Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 70 - Escape Proves Impossible

"Unh ... unh ... unh ... aaahhharrrryyyyy!!!" Hermione's back arched backwards. Her long hair flew in all directions as her head whipped wildly from side to side. She lost herself in ecstasy.

Harry's supportive hands clutched her heaving buttocks, leaving Hermione free to thrust herself for all she was worth against their other point of contact.

One moment her arms tightly gripped the grab bars to maintain her position. On one side she pumped her right calf and foot into the mattress, seeking purchase. On the other, her foot pistoned the floor - seeking release.

Just when it could not get any better, it did....

"Ha-a-a-a-a-a-rrrrrrriiiieeeeeee!!! Ooooh!"

A white-hot burst of pleasure fried every synapse in Hermione's body. At last, the throes of primal passion swept away all the terror and tragedy of her previous twenty-four hours.

Thus Hermione finally found release - blessed release from all she had endured since regaining consciousness on the Stonehenge battlefield. It was everything she had hoped for, and then some. A cleansing for the id.

From that apex she floated blissfully downhill, into afterglow.

The perfect antidote to the Cruciatus....

Release was everything. In short order Hermione went utterly boneless - her body collapsing upon his - utterly spent, utterly sated. She was out of breath, her heart pounded madly ... and her brain was reduced to quivering mush. Soulgasm....

'Merlin, he needs to lock that up in Gringotts...,' she thought giddily. 'That tongue is too damn precious. But then I wouldn't....'

"Umpf ... umpf ...umminee...," Harry mumbled from somewhere nearby.

Her thoughts drifted serenely downstream.

But only temporarily.

"Ouch! Harry!"

To get her attention, Harry pinched her arse. Hermione popped up as if hit by a Stinging Hex.

Harry's reasons were obvious.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she squealed as she slid to one side. "You must have had a frightful time breathing."

He remained stuck fast to the bed from mid-shoulders down.

"Urmineee ... pleeezz...."

"Oh, Merlin, I'm awful," Hermione gasped. She slid off the bed altogether, next to the side table. Plucking her wand from amidst empty potion phials and assorted medical monitoring equipment, she pointed it at Harry and incanted, "Finite."

With a slight hiss, his tongue retracted to ordinary size. Almost immediately, his hiss became a chuckle.

"What's so funny now?" Hermione asked, wishing that her return to reality had been more gradual. Starkers, her long hair a tangled mess, she was totally unconcerned about her appearance. With her left hand she rubbed at the spot on her bum Harry had pinched.

He met her eyes. "It's just ... the thought of surviving - surviving Voldemort and all of his supporters...," he answered, an odd little grin coming over his supine, and soaked, face. "But then dying ... suffocated on my own engorged tongue - and under you. You'd sure have had some explaining to do...."

Hermione caught Harry's contagious, quirky smile. "Yes, I suppose I would." With exaggerated hand movements, she imitated herself informing Dumbledore. "I'm terribly sorry, Headmaster, about the prophecy and all, but I have reason to believe that he died happy...." She went no further before breaking into uncontrollable laughter.

Trying manfully to keep a straight face, Harry offered, "Well, you can come over here and kiss me. That'll make it all better...."

"I do believe that would," Hermione forced out. Leaning over Harry's bed until her feet barely touched the floor, she moved in. Harry closed his eyes and opened his mouth in anticipation.

She was struck by his resemblance to a baby bird.

She lowered her face to his....

"That'll have to do, you two."

Hermione jumped back as a scratchy, but familiar, voice sounded from a speaker box somewhere in Harry's screened-off private quarters. "I need to check on Harry's progress, and you, Miss Granger, have already been cleared. Don't you have a Healing mid-term to study for?"

"Postponed, actually, due to extenuating circumstances," Hermione told him smugly. "A few hundred Death Eaters got in the way."

At that, the tinny voice paused. "Quite.... In any event, Albus wants to speak to Harry, and I can't hold him off much longer."

"Oh, all right," Harry sighed, rolling his eyes. "Give us a couple of minutes."

"Roger that."

Even before Harry's brief conversation with Hlr. Huxley had ended, the ever-efficient Hermione had Summoned her clothes, and made herself presentable. She did the same for Harry, Scourgifying him and his bed.

Harry reached rather limply towards her. "Hermione," he murmured. "Please stay. How much do you want to tell him about what happened last night? I could fake it and claim it was all my doing, if you want...."

Hermione had already considered and rejected that option. "I don't think that can work. Remember the witnesses. George, two goblins, and I'll wager Tonks saw you fall.... Besides, you can't lie worth a damn, and you know it. I'll stay; just let me tell that part. I don't want to talk about the Druid business," she worried. "I don't know how I feel about that yet."

* * * *

Harry and Hermione quickly learned that Hlr. Huxley put no particular store in most Hogwarts rules governing student conduct - at least as such rules applied to the two of them. In particular, he ignored rules that, in ordinary circumstances, would have punished the encounter that had just occurred.

Hlr. Huxley considered Hogwarts to be out of term. More importantly Harry and Hermione had repeatedly shouldered adult responsibilities - fully earning them the privileges of adulthood.

Implicitly, Hlr. Huxley let it be known - during an examination that resulted in Harry being released from his restraints into the relative freedom of a wheelchair - that he had expected, and thoroughly approved, something in the nature of the couple's recent tryst.

"She's been bearing the weight of the world," Hlr. Huxley waved off any apology. "She needed relaxation. I feared she might snap."

Dumbledore, however, was another story. He was Headmaster.

Hlr. Huxley was nearly done explaining how serious a procedure field pelvic deboning was when, as promised, Dumbledore appeared. The Headmaster had company, a goblin general in tow - someone Harry vaguely recognised.

His eyes twinkling, Dumbledore thrust out his good hand. "Good afternoon, Mister Potter. Let me be the first, but certainly not the last, to congratulate you on last night's accomplishments."

Whilst the Headmaster directed similar plaudits to Hermione, Hlr. Huxley gave Harry his final medical instructions. "You'll be fine, Potter, but between your dual femoral/pelvic deboning, and last night's extreme magical expenditure, I'm putting you on calcium supplements until further notice...." That completed, the Healer took his leave.

Without further pretence, Dumbledore conjured a squashy chintz armchair for himself and a goblin sitting stone for his companion. He sat down, but the goblin general remained standing.

The Headmaster gestured towards the goblin. "You have met General Barduk before," he reminded Harry. "His forces rescued you yesterday...."

Harry and Hermione noticed, unlike Dumbledore, how the goblin general seethed at that introduction - his ears twitched and he bared his pointed teeth. Still, General Barduk said nothing.

"...Together, your group and the goblin army inflicted a significant defeat on Voldemort and derailed his plans. I am here, first, to commend that endeavor, and second to explain the true magnitude of your accomplishment...."

"It really wasn't all that great," Harry interrupted modestly, his hands picking at his hospital gown. "We didn't find out about Ron until the last minute. With the changeover, we couldn't raise anyone, so we had no choice. If not for the goblins, we'd all be dead ...."

To the extent goblins have the ability to go purple, Barduk did. "NO!!" he cried out. Then, recognising his transgression, the grizzled goblin commander flopped to the floor, prostrate at Harry's feet.

Harry, caught off guard by both the goblin's outburst and submission, stared insensibly from his wheelchair for a long moment. Grasping the situation, he eventually commanded, "Anyor," followed by an entirely justified question, "What's going on?"

Barduk slowly regained his feet. "Impratraxis ... Chastised deserve I. Inexcusable was my conduct...."

Harry could do without an extended goblin apology. "Please, just answer my question."

General Barduk visibly relaxed, as he was no fan of ritual abasement either - especially his own. "Impratraxis, the truth ... told not is it. Command, did not I. In command always is Impratraxis. Rescue, did not we. Rescued did Impratraxis. Defeated would have been we, and nearly were. Being devoured were we. Eaten alive. Know do I that in ten of your minutes necessary would have been retreat. That far from infamy was I...."

"But brought shields, did Impratraxis. The locusts to stop.... Then urged us onward. Fought the Death Eaters did gablansk-inim. But too slowly. Great power summoned Impratraxis. With white magic, removed the enemy did Impratraxis himself.... Awesome...."

That was the goblin perspective.

Unsurprisingly, they associated with Harry the final eruption that banished the Death Eaters - having seen his power (or, at least, its immediate aftermath) in Allt a Mhuilinn. Nor was that viewpoint spurious. From the perspective of an army beset by carnivorous locusts, Harry had indeed rescued them, by providing a means to fend off the ravenous insects.

And by age-old goblin tradition, a prince of the royal blood - when present - always commanded the goblin army.

Since the Ashrak, Harry was such a prince.

Dumbledore found General Barduk's description of events at least as interesting any intelligence learnt from Harry or Hermione. The Headmaster already knew full well that Harry had not been in condition to perform whatever magic had driven the Death Eaters from Stonehenge. What had done that was still unknown....

The roster of possible suspects was slim. Had it been the goblins' doing, they would have reveled in a victory over such a large force of wizards.

"So you think I won the battle?" Harry asked, blinking. He was flabbergasted at this insight into the goblin mindset.

The goblin drew himself up to his full height. "Think not ... know," General Barduk replied firmly but respectfully.

