen. Luna's glower would have done Narcissa Malfoy proud - as if rancid Snorkack droppings were under Luna's nose.

"If Ronald needs rescuing, then I'm damn well in," Luna stated in a voice entirely free of her usual detached manner. She did not ask whether anyone else, even Hermione, was going. "But I need to get some things. I'll be back. Don't leave without me...."

Neville, by contrast, looked like he had taken an Engorgement Charm full in the face - and tried washing it away with Farmer's reducer, he was so flushed. Unlike Luna, Neville knew nothing of the history between Ron and Cho.

"If Harry needs help, then I'll help him," Neville declared, whether with courage or vainglory nobody (not even himself) could tell.

Jazzy was hardest to read. Despite her youth, the Third-Year was - when she chose - quite skilled in concealing her emotions. The notion of Cho being in thrall of her parents and forced into degradation did not shock someone who had grown up in Jazzy's circumstances. Jazzy did not give a tinker's damn about Cho Chang, but did care, deeply, about being excluded if Harry and Hermione needed help.

Jazzy quickly scanned the room. Neville was distracted. Luna was ... well, Luna, and had wandered off somewhere. The goblins, the only other beings in the room, were engaged, no engrossed, in some game of chance - for high stakes, from the looks of it.

"Hermione, could you come here for a moment? I'd like to show you something," Jazzy asked in the sweetest voice she could muster. The older girl returned a "what are you on about" look, but came over to have a look.

Quick as a cobra striking, Jazzy grabbed the crook of Hermione's right arm, unbalanced the surprised witch, and spun her around - so that Hermione flopped more or less into Jazzy's lap. An instant later, eyes bugging out and barely able to breathe, Hermione found herself with the Third-Year's glowing gold razor blade held at her throat.

The next moment - before either a shocked Hermione or equally startled goblins could react, Jazzy withdrew the blade and placed it in Hermione's hand.

"I don't even know if I'm welcome," Jazzy muttered, letting Hermione loose, "but if a fight's to be had, I can pull my own weight. Never in my life, did anybody do anything nice for me before Harry ... and you, too.... I don't want to be left out.... I can't ... not if I'm ever to have a hope of squaring things with either of you...."

Still flustered, Hermione tried to respond, "Jazzy, I don't think that...."

"...Not to mention, I can fly rings around anyone here, except Harry," Jazzy added.

"Well I.... Harry will decide," Hermione finally left it.

She may have said more, except for Slamdor's sudden interruption.

"Jumped again, have they. Where....? Yes. Salisbury Plain."

As Slamdor made this pronouncement, Hermione almost forgot to breathe. When the goblin finished, she exhaled so loudly that Neville - who moments earlier had been ready to protect her from Jazzy - flashed her an odd look ... a look almost as odd how Luna was regarding Slamdor. But Luna had cornered the market on strange expressions.

Relieved, Hermione slumped into a nearby chair. "That's ... that's the Aurors' new operational headquarters," she explained breathlessly, more to herself than anybody else in the room. "That must be it.... Whatever's going on, they've cleared it up, and they've stopped by to give a report to the Aurors."

She closed her eyes and sighed loudly. "Thank Merlin."

Her respite was brief.

Like a lightning bolt - the proverbial blue streak - a wolverine-shaped Patronus burst through the wall, hurtled straight at Hermione and disappeared within her. Instantly she heard the rough voice of Mad-Eye Moody reviving her darkest fears. "Weasley's been captured by Deaters. Lots of 'em. It's worse'n we thought."

"Oh, Merlin, why did I let it drag on so long!" she burst out. Silently berating herself for going soft since turning Harry's Firebolt over to Professor McGonagall in third year, she pointed her wand at her closet, "Accio goblin armour."

Four sets of green-tinged, goblin forged, Basilisk-skin armour - hers, Harry's and outfits made for Ginny and (ironically) Ron - marched through the closet door and landed deftly on the bed.

Hermione picked up a set, examined it, and tossed it in Jazzy's direction. "Sorry, it's a bit on the large size for you; it was tailored for Ginny."

Jazzy could hardly believe it. "You mean I can go?"

"I mean I won't be stopping you," Hermione replied grimly. "Even though your little stunt didn't win you any points, what you said about flying is quite true. But you've still got to convince...."