Dumbledore had observed the exchange in silence. Now, he broke in, "This is all fascinating. With Mister Potter out of danger from his wounds, I would be most interested in his perspective on events. The Ministry will certainly conduct a thorough inquiry, and I am eager to share my thoughts. It may well differ significantly...."

After his outburst, General Barduk considered his goblin viewpoint quite sufficient. A former quartermaster, the general's first request was for materiel. "Impratraxis, if upon your generosity might presume I...."

A goblin general behaving as a supplicant startled Harry. He flinched, causing General Barduk to pause. Almost instantly, Harry recovered, and nodded for the goblin to continue.

"Your magic ... the shields. Could undamaged ones obtain we?" General Barduk entreated. "As a below ground nation, to us new is this. Added to our kit, should be it.... Whatever the price, pay will we,."

'He only wants Muggle mosquito netting,' Hermione Legilimenced. 'That's as easy as the nearest Robert Dyas.'

Harry nodded. "Don't worry about paying," he assured the general. "The stuff's downright cheap. It's Muggle. In fact, I know.... How much do you want?"

The goblin's brow wrinkled in thought. "Enough, a pashkak - a regiment - to equip. And a bit more to test. Would suffice about one hundred of your metres. Many thanks, Impratraxis."

Confined to his wheelchair, Harry shuffled his feet until the goblin finished. "I know you don't want to hear it, but I need to thank you," he replied earnestly. "Without you, we were alone."

He turned to Dumbledore. "Is Dobby recovered?"

"Yes ... I believe so," the Headmaster answered slowly. "The final say is, of course, Parry's, but Dobby was pestering me not long ago, wanting to see you."

His expression serious, Harry gave Dumbledore a message to relay. "Send Dobby to go to the Château with a message for Gerry McAllister. He has Muggle contacts and should be able to get exactly what the goblins want - quite quickly."

Hermione ruffled Harry's hair. "He'll be right quick to do anything you want," she added. "He can't be very comfortable right now, knowing that we left Blackwalls without telling him." To that last statement, she appended a sly smile.

The Headmaster's eyebrows rose a bit, but he kept his peace.

"Go, should I," General Barduk announced, buttoning his cloak. "Alitserat must be prepared, consult with Impatok, since difficult shall be it...."

The term was unfamiliar. Harry glanced at Hermione. She shrugged. He looked towards the Headmaster, finding another blank expression.

"What's alitserat?" Harry had to ask.

General Barduk stopped, his cloak not fastened smartly. "Impratraxis, goblin tradition is it. My apologies. Only after alitserat disband does victorious army," he explained - but only partially.

"Okay, what goes on?" Harry persisted.

"Graskii ... er ... decorations bestowed by commander," was the answer. "And praise. Sometimes mutual congratulations, if warranted. Slaphadorii ... er ... translators will this time be needed.... Commander am not I. To take my leave will permit you?" The goblin awaited his dismissal.

"Um ... yeah," Harry answered reflexively. Only after the general had marched out, and Harry caught Hermione's concerned look, did he realise the import of Barduk's final words.

"I have to distribute medals to the goblin army," Harry muttered. His slumped shoulders emphasised his lack of enthusiasm for that task. "Wonderful."

"More than three thousand goblins are bivouacked on the Castle's lawn," Dumbledore mentioned less-than-casually. "All those not requiring hospitalisation...." The Headmaster paused, inhaled, and continued. "Regrettably, I need them gone before the term recommences. They are not under my authority, and the current situation makes quite a mockery of my no-goblins-on-the-grounds rule."

"Harry, I'm sure any leaving speech can be quite short," Hermione reassured. With a knowing smile, she added, "and for you it's hardly a tough crowd. You heard Barduk. They're convinced you rescued them, not the other way round."

Flashing a pale imitation of a smile, Dumbledore moved on. "Well, with that decided, we can address last night's events." His air grew magisterial as he began lecturing. "Granted, Harry, you are new to this, but the simple fact remains that you are Proprietor of Château Blackwalls. Whilst I question neither your sentiment nor the ultimate result, it remains the case that eschewing Blackwalls' available resources exposed you and those with you to unnecessary danger. Your staff knew nothing of your whereabouts. You left them in something of a tizzy. They were frantic. They tried contacting just about everyone...."

"But ... but they were untrustworthy," Harry broke in, trying but failing to rise from his wheelchair.

"They've worked for Lucius Malfoy for the last decade!" Hermione chimed in, her voice rising in indignation. Given the end result, she hardly felt deserving of the Headmaster's reproof.

Raising the palm of his good hand for quiet, Dumbledore overrode their protests. "The actions of the Blackwalls' staff last night were hardly untrustworthy. They attempted to contact various authorities, all legitimate ... even trying to reach the goblins. They persisted, and once communication was restored, they reached Minerva at Hogwarts. She was on the Floo when Fred Weasley reached the Castle by broom...."

This was news. It gave them both pause.

"...Later that night, I gather, the Blackwalls staff, despite their Proprietor having vanished, clashed with and repulsed several Death Eaters."

"What...?" Harry abruptly straightened, gripping the wheelchair's armrests. "Death Eaters? At Blackwalls...?"

"Yes," Dumbledore answered emphatically, pressing his advantage. "Four or five we believe. The descriptions are fragmentary, but one was almost certainly Fenrir Greyback. A werewolf was reported, and the moon was well past full."

"Umm ... Mad-Eye didn't trust the staff," Hermione explained, the pit of her stomach churned at having to mention Harry's deceased guardian. "Surely, he had his reasons, but now we'll never know."

'I know why,' Harry Legilimenced. Narrowing his eyes, he asked Dumbledore, "Were these Death Eaters inside or outside the Château's grounds?"

Dumbledore's face went carefully blank under Harry's intense gaze. "That, I cannot say. When Mister McAllister was here not long ago, we had more pressing matters to discuss."

"McAllister was here?" Harry asked. "Why?"

"Yes, which is another reason I concur in his essential trustworthiness," the Headmaster stated. He rose and began pacing the room. "The Castle remained in its second-highest state of readiness, the only operational Floo connexion being in my office. My fireplace is charmed to refuse entrance to anyone harbouring malevolent intent...."

"Why would he want to come here?" Hermione interrupted, returning Dumbledore to Harry's pending question.

"He had additional news," Dumbledore responded vaguely from a spot near the foot of Harry's bed.

Harry winced. "What kind of news?" he asked dully. Hermione knew that tone. It was a voice of resignation.

The Headmaster did too. "Unfortunate news, I am afraid." Dumbledore took his time, moving back to his chair and sitting down. "Do you really want to know right now? You have all too much on your plate as it is."

"You've reminded me of a simple fact - I'm the bloody Proprietor," Harry threw Dumbledore's recent words back at their author. "Ignorance isn't bliss."

"Very well," Dumbledore acceded, as he tugged his beard with his good hand. "Mister McAllister brought news that, simultaneously with events at Stonehenge, the Grimmauld Place house burnt, effectively to the ground...."

Harry was physically weaker than he would admit, so this news struck with great force. "What? I don't believe.... How do....?" he babbled, his voice not much more than a house-elf's squeak.

"Calm yourself," Hermione soothed. She conjured a cool, damp cloth and daubed his forehead. Looking at an hourglass mounted above the head of Harry's bed, she reminded, "You need your midday potions anyway." Bustling to a nearby table, she tapped her wand twice on the front left corner. Three cups of potion appeared out of thin air, one with cool mist flowing down its sides. "Yes, indeed," the Healer-in-Training said to herself.

Once Harry consumed his potions, the Headmaster provided a detailed explanation of the demise of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. A fierce fire had started shortly after midnight - within minutes of the New Year. As the Black's long-time City residence, the house had been protected by Infumium Alarms and several active Fire-Fighting Charms. The alarm pattern suggested an origination point on the second floor, probably in the library.

The Fire-Fighting Charms persisted for several hours, but the changeover had shut down magical transportation and communication. The repeated alarms brought no response. The Château's staff complied strictly with the Ministry's dictates. The Proprietor was not available to countermand them or to send a firefighting crew to Grimmauld.

At that observation, Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Finally, around three in the morning, the charms collapsed. Within minutes the fire consumed the Unplottable and Fidelius Charms that had concealed the structure from Muggle eyes. Fully involved in flames, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place popped Muggle into view - only moments before the roof caved in.

The London Fire Brigade responded belatedly, but its efforts accomplished little beyond preventing the fire's spread to adjacent buildings. By five in the morning, only smoking rubble marked the location of the once five-storey house.

"...And we believe it was arson," Dumbledore summed up, having finished relating everything he knew.

Although not particularly surprised, Harry shook his head at that news. "Death Eaters?"

"In all likelihood," the Headmaster answered. "Concededly, we cannot be entirely certain, but use of Fiendfyre is certainly consistent with their methods."

Hermione had gravitated to sitting on the side of Harry's bed. "The Death Eaters at Stonehenge used that," she pointed out, nervously re-crossing her legs.

"How did Muggles stop Fiendfyre?" Harry wanted to know. He appended, "And what happens now that they know about Number Twelve?"

"Both good questions," Dumbledore admitted. He paused and watched a pair of moths circling a ceiling lamp whilst formulating his response. "I shall answer them in order. Fortunately Fiendfyre is self-limiting. Once ignited, it feeds on magic, but once magical fuel, as it were, is consumed, it reverts to ordinary fire. Thus, the Muggles could contain the conflagration within the magical bounds of Number Twelve until it finally burnt itself out."

A fretful look crossed Hermione's face as Dumbledore continued. "Beyond that, the sudden reappearance of Number Twelve will undoubtedly raise questions, including as to its ownership and tax status. But that need not concern you...."

"But like you said, I'm the Proprietor," Harry reminded the Headmaster.

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. Looking Harry full in the face, he added, "Any Proprietor worthy of the title delegates such matters. Between Mister Howe and the goblins, I'm sure those matters can be dealt with.... If the Blacks, as is likely, ignored the Inland Revenue, such matters can be rectified."

Hermione spoke up, her voice troubled. "Headmaster, if it burnt out before wizards arrived on the scene, how does anyone know about the Fiendfyre?"

Dumbledore drew a great breath. "One of the Château's house-elves gave us a description before it ... um ... she died ... of burns. It could be nothing else."

"Oh, Merlin...."

"Dammit. And I left them leaderless....!"

Without warning a "pop" reverberated - loud enough to set one's ears ringing. A sudden squall, hot to the touch, blew in all directions, momentarily extending to horizontal all of the curtains surrounding Harry's sick room. As if carried by the gust, Hermione toppled over backwards onto Harry's bed.

Suffering from intense tinnitus, Harry vaguely heard the Headmaster demanding, "Harry, control yourself!"

He did. For the first time since before the holiday Harry clamped the constraints of Occlumency across his mind. All the pressure - all the demands - had finally cracked the emotional ramparts he fashioned to control the Fifth Element.

All because of guilt. Guilt over house-elves.

What must Hermione think?

Harry was the Proprietor. He had tasked the house-elves with refurbishing Grimmauld Place. But on that fatal night, he had deprived the elves of their leader; because Harry had needed Dobby's help more than he thought the other elves did.

Only a free elf can use magic against a wizard - against whoever had set the fire.

And only a free elf could have known when blind loyalty to Blackwalls - to Harry as Proprietor - should yield to the better part of valour.

Healer klaxons were blaring; Harry knew the sound well enough. Dumbledore muttered some incantation, and some of the load lifted. It had to be a Cheering Charm.

Not a moment too soon. Within moments Hlr. Huxley was at the entrance, warning quite loudly, "Now see here, Albus, I can't have you upsetting my patients. If you can't behave yourself, I'll have to ask you to leave."

It may or may not have been intended as a joke.

Harry did not have time to care, once glanced aside and saw Hermione sprawled on the bed, with Hlr. Huxley examining her.

He tried to pivot his wheelchair towards the bed, but found himself immobilised. The chair's rubber tyres had briefly melted, rehardened, and now stuck fast to the floor. "Hermione, are you all right?" he cried, pushing harder at the chair.

His efforts made the chair's frame creak and groan ominously, until Harry noticed the steady rise and fall of Hermione's chest. "Are you okay?" he asked again, sounding much less worried.

"She'll be fine," Hlr. Huxley reassured. "Some sort of transient ... umm ... hypereuphoric event. Now all of you, please stay calm. I have other patients to attend to." Again, he left.

"Ah ... yes, I'm quite fine," Hermione haltingly answered. She was fully conscious. "Whew." She rose slowly, her hair windblown, her cheeks flushed, with an enigmatic half-smile on her face. "Everything seems functional." She briefly shook her head to refocus on matters at hand. "Harry, you need to stop...."

"Sorry about that," Harry interrupted glumly. He slapped the right armrest with his hand. "It's just ... when I left those elves without Dobby, I as good as killed them. He was the only one who could have resisted or known when...."

Harry's guilt-laden words sparked a harsh reaction from Hermione. "Harry, just stop it," she snapped, as Dumbledore tactfully held his peace. "The elves' death proves nothing of the sort. Some arsonist Death Eater was one hundred percent to blame. You needed Dobby. We all did. Without him, we're all probably dead. Neville for sure. What we need are more free elves. We - hell, you - have to do more about that. Now, if you excuse me, I need to visit the facilities."

Following her little rant, Hermione was on her feet and heading for the exit.

"I'll be back," she promised as she left.

Harry turned to the Headmaster, "Can I really free my house-elves? When I mentioned it to the staff, they thought I was joking. Once they realised I was serious, they said the elves would refuse ... that they would find it insulting and scandalous - like Winky did here at Hogwarts."

The twinkle returned to the aged wizard's eyes. Running the fingers of his good hand through his ample beard, the Headmaster pondered the question.

"Upon my hiring Dobby, I offered freedom to any elf at Hogwarts who so desired," he revealed. "Not a single elf bound to the Castle accepted my offer. As Winky demonstrated, such is the shame of freedom to their way of thinking."

"Your situation, I fear, is worse, since the atmosphere I have tried to cultivate at Hogwarts is surely much more liberal on that subject than at Château Blackwalls. I confess I have accomplished little, but to best it, you will have to push your elves. Your staff's comments are perceptive. If you do this - and I fully understand Miss Granger's persuasiveness and persistence - you should consider prodding them with a carrot rather than a stick...."

Harry nodded noncommittally, "I'll see if I can come up with something."

Enigmatically Dumbledore allowed, "It would be pretty to think so."

The Headmaster had additional news about happenings at the Château after Harry's group had departed. Dumbledore described a rather confused and increasingly desperate search. Practically every owl the Château had was dispatched. Owls sent to the Auror Corps caused a temporary diversion of two squads to the Château, when the real battles were elsewhere.

The conversation turned to the Grimmauld fire. Details were sketchy, but the communications embargo had plainly severed contact between the country and city residences of the House of Black during the critical period.

The timing, Dumbledore surmised, could not have been coincidental.

Hermione returned. She looked and acted essentially (perhaps excessively) normal as the Headmaster described how the Grimmauld elves salvaged as much of the furnishings as possible. A large cache of items, including the entire contents of Sirius' room, were Apparated - or whatever it was that the elves did - from Grimmauld to the Château.

An elf dying from burns accompanied that material.

"...I am intimately familiar with the Grimmauld Place wards," Dumbledore continued rather morosely. "The Blacks employed every security measure known to wizard-kind, and then some.... Thus a large-scale transfer would not have been impossible until the fire had destroyed the vast majority of that spellwork. Probably the elves assembled what they could on the roof, and made their move shortly before it collapsed...."

"How can you be sure?" Harry asked.

"I cannot offer certainty, but Muggle incident reports recount a roof collapse within moments of the house becoming visible," Dumbledore explained patiently. "Visibility would only occur once the Fiendfyre consumed the outermost wards. The elves had very little time."

"I hope the Château staff at least had the decency to provide medical treatment," Hermione acerbically commented, wringing her hands. "That's the least they could do."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Unfortunately, the Château was on highest security alert - given your disappearance," he told them. "Anti-Apparition wards prevented the shipment from entering the grounds."

"But wouldn't the elf pass through?" Hermione asked, worrying her hands all the more.

"Regrettably, no," Dumbledore responded. "It ... er ... she could not Apparate under her own power. She was deflected along with the furniture to the edge of the Château's wards."

"But you said she was found alive," Hermione pressed.

"Indeed," the Headmaster hastened to explain. "The wards' large repulsion raised the Château's alarms. A heavily armed staff squadron, along with several elves, investigated. That led to their encountered with the Death Eaters, including the werewolf Greyback."

"Inside or outside of the wards?" Harry asked, glowering. It was almost the verbatim question he had asked earlier.

"Again, I cannot...," Dumbledore began, but his expression brightened as he mulled the point. "Come to think of it ... that would logically place them outside the wards. Their account timed the Death Eater confrontation after discovery of the dying elf, which would be beyond the wards. The Death Eaters evidently had little fight left, and after trading some inconclusive curses, they fled."

"Wait a minute," Hermione interjected. "Greyback had to come from Stonehenge. He bit Tonks, right? I know she was at Stonehenge."

"Yes ... quite," the Headmaster agreed. At last he could turn the conversation to the most perplexing aspect of what was already being denominated, inside the Ministry and without, as the Battle of Stonehenge. Choosing his words carefully, Dumbledore answered, "Fenrir must have departed for Château Blackwalls in a great hurry. As werewolves find it difficult, if not impossible, to Apparate, that leaves a question of the greatest gravity. What ended the Battle? The Ministry is at a loss, as am I, I must admit."

To the older man's carefully concealed consternation, Harry cut in, before Hermione could respond. "Just before the end, I faced Voldemort," Harry offered, "and Hermione's right, Greyback was present. I could tell. He runs all hunched over-like."

To get at the truth, the Headmaster had to surmount Harry's well-meaning, but inconvenient, intervention. "Before you regained consciousness, I interviewed some of the others. George Weasley stated in no uncertain terms that you had fallen off your broom before the final ... eruption, or whatever, that apparently removed the Death Eaters and Triads."

"Umm ... well, you see...," Harry stammered. His desire to protect Hermione from scrutiny was stymied by his stark awareness of how little he knew about how the battle finished.

The Headmaster pressed, his urgent gaze making Harry avert his eyes. "I have not been able to speak to Tonks personally, but I know, second-hand, that she confirms this sequence. She fell prey to Greyback because your fall distracted her. Had events not promptly interrupted the resultant unequal struggle, it is unlikely she would still be with us."