Speak of the devil.

A commotion at the door brought Harry, followed closely by George, into the room. Harry nearly bowled over Neville, who was leaving to get his own Basilisk-hide outfit and trusted neither his Summoning Charm nor the Château's staff.

Another commotion arose on the side opposite. Moody's aggressive Alohomora nearly tore one of the windows from its magically reinforced hinges. He flew in - with Roxtar, but without Tonks.

Moody and the goblin both jumped off the broom before it stopped moving. Moody, his magical eye fully confirming his nickname, was immediately besieged by Harry, Hermione, and the others. The goblins gathered around Roxtar and reached a decision much more quickly. In almost no time, a grey boulder had bounded out of the sixth-storey window left open by Moody's spell.

"What was that all about?" Harry queried of Slamdor.

"Wager lost he," Slamdor explained. "Go for help does he - our army to raise. Not get to fight, won't he.... And Impratraxis, what now do we?"

Moody promptly described what his reconnaissance party had seen and done. Harry's agitation grew with the telling. His free magic had returned, visible between his fingers, when his guardian was finished.

"I have to go after him," Harry hissed through gritted teeth. "I was stupid - we all were - to let this go on this long. Don't try to stop...."

"Harry...," Hermione's cautionary voice sounded. But Moody beat her to the punch.

"Zip it, Potter," Moody gnarred. "Who said anythin' 'bout stoppin' yeh? Tonks is in there, yeh see? I've sent Aurors ta almost certain death, but I've sworn never to leave any livin' soul o' mine behind ... doesn't happen. Yeh need ta get...."

"Okay, then," Harry acknowledged.

"...them goblins too. If they're all like that Roxtar fella, we've got a chance."

Judging by the murmur from the goblin side of the room, Moody just won himself several new friends.

Harry nodded and turned to the rest. "That settles it. Mad-Eye, the goblins, and I have a job to do. I'd like for...."

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence," George interrupted, wand in hand. "He might be a git.... Hell, he is a git. But he's still my brother...."

"Harry, look at us," Neville's voice rose from the doorway.

Harry's eyes darted from one to the next, paying attention to those other than Moody and the goblins for the first time since he burst into the room.

Neville, red-faced, had on a hastily donned suit of goblin-forged armour, which he obviously had never worn before. His hands clutched the Staff of Asclepius.

Jazzy, almost swimming in a Basilisk-hide jumper at least two sizes too large, glared at Harry, an almost dead-on imitation of Ron - Ron's eyes used to burn that way when Molly excluded him from Order business.

Luna, also dressed in goblin armour, was ignoring him. She read from a couple of scraps of parchment. Every now and then she stopped and glanced at Hermione.

Hermione!

Harry turned towards his fiancée. Anguish haunted him. In her hands, she held her own armour and the Auror's belt from their training. "Hermione, I don't think...."

"Actually, this time your problem's quite the opposite," she coolly replied. "Can I speak with you - alone...?"

He gulped. "Yeah ... sure."

"...and don't neglect your own armour, we haven't much time."

Harry grabbed his own set of green, scaly garb from the bed and, fearing the worst, followed her into the little study. Before Hermione closed the door behind them, she had a few words for the rest. "George, the last set was Ron's. I'm sure under the circumstances he won't mind you making use of it. And Mad-Eye, please make plans. You've surely done more of this sort of thing than the rest of us put together."

As Hermione closed the door, they heard Luna saying, "Neville ... come here and let me help you get those fastenings right...."

Hermione muttered a few spells to ensure privacy, set her jaw, and turned to have this out. "I'm going with you," she declared, hands on her hips, daring him to disagree.

He did.

"Hermione, you can't.... Everyone else, that's different," he pleaded with her. "If something happened to you, I'd either blow that whole place up and kill us all, or else I'd shut down, be worthless, and let everyone else die.... Either way, everyone here dies."

"And I'd be any better?" she responded precisely. "You forget, Harry, I've already thought you were dead. Twice. I'd go catatonic, or worse. We're better together than apart, you know that...."

"But Hermione, if I blew...!"