'Harry, let me handle this,' Hermione Legilimenced urgently. 'You still can't lie worth a damn. Just follow my lead.'

"Headmaster, I doubt Harry knows what happened," she intervened, making an effort to sound calm. "I do."

Dumbledore rewarded her with his warmest, eye-twinkling smile. That was precisely what he had suspected. "Very well," he replied crisply. Turning back to Harry, he requested, "Can you carry the tale to the last event you remember? Miss Granger can pick up from there."

He hoped that, once Harry finished with what he knew, they would both be more comfortable with Hermione explaining the mystery.

Harry had seen Hermione exposed and in danger. "She and Luna were under my Invisibility Cloak, but part of it had come off."

He described the resulting duel with Voldemort himself, despite Harry's exhaustion and badly damaged broom. Ignoring her "Harry, you shouldn't have," reproach, Harry confessed surprise, approaching shock, when he was able to push Voldemort back to earth with only an Impediment Jinx after the Dark wizard had started to fly (something Harry had not known any wizard could do).

Dumbledore looked intrigued. He suggested that perhaps the Dark Lord was just as knackered as Harry.

Or maybe not.

"If he was tired, Voldemort sure got over it fast." The Dark wizard was still capable of blasting Harry with an overwhelmingly powerful shock wave that sent him spinning out of control and smashed him into something hard. That collision broke the bones in Harry's leg and hip.

Hermione let out an anguished groan.

"I almost gave up," Harry admitted with a similarly pained expression. "But I wasn't the only one who'd seen Hermione. Voldemort and Lestrange had, too. They were both ready to curse her, and I wasn't close enough to get in their way...."

"Is that when you lost consciousness?" Dumbledore asked, looking most concerned.

"No, I put everything I had left into conjuring that Bose-Einstein condensate," Harry corrected. "I'd never done it. I was certain Voldemort would try to kill her, and I was right. Yes, the Killing Curse is unblockable, but Hermione and I had been over this. Bose-Einstein is essentially an energy vacuum. It might stop an AK by leaving nothing for the curse to remove. That wasn't exactly right, but obviously Hermione survived anyway.... Then I passed out."

Dumbledore stood, looking somewhat bewildered. "I profess myself confused," the Headmaster stated whilst walking in a tight circle. "You were wrong, but it worked anyway?"

"I don't understand it either," Harry admitted. "But I had to block two curses at once. Lestrange was there, too, remember? I guess the energy from her Cruciatus was just what that AK needed. Voldemort's curse wasn't stopped, but bounced off - that way...."

With his index finger Harry traced an angle in the air.

"...It never hit Hermione.... Neither did. That's the last bit I saw. Then, I woke up here."

Dumbledore stopped pacing. He regarded Harry carefully. "Do you mean that Tom's Killing Curse deflected towards Lestrange?" he immediately inquired.

"In her direction - probably," Harry answered. "But I was so tired ... everything hurt. I passed out, so I'm not sure."

"Do you think Harry killed her?" Hermione asked at once.

"I bloody well hope so," Harry growled.

"That would be icing on the cake," the Headmaster allowed, ignoring Harry's comment. "But it remains a hypothetical possibility - nothing more." Focussing again on Harry, he asked one final question. "What is the next thing you remember?"

Harry pushed his left hand through his unruly hair. "Nothing, until I woke up here. Hermione says I fell off my broom, but I don't remember that at all."

Dumbledore turned to Hermione expectantly. "Miss Granger, what can you add? This is terribly important. Things are very confused. Did the Death Eaters Disapparate, or did something else happen?"

Hermione did not answer those questions, at least not right away. Instead, she turned to Harry. "I believe your own Patronus saved you. Just after the battle ended - and I doubt the Death Eaters Disapparated - it brought you to me. You were on its back."

Harry's eyes widened at this new information. "It was...? But I only conjured one - ages before that. It was different...."

"Well, something, something yellowish ... gold coloured, flew around during most of the battle, chasing after Dementors. I never got a good look at it. But a stag, definitely, brought you to me once the battle ended. As it protected you even after you went unconscious, I believe it was your Patronus. If it didn't catch you when you fell off your broom, I don't know what did." She looked to Harry.

He shrugged. "Well, I guess it did look a little off," Harry conceded. "But, well ... a lot of things were going on, like trying to avoid getting killed. Still, if...." He turned to the Headmaster, "Can you sort this out? Does anything make sense to you?"

Dumbledore dropped into his chair, thinking. After pausing to examine his wand, he spoke, "I have never heard of a persistent Patronus - whatever colour. However, I have no basis for doubting Miss Granger's account, as you unquestionably fell off your broom and, equally unquestionably, you have survived."

"But what do you think happened?" Harry persisted, anxiously puffing out his cheeks - the worry evident in his voice.

Dumbledore quickly cast several soundproofing charms.

"I surmise, which is all I can do, that you are gradually harnessing your Fifth Element power, Harry," was the answer. "Growing into it, as it were. First the condensate, and now this unusual Patronus - instead of destructive bursts of raw magic, you now can channel this power to reinforce spells that you intend to cast. Whilst some results can be, shall we say, unpredictable, at least they appear to be constructive."

"I haven't tried to do this," Harry insisted.

"You are but sixteen," the Headmaster reminded. "It is unquestionably a maturation process. Conscious control is a probable next step along this continuum...."

A pause followed, which made Hermione uncomfortable.

With good reason.

Dumbledore turned around and fixed his eyes upon her. "Whilst what happened at Stonehenge has become clearer, there remains what you - or you and Miss Lovegood - did that ended the battle. The goblins are evidently mistaken...."

Hermione had expected this question sooner or later, despite doing her best to put it off. "I'm not entirely sure myself," she answered accurately, if not altogether truthfully, "but I'll tell you what I know. I'm a little scared, honestly."

"From the descriptions I know of, that may well be prudent," Dumbledore allowed wryly. "Let us start with this. With Harry's involvement ruled out, how could you generate so powerful a spell? Not to denigrate your abilities in the slightest, but given the sheer quantity of magic, I have to suspect some extraneous power source."

Hermione nodded. "There was, and frankly, that was Luna's idea," she admitted. "We tapped the blue stone in the Founders' Chamber ... I didn't know it was once at Stonehenge. Luna did. She suggested I search for it...."

"And you found it?" Dumbledore asked a question that was not really a question, under the circumstances.

"Having searched from it, reversing the process and searching for it wasn't hard," Hermione answered readily. Harry could tell she was tense. Her right hand, which had intermittently rested on his left shoulder since she began sitting on his bed, now gripped him tightly.

"It's a very powerful magical object, after.... I don't need to tell you that. Luna knew an old spell she said cleansed evil.... We had no idea what would happen. I thought if we were lucky, it might prevent their use of Unforgivable Curses, and thus help the goblin army win. In no way did I expect it would - make all of them vanish. So much magic passing through me ... I think I passed out, too. I woke up to silence."

"I can't add anything," Harry added. "I don't even remember falling off my broom. Then ... here at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, massaging his bearded chin, as he digested the new information. "That would explain some things, Miss ... er ... Hermione. Upon my return, I learnt of some sort of transient disruption of the Castle's wards. Professor McGonagall reacted by placing the school on high alert - and reacted cautiously when Fred Weasley turned up. Thus, she sent only Poppy and a couple of the staff to your aid."

Hermione's nose crinkled in annoyance. "I wondered why she didn't come herself; and that puny Hogwarts rescue party ... only three staff members did seem rather anæmic. Now, at least I know the reason."

"Why would Miss Lovegood suggest a spell that cleansed evil?" Dumbledore inquired, eager to explore the point of most interest.

Hermione's lips pursed into a funny rounded shape, making her appear as if pondering the question, but Harry knew it signified nervousness. "Desperation, I suppose," she ended the pregnant pause. She kept the Druid angle of events well hidden. "Luna had Ron out of harm's way. Harry was obviously flagging. The goblins seemed stymied, and the others were missing. She found me, and I was badly hurt. We rolled the dice ... and came up midnight."

"Midnight?" Dumbledore asked quizzically. "It had to be considerably later than that."

"Midnight - as in twelve," Hermione tried to explain. "My parents once took me to Monte Carlo.... Oh, sod the analogy, I meant we got lucky...."

Harry briefly wondered if the Granger family had patronised the Black family's casino, but put the thought aside.

"You were indeed," the Headmaster agreed. Deep in thought, he was plainly analysing her every word.

Hermione's last comment caused Harry to recollect something fundamental - something that might help keep Hermione's secret. He leaned forward in his chair, breaking her grip on his shoulder. "Hermione just reminded me. We had a phial of Felix Felicis, the one Ron won in Potions class. We all used it ... that is, except for Tonks and M-M-Mad-Eye...."

"Harry, it's all right - they refused, remember?" Hermione comforted her fiancé as she rubbed his back. "That's how he would have wanted to go.... In a major defeat of the Death Eaters, okay?"

"I'll be fine, Hermione," Harry affirmed after a long moment. "Just .... It's still too raw, that's all."

The Headmaster used the interlude to collect his thoughts about the point Harry had just asserted. "Felix Felicis ... I see. I am certain that played a role in the outcome. Indeed, I think your luck compounded itself...."

"What does that mean?" Hermione asked, looking up from her kneading of Harry's shoulders.

Dumbledore smiled. "It means you were doubly fortunate. You undoubtedly surprised the Dark forces. How did you acquire Mister Weasley's potion?"

Harry has not expected that question. "He gave it to me ... umm ... to keep for him."

"In confidence, I presume?" the Headmaster clarified. "I, for one, was not aware it had changed hands."

"Yes, he ... er...." Harry bit the bullet and explained. "Ron wanted to use it, I think, to declare for Cho ... or maybe more. Obviously, he didn't want Cho to know that. I only told Hermione."

"That worked to your distinct advantage," Dumbledore heartily observed, whilst smiling broadly. "If any of the Death Eaters had known you possessed Felix Felicis, that potion could easily have been nullified. A counteractant became widely available during the first Voldemort war."

"I didn't know that," Hermione responded, sounding affronted. "Professor Slughorn never mentioned that in Potions class ... nor did the book."

"Not surprising," Dumbledore commented. "Professor Slughorn is rather slothful. He uses the same lesson plan, and the same book, as when he last taught. To mention that shortcoming would also have reduced the perceived value of his prize.... But enough of that. I should not be airing to students my curriculum disputes with the staff."

"So, still, the potion helped?" Harry repeated. Hermione's touch on his back had become noticeably rougher. She was upset about not knowing something she should have....

"Undoubtedly," Dumbledore confirmed. "Felix Felicis may have influenced your choice of the spell that concluded the battle."

Hermione seized an opportunity both to move on and ask a nagging question. "What could that spell have done? Did I kill them, expel them, or what?"

The Headmaster's answer also intrigued Harry.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers, as well as his injured hand permitted, weighing his answer. He opted for the truth. "All existing evidence - from several sources - indicates that the spell essentially cast them out; returning them to their points of origin."

"You're sure?" Harry butted in. "Even Voldemort? Where did they come from?"

"We cannot be certain, particularly about Tom, at this point," the Headmaster divulged. "The magic of Stonehenge is among the most ancient anywhere; its origins lost to prehistory. Nobody knows for sure exactly what ancient curses, charms, and other magicks lay dormant, awaiting activation by the right spell. We do know this. The Chang complex was stoutly defended by a large number of Death Eaters and Triads. Only within the last hour or so did the Ministry finally overcome the last resistance. So large a number of defenders could only have come from Stonehenge. Also telling was the capture of Antonin Dolohov...."

"He ... he, I know was at Stonehenge," Hermione interrupted. "He cursed me, with the Dark Fire of Tu Fan." She showed them her scarred wrist. "Then, he Cruciated me, and would have killed me, except Roxtar - a goblin - took him down."

"He was known to favour that spell," Dumbledore remarked. "I further believe he was obsessed with you, as he played a role in your recent hoaxed murder...."

Harry tensed, grabbing the armrests of the wheelchair. Hermione shivered visibly. The Headmaster saw them.

"Neither of you need worry," he reassured. "Dolohov cannot hurt Miss Granger, or anyone, now. He is dead."

"Dead?" Harry echoed as he released the armrests. "I thought you said he was captured."

"Dolohov was captured, badly injured, at the Salisbury Plain Auror station," Dumbledore explained from his own chair. "One of his shoulders was nearly amputated by a goblin Asterlik. But the goblins had not set foot in that locale, and his blood loss far exceeded what we found in his vicinity at the station. He could not have been injured there...."

"He wasn't," Hermione firmly confirmed. "I saw everything. But for that goblin blade, he would have killed me."

Harry reached out, took Hermione's hand, and kissed it.

Dumbledore eyed them sagely. "Dolohov was known to be at the Auror station earlier that evening - with Bellatrix Lestrange - so your information only strengthens our hypothesis."

Things were not adding up for Hermione. "Whilst I was waiting for Neville to turn up, Professor Shacklebolt told an arriving Auror team that every Auror in the station had been murdered. How would anyone know Dolohov had been there?"

"All true," the Headmaster confirmed, shaking his head sadly at the thought of all those deaths, "but incomplete. The sole survivor was your fellow student, Colin Creevey."

Hermione gasped. "Is Colin all right?"

"Yes," Dumbledore hastened to add. "Rather traumatised, but physically unharmed. He has provided an eyewitness report. Lestrange and several Death Eaters ambushed the Auror's Salisbury changeover team. In short order, they killed all the Aurors. The Death Eaters seemed to be expecting reinforcements, but were themselves eventually called away. Less than an hour later they returned - minus Lestrange. They were utterly disoriented, as they failed to notice Mister Creevey, although he was in plain sight. They immediately Disapparated for parts unknown. That is, all save Dolohov, who was too badly injured to move."

"Thus Dolohov was captured; the only live prisoner taken in the entire battle. I decided to let the goblins question him, a regrettable error on my part. He hid an encapsulated Reductor Curse in his mouth - essentially a suicide pill. He blew himself to bits, unfortunately along with a half-dozen goblins. But I assure you, he is most thoroughly deceased."

Harry and Hermione instinctively recoiled at Dumbledore's graphic imagery, but overall they were relieved to be rid of this particular Death Eater.

The pause presented Hermione an opportunity to move matters away from her spell that had, apparently, removed the Death Eaters from Stonehenge. "Have you had a chance to review the Horcrux information Harry retrieved from Professor Slughorn?" she asked, a serious expression on her face. She leaned back on Harry's bed, studying the Headmaster.

"Indeed," Dumbledore confirmed, looking up at the hourglass. "I must reiterate my pleasure that you heeded my advice and did not peruse that material yourselves. You, in particular, Miss Granger - I am quite aware of your drive to understand everything possible about magic. But Professor Slughorn's Horcrux notes were every bit as Dark as I feared."

"Well...," Hermione demurred, "Making Horcruxes, unlike Felix Felicis, is something that repulses me. My only concern is Voldemort's bottom line."

"His bottom line?" Harry echoed, his inflection converting her statement into a question.

"How many Horcruxes we have to find," Hermione explicated. She had discovered an empty phial in the sheets. Banishing it to the end table, she asked. "Professor, what do Professor Slughorn's notes state about how many Horcruxes Voldemort could make?"

"The magic number, according the Horace's materials, is seven." Dumbledore declared. "Arithmancy teaches that seven...."

"...is the most powerful magical number, yes, I know." Hermione anticipated the point. The answer was still incomplete. She asked, "Seven Horcruxes or seven soul pieces?"

"An excellent question," the Headmaster responded, looking anything but pleased. "Unfortunately, I have nowhere near as good an answer. The formulæ in Horace's notes are unclear and could be interpreted either way...."

"You mean we could be dealing with six, or seven, possible Horcruxes?" Harry jumped in.

"Correct," Dumbledore conceded. In frustration, he flicked a stray bit of lint from his chair with his good hand. "The notes are ambiguous and capable of both readings - the word used, 'phenomena,' could mean either. Perhaps it is a less-than-precise translation from some other language, although the original tongue is never stated."

"Damn," Harry cursed disappointedly, "I was hoping we might at least be over half way."

Dumbledore's expression perked up. "That suggests to me that, in addition to defeating the Death Eaters, you also destroyed another Horcrux?" he inquired.

"We haven't destroyed, or even found, anything," Hermione quickly deflated that hope. "But we may have located another one."

Here was unexpected, and positive, news. Dumbledore only knew that the Order's recent Horcrux efforts had come up empty.

The two explained to the Headmaster how they had hoped to see the Glastonbury Grail Collection but had been disappointed instead to find "bits and pieces of various saints," as Harry indelicately put it. Finding the whole thing somewhat nauseating, Hermione, always the bookworm, had wandered into the gift shop and leafed through a picture book. One of the vessels in the Grail collection was the Hufflepuff Cup, Harry was sure of it. The book was at the Château. They would get it and show Dumbledore.

Where was the collection - and thus the Cup - now?

"A swap brought all those relics to Glastonbury," Hermione answered. "In return, the Grail Collection's been shipped off to Rome. A sign on the wall said it's at the Pinacoteca, a Vatican art museum, for three years. We haven't told anybody, because we think, with it being an international issue ... and involving the Muggles ... you'd know best how to handle it...."

A major development. The Headmaster rocked back in his chair, rubbing his forefinger across his chin. "Well...."

Before he went any farther, Harry cut in. "I think I know what to do about it, now."

"You do?" Dumbledore asked, sounding quite intrigued. Hermione also looked fascinated, but knowing how Harry's bright ideas worked in practice, her fascination was tinged with apprehension.

"Yeah," Harry turned to look at her. "Hermione, why didn't you mention that the Horcrux was at the Vatican?"

"I thought I had," Hermione replied, a bit defensively.

"If you did, I didn't catch it," Harry let it go by. "I only caught Rome. And that's different. You said it was a swap. Maybe we could arrange another."

"Another what?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward, just beating Hermione to the same question.

For the first time, Harry rose from the magic-scorched wheelchair he was occupying. "Remember that bloke who claimed to speak for the Pope - who wrote the letter I received in Reims?"

"Y-Yes," Hermione answered, somewhat hesitantly.

"I saw you take delivery," Dumbledore commented briskly to encourage Harry to continue. "What did the letter say?"