"I know, you'd kill everyone," she sniffed. "But you're better now ... more focussed. I've seen that, too. And don't forget, I'm also better. I know many more curses than Luna or Neville, let alone that nutters Jazzy girl. Maybe if there were more of us, but the odds are bad enough already. You can't afford to leave me behind ... and besides, I won't let you."

Arms folded tightly across her shoulders, she glared at him. Harry's hands dug deep into his pockets. His eyes also flashed - she was outright forbidding him - but deep down he knew she was right. Also, their argument was wasting precious time.

He felt something hard, and not Ron's stupid potion. Harry pulled it out.

"Umm ... Hermione?" he addressed her, his tongue so thick he almost choked. "If the worst happens.... I at least want you to ... to wear this whilst we're both still here...."

Then, like a marionette with one string cut, he dropped to one knee and offered her the ring he had commissioned from the goblins - containing the stones she had selected from Harry's vault. "I still want to marry you, Hermione. Maybe with this, we'll both have a bit more will to live tonight."

"Harry!" Eyes wide, Hermione slipped on the ring. Eyes shimmering with unshed tears, she told him, "There's so much I'd like to say and do right now. I love you, but there's just no time. We have to finish this."

She took his hand with both of her own and hauled him to his feet. "Oh, by the way, yes.... If you were so thick as to have any doubt." Her lips brushed his cheek in a quick, chaste kiss that promised more - not so chaste - when the current crisis was over. "I will marry you," she whispered.

That goofy grin of Harry's made an appearance for an instant, before he pulled back, shook himself, and turned to the task at hand.

"Ixks," Harry incanted, putting his right hand over her left.

"Sorry?"

"A goblin charm to conceal the ring," Harry explained. "Someday...."

"Your next birthday," she told him. "Give you something to look forward to."

"You're what I look forward to."

They put their game faces on. "Let's get ready, then," Harry rumbled.

Hermione had a head start and finished first. Stiffly, having never tried walking whilst encased in goblin armour, she entered the main room.

"Harry will be along in a moment," she told everyone in a clipped, all-business voice. "We're all going. Mad-Eye, what have you devised, and George, where's Fred?"

"He's off to the Burrow like Harry wanted," George confirmed. "We decided I'd stay because I can use these." He grabbed a reverse water balloon from a sack at his feet. "In here's everything we brought that can knock something down or blow someone up."

Impatiently waiting until George finished, Moody told Hermione, "First, we need Thestrals. We can't Apparate. None of yeh've been there, and yer not skilled enough ta do it stealthily anyhow."

"What about brooms?" Hermione asked.

Moody scoffed. "Except for the two o' yers, the rest aren't fast enough fer cross-country, and goblins just aren't broom riders. If yeh don't believe me, ask Roxtar. He nearly fell off twice, just betwixt the wards and here."

"True," Slamdor spoke up. "Underground, travel we, but nearby no portals. Something more solid need we."

"How about my motorbike?" Harry spoke. He emerged from the study in full goblin armour. All heads turned to him. "It's almost as fast, and several goblins can fit in the sidecar."

"Fergotten that ... excellent," Moody pronounced. "Where is it?"

Harry gave a sly smile. "Right here." He ended a couple of charms and a miniature model expanded into Sirius' sleek Gus Kuhn Norton, its black and red finish gleaming.

"Oh goody, let me see!" Luna exclaimed.

Whilst Harry restored the bike, Hermione summoned their personal house-elf.

Dobby arrived almost immediately. His ordinarily bulging eyes nearly popped from his head at what he found - six goblin-armoured wizards (although George, built differently than Ron, simply plastered the trousers over his with a Sticking Charm), six goblins literally bristling with weaponry, and Mad-Eye Moody - looking even fiercer than usual.

"Wh-wh-what is I to do for you, Miz Myone?" Dobby squeaked through chattering teeth. "I's been being at Grimmauld...."

"Please bring us one named Annie," Hermione told the elf.

"But Hermione!"

"She's trustworthy, Harry," Hermione dismissed his complaint. To Dobby she instructed, "Make it appear that Harry is displeased with her."

"What are you doing?"

"She can help us," Hermione told him. "She'll know how to get us the Thestrals."

Mad-Eye protested. "I can do that...."

"Not as well," Hermione cut him off.