"I'd wanted to discuss this with you, but with everything else that was going on, I never did," Harry explained. "The letter discussed a so-called the Gospel of Truth. They, the Church I guess, thought the Blacks had it. They wanted it, and did nasty things to the Blacks when one of them...."

"Merak Black," Hermione interjected.

"Anyway, him," Harry continued. "The letter offered to drop all that rot if only I gave it to them. I was ready to bin the letter, but Hermione found something at the Château that she thinks might actually be that Gospel of Truth. Anyway, the Church has something we want ... well; we've got something they want, too. So maybe you could arrange a swap...?"

"No!" Hermione's voice rang through the room. Both Harry, who sat rather heavily in his chair, and the Headmaster turned to the suddenly quite angry girl, who had heaved herself off the bed and onto her feet.

In a trice she planted herself in front of Harry, hands squarely on her hips. "We can't, Harry - not even for a Horcrux," she pleaded. "We would be accomplices to the destruction of history. I've read that so-called gospel. It's like the Rosetta Stone, written in two languages - one's Greek; the other I can't read but I suspect it's Aramaic...."

"Hermione, we've been over this," Harry argued. "I wasn't all that keen on it either, but that was before the Horcrux. If we don't destroy...."

"Harry, that ... that document could well be in Jesus Christ's own handwriting - unique in the world," Hermione insisted. "If that's so, if the Church ever gets their hands on it, they will destroy it. I'm certain. It undercuts everything they're about...."

Hermione was waxing emotional. Her negative reaction had Harry on edge. The Headmaster intervened to lower the temperature. "Perhaps you should tell me more about this document and how you came to find it," Dumbledore requested.

Words tumbled from Hermione's mouth describing her expedition with Luna. Looking through the library of old Muggle books, many otherwise lost to history.... Finding the lock to the hidden chamber.... Deciphering the numeric pattern to open it.... Avoiding the booby-trap in the tunnel and thereby confirming the pattern.... Encountering the aged copper crypt....

"...and the Blacks must have acquired it through trade with the Eastern Mediterranean. The markings were from Famagusta, in Greece..."

"That's from Cyprus, although it was Greek at the time," Dumbledore corrected. He had not commented since Hermione begun.

Hermione looked, if possible, even more stricken.

Harry knew why and jumped in. "The letter ... it mentioned Cyprus.... If ... I could just remember what."

Hermione's rage burnt itself out with this latest information - replaced by smoldering embers of fatalism. "It referenced Cypriot Templars," she said dully as she tugged her hair. Any doubt that the Vatican letter sought the manuscript she had found had evaporated. "That is what they want." She slumped against the side of the bed.

"And what, exactly, was that?" Dumbledore asked gently.

Hermione took a deep breath. Patiently, she explained the story line of the supposed "gospel." Jesus' missing adolescence.... His meeting the wizard Judas.... Their collaboratively staged "miracles".... Jesus falling in love and wanting to retire from the prophet business.... The staged crucifixion.... The botched elopement that was mistaken for a resurrection.... The supremacy struggle between Judas and Peter.... The author's stated intent, years later, to set the record straight....

When she finished, Harry maintained, "I still think getting that Horcrux is more important."

Hermione disagreed, but her vehemence had dissipated. "Harry, this is too important to be destroyed, and they will ... it's, it's history."

"I cannot help agreeing with you both," Dumbledore announced as he rose. "We need not do anything irrevocable today. Let me make some discreet inquiries concerning the Cup, but without mentioning the document. Some in the Curia are familiar with our world."

"But what about the document?" Harry inquired. "Should we move it?"

"I doubt it," Dumbledore advised. "It is in a safe location, and as Miss Granger indicated is protected by Preservative Charms. The fewer who know, the better, and moving it might attract questions. Further, the simple swap you envision is probably infeasible. The Cup does not belong to either us or the Church."

"So do nothing, then?" Harry sought clarification.

"I would recommend ruling out a hoax," Dumbledore cautioned. "Many writings of this sort are."

"I know how to approach that," Hermione chimed in, sounding grateful not to have been overruled on the spot.

Harry looked at her curiously.

'Later,' she Legilimenced.

And so it was agreed.

* * * *

The Christmas Holiday drew towards its inevitable close. A return to Château Blackwalls required preparation - considering how they had departed. In their mad dash for Stonehenge, Harry, Hermione, and friends had left all of their belongings behind. Hermione especially desired to retrieve certain books, especially the Muggle tome purchased in Glastonbury.

The responsibilities of proprietorship weighed on Harry. He wanted to meet the Château's house-elves face-to-face - particularly after three of them had perished in the Fiendfyre that destroyed Grimmauld Place.

Less desired, but even more pressing, was confronting Mr. McAllister on the security issues identified by the late Mad-Eye Moody. Unless those issues were resolved to Harry's satisfaction, he would have to sack McAllister and name a replacement. With Mad-Eye gone, he had asked Shak about active or retired Aurors who were both trustworthy and capable of handling the responsibility. Desdemona Proudfoot and Jack Savage were the two most highly recommended.

Château security was not even the primary reason Harry had turned to Shak. Moody's death vacated Harry's guardianship. Although Harry was less than a year shy of majority, the Ministry's rules were unchanged. Emancipated minor wizards were not allowed - especially someone with Harry Potter's profile and portfolio.

It was not a post for the faint-hearted. Mad-Eye was Harry's third guardian to meet a violent demise at Death Eater hands in under a year. Nonetheless, would-be volunteers for the post abounded. Involving both a political figure and an heir to great wealth, Harry's guardianship attracted considerable attention attraction, despite its occupational hazards.

Not in a million years would Harry submit to direct control by the Ministry of Magic.

Thus, Harry had another request of Shak during their meeting.

"Thanks for the recs, Shak," Harry said without looking up, scribbling "Clement Birkenshaw," the last of five names his DADA professor had provided.

"Glad I could help," Shak replied with a wave of his hand. "Think nothing of it. I hope McAllister isn't dirty, though. We're fellow Hufflepuffs, and he always seemed a reasonable chap to me...."

"Umm ... Shak, there's another thing," Harry began nervously - as he always was at times like this. "Mad-Eye died...." Harry swallowed hard, and tried to maintain composure as tears pricked at his eyelids.

Shak probably anticipated what was coming, but did nothing to encourage it. Once the boy's pause extended to the point of awkwardness, he filled the silence with. "I'm aware of that, yes. He was one of the finest Aurors I've ever known. Rather on the paranoid side though."

"Rather ... there's an understatement for you...." Harry paused.

"Given his work, some degree of paranoia was probably healthy," Shak commented.

"His was above and beyond the call of duty," Harry responded.

"As was everything about Mad-Eye."

Finally Harry stopped hemming and hawing. "Shak, you know the Ministry's rules as well as anyone. I'm underage so I must have an adult guardian. If I don't select anyone, somebody will be appointed."

"I understand that Rufus himself has extended an offer," Shak remarked evenly, not offering an opinion one way or the other.

Harry grimaced, "Yes, I've received the Minister's post - 'graciously' offering to replace Mad-Eye. I'd sooner ask a troll.... Shak, will you do it...?"

The request was expected; Harry's bluntness was not. "What? I'm no troll."

Harry ignored Shak's attempted levity. "I need a guardian I trust. I trust you. Will you do it?" Harry repeated in rapid-fire staccato.

Shak was dubious, but not for reasons of personal safety. "Harry, I'm flattered, but you must realise the excruciatingly awkward position this puts me in."

Harry did not, but was not keen to admit it. "A little. I figure you're still after Scrimgeour's job, but I'll help you with that - whenever and however you want."

"That's not really it, Harry," Shak told the boy. "I'm your professor so it would have an appearance of impropriety. You surely deserve an Outstanding in Defence, but it wouldn't look right for your guardian to award it. Politics also enters into things. I'm sure we'd see letters to the Prophet arguing that I should resign from the Hogwarts staff."

Harry felt his face warm as Shak spoke. "So you won't do it, then," he glumly accepted. He had known much rejection in his young life, but familiarity did not make a new episode any easier.

"I didn't say that, Harry." Shak stood up, walked around the table, and put one of his large hands on Harry's back. "Just, I'd rather you tip someone else. Your request ... it complicates what the Order wants me to do. But I won't leave you in the lurch. You have a several-week grace period. Talk this over with others - with Hermione and Dumbledore at least. If, by the deadline, you still prefer me, I'll do it, and damn any criticism."

Harry smiled wanly at Shak. With a simple, "bye," he left to prepare for his next ordeal. Harry was feeling too down on himself to confess to Shak that he had already consulted Hermione. She had not only predicted Shak's reaction, she had identified the exact reasons for his reluctance to accept.

But Gryffindors go forward.

Despite having been through the drill several times, Harry still viscerally disliked public speaking. Once again, he had no choice. Traditionally, a victorious goblin army did not decamp until receiving its commander's congratulations for a job well done.

Several thousand goblins continued to occupy large parts of Hogwarts' spacious grounds. The Headmaster's strenuously expressed wishes were to have things back to normal before the students returned; an event now less than forty-eight hours away. Thus, Harry prepared a few words to express his gratitude to the goblin army.