Dobby popped off.

"So, who's riding what?" Harry asked as he mounted the Gus Kuhn Norton. He groaned. The new armour was quite stiff on his legs.

"Impratraxis, might I?" Slamdor requested.

"Might what?" Harry replied as he bent his leg over the bike.

"Make more comfortable."

Harry grunted consent. Slamdor touched his Tladimax to Harry's armour. "Leshtal."

Instantly Harry's armour relaxed. It molded itself to him, until it fit as seamlessly and effortlessly as a second skin.

"See? We should've read the directions," Hermione huffed. "It's like the spell on my dress. Can you fix mine, too?" she asked the goblin.

"Of course, Savini."

By the time everyone (except Luna, who had followed the instructions) had his or her armour adjusted, Dobby had collected a very anxious and upset Annie.

The intimidating sight of Harry in full goblin armour could make her feel worse. Nevertheless, she dropped into her deepest curtsey. "Milord, I deeply regret having offended you."

"Relax, nothing's wrong," Harry promptly dispelled the ruse. "Hermione thinks you can get us to the Thestrals without anyone being the wiser."

Annie nodded. "Umm ... I know where they're kept...." She cracked a slight smile. "...with the New Years party going on.... Yes, but we must go outside."

"Will you ride with us?" Harry Summoned his Valkyrie.

Astounded by an offer to ride pillion with this most unorthodox Proprietor and his lady, Annie of course agreed. Two Valkyries, one carrying Hermione and Annie, the other Harry and Moody, shot from the window and into the night.

New Year's Eve was the only night when, traditionally, the staff could dip into the Château's wine cellars and liquor cabinets as much as they pleased. That proved fortunate. Harry's party did not encounter a sober soul on the way to the Thestral paddock and back. Mad-Eye expertly harnessed several of the beasts together and flew back on the lead animal.

Harry banked hard and zoomed in through the open window. His re-asked question, "Who's riding what?" died on his lips. The others had squared things away in his absence.

Astride the Gus Kuhn Norton, her blond hair streaming over Basilisk skin, Luna looked like a cross between a Rolls-Royce hood ornament and biker moll Barbie. She smiled in a most satisfied way whilst busying herself with the controls. Jazzy - looking much less content - rode pillion. Even though firmly on the ground, she clutched Luna's midsection in a death grip. Slamdor and the two other goblins shoehorned into the sidecar looked almost as uncomfortable as Jazzy.

"Luna, you can't...."

"Oh yes I can, Harry," she brought him up short. "This bike's tricked out by Trafficante and Trollope's Wizard Workshop. They did Daddy's Ducati Monster. This is a bit bigger, but the magical controls are identical."

Moody shut down Harry's protest. "Leave it. It's fer the best. Yeh should ride yer broom."

The motley caravan was quickly organised: Luna, as described. Harry, riding his Valkyrie with Moody pillion; Hermione, riding her Valkyrie solo, to perform essential directional spells without being jostled; George, sharing a Thestral with one of the goblins; and Neville, sharing his Thestral with the final two goblins. A third Thestral served as a pack animal. It carried the animals' feedbags from the paddock - and more importantly, George's bag of Weasley Wizard Wheezes tricks. Nobody had been keen to ride with that rather volatile mix.

"Sorry we can't say where we're going," Harry told Annie as they left. His parting orders were, "Don't tell anyone we've left, and keep the rest of the staff away from here as long as you can. Tell them we're trying for the Convergence again."

"Harry Potter, sir, is I being with you or a going back to Grimmauld?" Dobby asked almost plaintively. Dobby plainly wanted to participate, but still too much the elf to make a direct request.

"Harry, we should bring Dobby with us," Hermione spoke up. "He fought well at Malfoy Manor."

"We need all the fight we can," Moody added.

Harry agreed. "Help Neville," he instructed the elf.

Dobby clambered aboard the last Thestral.

* * * *

Under a last quarter moon, the incongruous gaggle of would-be rescuers streaked southwards through the frigid January night - towards an encounter with whatever wizards had taken Ron hostage.

The lights of Manchester sliding by, Moody leant forwards and told Harry, "At this rate, we'll be there in 'bout a half hour. Yer bike won't go no faster with the sidecar extended. Hermione can get us there, but we needs ta reconnoiter.... Anything ta improve our chances."