The situation was unusually delicate. Harry believed, as did everyone who followed him to Stonehenge, that the goblin army's intervention had been decisive, and had saved them all from almost certain death. But the goblins held quite the opposite view. They were convinced that Harry had won the battle and saved them. They had been on the verge of being eaten alive by a ravenous swarm of carnivorous locusts conjured by Cho Chang's father. Harry had swooped down on his broom and draped them in protective mosquito netting. The turnaround was unlike anything previously seen in the long span of goblin military history.

Hermione wheeled Harry to the speaker's platform in his refurbished wheelchair. That was partly to show the goblin veterans, many suffering permanent injuries of their own, that Harry had not escaped unscathed. Partly it was to conserve Harry's strength.

He spoke from a magically reconfigured platform at the rear wall of the Hospital Wing. Gone were the high, narrow windows where a few months earlier Harry and Hermione had collaborated to capture Rita Skeeter. Now the windows were lower and wider, and they framed a brand-new balcony.

The goblins had installed their own magical sound system on that balcony. It not only amplified Harry's voice, but translated his words into Gobbledygook. The translation was imperfect - the system was an improvised goblin artefact. Goblins had never needed to translate anything wizards had said into their own language, except painstakingly by hand.

Hermione propelled Harry into the sunlight. The austere speaker's platform was simply a block of stone nestled beside the balcony's railing flanked on either side by inverted cones - resembling hollowed out dragon tail spikes attached to glowing chains. Recalling the Ashrak battle, Harry reassured Hermione that goblins chains served many purposes, not just as restraints.

He took a calming breath and rose to his feet. As he did, she uttered a breathless, "Look!"

Across the windswept wintry landscape, from the Castle's shadow most of the way to the lake, clumps of goblins gathered outside the brownish-green circular structures they used for tents. Many bore visible battle wounds - including missing various extremities, in whole or part.

Above the goblin tents, fluttering in a stiff northerly breeze, were banners of the various goblin cantons from which the soldiery hailed.

Below those banners, atop every tent, was something new. Affixed to almost every flagpole of the assembled goblin army (except those topped by severed heads of deceased Death Eaters) were squares of Muggle mosquito netting. A new goblin battle standard had been created in honour of their Stonehenge victory.

It was also a massive show of goblin support for Harry.

Angar goblansk-inim kanskala!

To begin, Harry uttered the traditional goblin victory slogan.

The goblins responded with a crescendo of sound, thoroughly disquieting to wizards unfamiliar with it. "Ulululululu...."

The goblin battle cry enveloped Hogwarts. Harry raised his arms, a gesture that revealed his tladimax - carved in his forearm by King Ragnok himself at a memorable Ashrak, doubtlessly attended by many of these warriors.

Silence returned.

I've talked with our field commander. We have a respectful difference of opinion. He says I rescued you, and thus assured our victory. I told him you rescued me, and thus assured our victory.

I'm confident we can work this out.

We both rescued each other.

And so we assured that we all emerged victorious.

"Ulululululu...."

Another pause - Harry waited until he could be heard.

In victory, we now return to our homes and our everyday lives. We go knowing that what we have done, and the valour of our actions, will be celebrated in our histories, wizard and goblin, for far longer than any of us will live.

We've won a critical battle.

But we have yet to win the war.

After that, we must also win the peace, so we can live in harmony and equality. Secure in the knowledge that what binds us together is stronger than what would divide us.

"Ulululululu...." Harry stepped back, again, until the chanting died down.

To that end, shall every goblin, and every wizard do his - and her - duty. In that way we shall ultimately emerge victorious.

Thank you, and while I bid you fond farewell, we shall meet again in celebration.

Somewhat light-headed, Harry stepped carefully off the platform, wobbled to the wheelchair Hermione was holding for him, and sat down heavily before she could help. He was not as recovered as he had thought - no, hoped.

"Ulululululu...."

One final time goblin war cries resounded. Harry sat still, breathing heavily, until they died down - being followed by unmistakable sounds of an army breaking camp for the last time.

"Are you all right?" Hermione hissed.

"I am now," Harry puffed. "If I'd spoken much longer I might have fainted."

"Well ... brevity is the soul of wit. You were excellent - again," Hermione told him whilst wheeling him back inside. She stopped walking and languorously began running her fingers through his hair. She sighed. "Speaking of breaking camp, I need to get going so we can have a final hurrah at the Château before the holidays end. Healer Huxley wants to conduct your discharge examination, and that's probably wise. I'm sure he'll arrive straightaway."

She kissed him on the cheek and left.

Harry heard shuffling footsteps behind him. It was not a gait associated with Healer Huxley.

"Well, what did you think?" he asked the approaching wizard.

"Wise words, Mister Potter," Dumbledore complimented. "I particularly thank you for requesting the goblins to vacate the premises before the students return. Are up to walking with me? I have news."

"Healer Huxley wants to examine me," Harry replied.

"I know, I have spoken with Parry," Dumbledore answered. "This should not take long, but I thought you should be the first to know - although, all things considered, it is hardly a surprise."

It was pointless putting the Headmaster off, particularly on his home turf. Harry stood and tested himself. "All right then, I suppose I can use the exercise."

"As can I."

They left the Hospital Wing and padded slowly down the corridor towards the Trophy Room - an aging wizard and a recuperating one. "Should I get Hermione?" Harry asked.

"The Ministry asked that I inform you. You may certainly tell her yourself," the Headmaster responded with a wink. "I am to tell you that there will be Orders of Merlin for all. Congratulations - and well earned. You and Miss Granger are gazetted for Second Class, since the Ministry believes, as do I, that Miss Granger's magic brought about Voldemort's forcible departure. Third class for the rest, who did not engage him directly."

"Even Jazzy?" Harry sought clarification.

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed, eyes twinkling. "I told them not to try shaving Doxies ... that not honouring all who risked their lives would create counterproductive friction with you and Miss Granger. Alastor shall receive his third, such decoration posthumously."

They turned the corner and heard a clanking sound. Suits of armour on both sides had come to attention, their weapons smartly in front of them.

"At ease," Dumbledore commanded.

The creaks and squeaks of armour resuming normal position could not mask the Headmaster's cough.

"Are you all right?" Harry inquired. For all Dumbledore's abilities, he was well into life's autumn.

"Just ... I should have used a Sonorus," the Headmaster responded.

"Are the goblins also getting Orders of Merlin?" Harry wondered, having just finished addressing their bivouacked army.

"Goblins would not accept Ministry awards," the Headmaster explained. "They shall be fêted in their nation's customary fashion, at the upcoming alitserat. As their technical commanding officer, of course, it is your duty to confer those awards."

"Fine, for the goblins, I'll do it," Harry affirmed. "But that's all. We don't need another big Ministry ceremony. It distracts the Aurors, and last time the Deaters took the opportunity to stage attacks."

Dumbledore looked relieved. "You have nothing to worry about on that score. The Ministry intends to keep these awards as low-key as possible."

"Really?" Harry scoffed. "They never have before...."

"The Ministry has never before come so close to overthrow, at least not in my lifetime," Dumbledore countered. "The Death Eaters had seized the Salisbury Plain Auror centre. The Floo to the Ministry was wide open. Had the ceremony you interrupted been completed, Voldemort undoubtedly would have launched a full-scale assault. With Ministry resources dispersed, that assault could well have succeeded. Whilst Minister Scrimgeour is grateful for your intervention and believes that decorations are in order, he is not anxious to remind the public just how close a thing this really was."

"It was stupid to shut everything down at once," Harry muttered.

"In retrospect, but the decision had some merit at the time," Dumbledore gently disagreed. "Simultaneous installation minimized the inevitable window of vulnerability - even as it also deepened it. Unfortunately, the security of the operation was badly compromised."

"An Auror traitor?" Harry partially asked and stated.

"Perhaps," the Headmaster said as he came to a halt. "At least as likely, though, is a Triad infiltration of the Chinese operation of your friends, the Creeveys. Please recommend that they engage a full-time security consultant.... Come, I believe it is time to head back.... We both have things to do."

* * * *

The girl raised her head when, suddenly, the yellowish glow of chain-link woven into the walls of her cubicle ceased. Her small, world-weary smile greeted the tall, familiar wizard who entered. That smile vanished when she saw him followed by a strange, maroon-robed witch.

"Miss Chang," Dumbledore began sternly, "I assume you are cognizant of the gravity of your situation."

"I was to kill Ronnie to become a succubus, marry He Who Must Not Be Named, and bear his child and heir," she droned flatly and unemotionally. "Yes, I'm fully aware of what's happened..., and what could happen. Is she...?"

Ignoring her question, the Headmaster again addressed Cho. "You have also told me repeatedly that you had no choice in the matter, is that correct?"

"Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but I couldn't stop myself.... I couldn't even tell anyone what was happening," Cho said pleadingly. "It's traditional Chinese magic - my parents, my father, controlled me.... Oh, what's the use? She's an Auror, isn't she? She's here to give me to the Dementors."

"That remains to be seen," Dumbledore replied evenly, betraying no emotion. "Your story has received corroboration, so no precipitate action will ensue. This is Matilda Campbell. You are correct. She is an Auror, specialising in Veritaserum interrogation. You did well enough in Potions. I trust you are familiar with it?"

"Yes," Cho answered quickly, her voice unsteady. Amazingly, someone, somewhere supported her. Someone actually believed her!