Harry agreed. He Legilimenced Hermione, 'We're going ahead to scout. Let's activate our Auror rings. But whether or not I'm back, turn it off once you pass Swindon. I love you. We'll get through this.'

'I'm won't tell you not to be a hero, Harry,' Hermione thought back. 'But don't be a fool either. Someone does want to be your wife.'

Moody, of course, heard none of their exchange. His first inkling the surge as Harry's Valkyrie rocketed even higher and faster into the night.

"There's two ways ta do this, Potter," Moody's ragged voice rasped in Harry's ear. "On the deck, low and fast, or high and away. Since we don't know exactly where they are, I'd recommend the latter ... and the higher we stay, the less likely we'll trip any of the Deaters' wards."

Harry agreed. They climbed and the freezing air grew even colder, taxing the broom's Warming Charms to the limit. Harry carefully judged the altitude - as soon as he felt difficulty breathing, he levelled off, and then dropped a couple hundred metres.

"How do we do this?" Harry asked, concern heavy in his voice. "Can we do this? Suppose we find a hundred Deaters. How can a dozen of us fight those odds?"

"We'll have a chance," Moody told him. "Those goblins, they've ways of concealin' themselves that we wizards can't detect. We keep the element of surprise as long as we can. Go fer yer friend Ron. Use some misdirection - cut spells, multiple images, that kinda thing. Take out their brooms. Maybe we'll bet a diversion from Tonks. Try ta force the other Deaters ta back off. Get in an' out as fast as possible. Don't worry about winnin'...."

"What if we run into Voldemort himself?" Harry continued.

"We might," Moody told him frankly. "With this big an operation, I'd not be surprised ta find 'im personally leadin' it."

"How can we fight him, too?"

"Harry, if it's really Voldemort, then we really wanna wait fer yer goblin friends and their army. With them we might be able ta take 'im."

"But if they don't come?"

"Yeh'll just have ta fight 'im yerself," Moody advised flatly. "I won't sugar coat it. Yeh'll hafta do it. Nobody else; not even me, has a chance ta give 'im a go like yeh, what with sharin' the same wand. That, and pray yeh get lucky."

Neither mentioned the obvious fact - Voldemort could kill Harry, but Harry could not kill Voldemort.

They flew the last few minutes in brooding silence. Grimly Harry pulled something from his cloak and put it around his neck.

"Hope that works," Moody commented with a slight chuckle. "Can use every edge."

"Luna's pretty good when she tries," Harry replied.

The weather, although frigid, was mostly clear - which helped.

"Why not alert the Auror headquarters?" Harry asked as they reached Salisbury Plain. "We can use all the help we can get."

"I've considered it," Moody rumbled. "But we'd have ta land, since the Anti-Apparition wards are up. There's no communication yet ... I've tried. I'd send out a Patronus from here, but I hafta have a recipient, and I don't know who's there. Only a skeleton crew, ta work the changeover.... Everybody else's spread all over ta keep the peace.... Didn't that turn inta a bunch of bollocks?"

They reached the homing signal marking the Auror headquarters. Moody pulled out a couple of devices from his robes and handed one to Harry.

"Dragon lens spyglass," Moody grunted. "It's Fred's. George gave it ta me. We'll work our way outward from here in concentric circles, until...."

"Look! Over there!" Harry called, squinting through his spyglass. "Bright lights! Orange glow! See ... near that road. Doesn't look like anything Muggle to me."

Moody popped open his Auror Omnioculars and took a look. They lacked the spyglass' resolution, but accommodated both eyes, so he saw better with it.

"Don't know what party we're crashin,' but it's gonna be a big one," the ex-Auror pronounced as he shut the Omnioculars after a brief look. "They're in the circle."

Harry drove the Valkyrie upward until breathing again became difficult. He took two quick passes directly over the main Stonehenge nemeton, nestled incongruously near a Muggle intersection.

Details were scarce, as the mysterious magical activities created an obscuring mist overhead. A few things were apparent. Seating - about fifty metres of temporary grandstands - was atop the outer set of stone lintels on the circle's southwest side. The grandstands were still largely empty. Near the centre of the circle something glowed orange - occasionally flaring brightly. It might have been a large fire.

Two, possibly three, large pale objects - possibly tents - were to the northeast, near the main entrance to the circle. Nothing more could be made out.

Harry was dumbfounded. "What do you think?" he asked the older man.

"Land ta the northwest," Moody advised - already preparing for what might be the last battle of his long career. "Looks weakest there. Iffn we cross the banks and sneak ta the pits under the goblins' cloak, maybe we can surprise 'em when the goblin army shows up."

* * * *

That was the plan.

The Thestrals, and everything else not immediately essential, were left behind - hidden behind an unrestored barrow on the opposite side of A303.

The road itself was deserted; the Death Eaters must have Muggle Repelling Charms in place.

They were not expecting wizard visitors.

Fortunately, the goblins' Cloaking magic was as every bit as effective as hoped. The tiny expeditionary force approached the circle unbeknownst to those within.

There they waited, half-hidden in what amounted to an ancient ditch. They squinted through the stone arches at preparations being made only a few dozen metres away.

Stonehenge was not, as Muggles saw it, a half collapsed ruin of ancient, weather-beaten stones. The same enchantments protecting Hogwarts Castle from Muggle eyes likewise guarded the circle. Since its 1623 restoration by the Ministry, in cooperation with the Gwrtheyrn Society of Brython, the Stonehenge Nemeton included an intact compliment of thirty lintels atop thirty standing stones - within which five trilithons stood watch.

Now, all that magnificent stone made it difficult for Harry's little band to determine what was actually going on within.

They now knew that the bright orange light was not from a fire. It marked a portal terminus. Every time the orange glow flared, the group's chances of success grew slimmer, because another group of red-clad wizards would emerge and make its way to the southwest side's now filling grandstands.

"Damn, there it goes again," Hermione muttered as she squinted through the spyglass she shared with Harry.

She reached across the cramped space to the redhead putting finishing spells on another of his creations and gave him a poke. "George, may I have one of those?" Hermione requested.

"Yeah, but be careful." He took one from the row he had been assembling in front of their barrow. "Don't underestimate a Suicide Spyder," he warned. "These little buggers pack quite a wallop. You could...."

Hermione leaned in and asked, "Can you set it for impact?"

"Sure, but then you're not...."

"I'm going to carry it, George," Hermione whispered.

George winced. "Please don't drop it," was his obvious reminder. His sceptical look continued, then George cocked his head in Harry's direction. Hermione slowly shook her head.

"That's how he is," George whispered. "Don't you be that way. When that thing starts clicking a mile a minute, get the hell rid of it, okay."

Hermione nodded.

"Have you spotted Tonks?" Harry hissed to Moody, who also surveilled the scene.

"Not yet, but she doesn't know ta look for us," Moody grunted back. "Good thing, that."

"Where's this damn army?" Harry grumbled mutinously.

His comment was not for Slamdor's ears, but with everyone in very close quarters, the goblin heard.

"Please, patience, Impratraxis. Come will we," the goblin captain offered reassurances. But Harry only voiced a worry Slamdor himself entertained. "The Château, so large its grounds, and no splixi near there have we. Go far must Māktrax. By now, close should be he."

'That's another half hour,' Harry Legilimenced to Hermione. 'I hope we....'

From inside the nemeton a loud gong sounded - once, twice, three times.

"Something's happening," Neville mumbled.

"Well, duh," Jazzy grumbled back, "and can you stop standing on my cuff?"

"They're coming out of the tent," Hermione began narrating. "Two Deaters, two Triads, and somebody in the middle in plain red.... Oh, dear, that's Ron, I think...."

The red-robed figure struggled. His four handlers dragged him forward and threw him atop on a large stone catafalque. Spells were cast, and as in the Wizengamot chamber, golden chains slithered upwards and bound the unfortunate redhead hand and foot.

One of the wizards shot a spell that vanished the Ron's robes altogether.

He lay there, naked, on the cold slab facing the black sky.

"Looks like he's some sorta sacrifice," came Moody's stark observation. "What kind of Dark magic is this?" He omitted Ron's precise condition, supposing that Hermione could also see what pointed skyward.

"Harry, I don't know if we can wait much longer," Hermione fretted. "We'd better get ready."

Through the necklace, Harry saw Luna behind him. "Are you ready to do the rescuing?" he asked of her.

"Or die trying," she reaffirmed.

"Here, then." He pulled out his Invisibility Cloak and tossed it to the Ravenclaw.

Moody regarded the exchange impassively. He reached into his cloak, pulled out a penknife and handed it to her. "Use this ta cut loose those chains."

More wizards emerged from the tent. "There's ... there's Cho," Hermione seethed. "And ... oh Merlin ... I think that's ... that's Voldemort."

His worst fear confirmed, Harry felt chilled, as if the temperature suddenly dropped twenty degrees. Odds were high that this was his last evening on this planet.

"Where are the goblins?"

"Be here will we, patience."

"I think it's time," Harry pronounced. He removed his travelling cloak, revealing his Basilisk-skin armour. Using both hands to keep steady, he dug into one of the cloak's pockets and produced Ron's phial of Felix Felicis. "We need all the luck we can get," he told the little group. "Everybody, take a sip. There's not much, but a little goes a long way. There's about twelve hours worth in here."

"Not me," Moody immediately declined. "This is my job, not yers, Potter. The rest of yeh are amateurs. It's for yeh ta drink.... But here, this'll help. It's an Auto-Allotting Chalice."

Mad-Eye fumbled with a compartment in his Auror's belt. He wrenched it open and handed Harry a small cup. His magical eye passed over everyone in the barrow.

The goblins shook their heads - they doubted a human potion would do anything but poison them. Doubting the potion's efficacy for house-elves, Dobby also demurred.

"Then set it ta six," Moody told Harry.

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear ... shite!" Hermione finally cursed.

Everyone's attention - except for Harry, who was pouring - returned to the nemeton.

"Hermione?" Harry asked with an anguished expression on his face. "What's going on?"

"It's Cho. She's ... she doesn't have feet anymore ... only hooves," Hermione breathed hard.

"Cloven hooves," Moody spat out, "and look there, on 'er back...."

Using wickedly curved fingernails, almost the length of her hand, Cho flicked off her red robe. She stood, as naked as the day she was born, looking at Ron - and waiting - waiting for some signal from whichever red-robed wizard was her father.

Harry put his hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Here, take this and drink. Then pass it on."

Hermione accepted the chalice. She was ready to drink when something prompted her to check the settings.

Harry had set it to five.

She reset it to six - so a portion of the Felix Felicis would be left for Harry once everyone else imbibed. Hermione was about to give Harry and his insanely self-sacrificial attitude a piece of her mind when he reported, "It looks like she has baby butterfly wings.... Fresh from a cocoon, like in primary science class."

"That's because she's a Succubus," Luna observed, "or will be." She seized the chalice Hermione offered, drank her share, and quickly passed it to Jazzy. "She needs Ronnie's blood to grow full wings. She'll mount him, and their union ... will dissolve him from inside out.... He'll be left a dry husk." With every word, Luna's voice grew more agitated.

"Jazzy, you and George take my broom," Hermione more or less ordered. "You'll have to leave it in maintenance mode, but even so, it's what you do best - not I."

Jazzy drank from the chalice, passed it along to George, and took Hermione's broom.

"Hermione," Harry protested. "You should...."

"Don't say one word to me," she hissed through gritted teeth. "I know exactly what you did."

A wizard in red robes inlaid with white flowers stepped forward and spoke to Cho. Her first steps towards Ron's catafalque seemed uncertain. Perhaps she was unused to hooves. She approached Ron, and after a moment's pause, raked her scythelike nails across his face.

"Are you ready, Neville?" Harry asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he groaned as he downed his portion from the chalice. He passed it back to Harry, who regarded it suspiciously.

"Drink it, Harry," Hermione ordered. "Now."

He took one look at the expression on her face. "Yes, dear," he said, and promptly drank every remaining drop. Harry looked at Slamdor, who nodded back.

"I sure hope your army shows up," he told the goblin.

"Harry! Do something ... please!" Luna begged.

"Let's go," Harry kicked off his Valkyrie. "Voldemort's mine."

72

C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch51 Padfoot's legacy.doc 1/10/2009