"Ms. Campbell will ask you some questions," the Headmaster instructed. "From your responses, the Ministry and I shall evaluate your compulsion defence. If other aspects of our investigation confirm the magical aspects of your alibi, it would be difficult to distinguish your case from those involving the Imperius Curse."

Cho's eyes went wide at the implications. Ever since she awoke and found herself inexplicably in Hogwarts' Hospital Wing, Cho had been resigned to facing Azkaban and the Dementors. Any time a wizard entered, she feared the worst - that she had a date that would end with a Dementor's Kiss.

Cho could barely walk - a legacy of her near metamorphosis into a succubus.

"I shall take my leave," Dumbledore remarked as he turned to go. "I anticipate your inquisition touching upon extremely personal and sensitive subjects."

He was almost out the door when Cho called after him. "Wait.... Can I...? Can you at least tell me who out there thinks I'm telling the truth?"

The Headmaster halted. He gazed at the ceiling as he weighed responding. Finally, he chose. "Yes, Miss Chang. I think I shall.... Miss Granger so informed me and offered substantial circumstantial proof that you had been under compulsion for quite some time...."

"Granger?" Cho blurted. "I did everything I could.... Why would she of all people believe...?"

Dumbledore departed without elucidating.

"Miss Chang," the Auror interrupted the girl's muddled reaction. "You must drink this. Swallow it all without stopping...."

Cho did as told; consuming what appeared to be a goblet of pumpkin juice. Obviously, it contained Veritaserum. The Auror methodically assembled an Autoquill device to record Cho's answers. When finished, she confirmed via crystal that her subject was fully under the truth potion's influence. A few general questions confirmed the crystal's readings and allowed fine tuning of the Autoquill's volume settings.

Ms. Campbell cut to the chase.

"Miss Chang, you have made statements that your actions of late, particularly those involving Mister Ronald Weasley and the Death Eaters, were not taken of your own volition. Is that right?"

"Yes, I've said that, and it's true."

"Please explain the nature of the magical compulsion."

"Xiao Jing." Cho answered in the monotonous tone of Veritaserum-controlled speech. "An ancient Chinese charm, dating to the Oracle Bones period. How it's cast, I don't know. Until you're a parent, it apparently can't be learnt. But it controls - absolutely. It enforces filial piety, a child's duty to honour and obey one's parents. It's worse than Imperius, since with Xiao Jing you don't lose yourself. I knew and understood everything I was doing and that most of it was wrong, horribly wrong. But I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't even betray what I felt. So I betrayed ... everyone...."

"How did this come about?"

"A tattoo ensures control."

"May I?"

"It's gone now - burnt away, somehow, at Stonehenge."

Mentally noting Cho's inability to corroborate certain photographs, the interrogator probed. "How did this alleged tattoo come about?"

"I was tattooed when I first went to Hogwarts. Otherwise Yan fu ... umm ... my father would not have let me attend. He's always been sceptical of foreign influences - even though he's been in England a long time."

"Your father's been controlling you since you started at Hogwarts? What's that? Six...."

"No," Cho cut her off with a truthful answer. "Yan fu only activated the charm last year, at least as far as I know."

"What caused that change?"

"I'm not sure because I was never told, but I think it involved my choice of boyfriends...."

"Isn't it the same the world over?" the Auror commented, interrupting Cho's narrative and causing confusion in her Veritaserum-controlled mind.

"I don't know how to answer that."

"Oh, that wasn't meant as a question," the Auror clarified. "I'll watch myself better. What caused your father to activate the charm?"

"Yan fu did not like Cedric and called him uncomplimentary names. I thought it was because he was not Han ... er ... Chinese. But once Cedric died.... I began having feelings for Harry Potter. His interest in me had been transparently obvious for some time. Earlier, when I was with Cedric, Potter had asked me to the Yule Ball. But when Potter finally got his chance, he was already moving on.... Yan fu, however much he disapproved of Cedric, was pleased for me to be with Harry. So it wasn't racial."

"Yan fu was quite upset when I ended it. It was a charade, except Potter was clueless. He's a boy, so I shouldn't be surprised. Potter was attracted to me, but his heart, I'm afraid, always belonged to someone else. When I couldn't stand that any longer, Yan fu came to the school, personally. He'd never set foot in the place before. He told me I was a fool, and as his only child, I had to put the family first. Then he activated the Xiao Jing charm."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," the Auror commented. "If your father activated the charm, and wanted you to pursue Harry Potter, where did Ronald Weasley come from?"

Even under Veritaserum, Cho sighed. "It takes two to tango. Our supposed relationship centred around a secret student defence group...."

The Auror nodded. "Dumbledore's Army, I believe it's called."

"Yes, but my best friend, Marietta, who attended meetings with me, was compromised, and she exposed the group. That reflected poorly on me, and Potter grew distant. He had that confrontation with He Who Must Not Be Named in the Ministry and ended up more famous than ever. Everyone fawned over him. Yan fu ordered me to make amends. Potter ignored me. Yan fu decided I needed to be able to use my ... well, my femininity ... to better advantage. He increased the potency of the Xiao Jing charm and took me to Amsterdam."

"What did you do in Amsterdam?"

"Yan fu arranged for me to 'train myself' by acting in Muggle sex movies - pornos."

"And he did that ... to you ... so you could attract, who was it? Potter or Weasley at that time?"

"Ronnie. Yan fu originally intended me to seduce Potter. That was clear enough. Looking back, once he learnt that Potter had asked me to the ball, Yan fu plotted for me to lure Potter into some sort of trap, so he could turn Potter over to He Who Must Not Be Named. He wanted sort of alliance. But that failed. Then I received an invitation to play Quidditch in a holiday camp of sorts in Denmark. Ronnie was one of the others to be invited."

"That's how Ronald Weasley came into the picture?"

"Yes."

"And you went along with this?"

"I couldn't help it. It's impossible to fight the Xiao Jing and remain sane," Cho explained yet again. "I tried reasoning with Yan fu. I mentioned that Ronnie was interested in Hermione Granger. Yan fu was not swayed by that. He told me I was blind; that Granger sabotaged my dating Potter because she wanted him for herself. To that extent, Yan fu was evidently right."

"I tried another excuse; that making Muggle pornos was foolish. Ronnie was the jealous type. But Yan fu dismissed the Weasleys as 'swamp wizards' - that they wouldn't know the Internet from a rusty cauldron. He was right. Ronnie, at least, never had a clue...."

"But someone did?"

"Granger. I don't know how, because she's not at all the type, but somehow she knew. One day we encountered each other alone in Hogsmeade. She had hooked up with Potter by then but still tried to warn me off Ronnie. She never exactly said it, but I'm convinced that she knew about the pornos."

"The warning had no effect, then?"

"It couldn't. I had no free will. I reported it to Yan fu. He ordered me to do everything to split Ronnie from the other two - especially from Granger. I don't know how or why she believes me now, but I know her ... she'll lord this over me the rest of my life."

"Umm ... we're getting a little far afield," the investigating Auror interceded. "Back to the point. So you seduced Ronald Weasley."

"I did. At the Quidditch camp - he was Hogwarts' starting Keeper and I was the starting Seeker. That meant lots of time together. I showed interest in him, and he ... well you know what they say about Nifflers and gold. It was almost pathetically easy."

"How did you perceive his motivations?"

"Basically, to have as much sex in as many different ways as humanly possible. I mean, Ronnie had been a virgin..."

"Miss Chang, must I up your dosage?"

"No ... sorry. It's just.... Well, Ronnie saw me as something even his best friend The Boy Who Lived couldn't get. I never told him what really happened. He repressed a great deal of jealousy towards Potter. Ronnie told me he'd failed at winning over Granger. And then Potter and Granger ... that much is public. But Ronnie..., with his temper, he was an open book. At the end I suspect he wanted to declare for me, maybe more - but now we'll never know."

"And yourself, were you a virgin?"

"No. Cedric was my first. But Ronnie thought I was. After Cedric died, one of the first things I was required through the Xiao Jing charm was to take Virginity Restoring Potion. That's not exactly Dark, but dodgy. It works. But I don't think Ronnie cared much about that. He just loved sex. He wasn't very skilled in the beginning, but he was always very enthusiastic."

"Did you continue to act under compulsion throughout your relationship with Ronald Weasley?"

"In most ways, yes. But at some points, I don't think so."

"You'd best explain. It's critical to your compulsion defence."

"Throughout the relationship, I travelled with Yan fu to Amsterdam to make pornos. That was always compelled. Whilst the sex was excellent, I could never have done that willingly. But he was training me, I'm now sure, to become a succubus. Several of my ... umm ... co-stars died during my training. But with Ronnie, I sometimes had relations with him without feeling any compulsion. It helped him so much, and eventually I did grow fond of him."

"How did sex with Mister Weasley - I'm assuming that's what you meant - help him?"

"Yes that's what I meant. To be blunt, I was shagging Ronnie whenever we could. It helped him avoid horrific nightmares. He'd been the victim of some sort of attack - I think in the Ministry, but he didn't like talking about it. His nightmares were awful: about dying, about being eaten by Acromantulæ, about being betrayed, especially by Potter and Granger, who were his best friends. He said repeatedly that after we shagged he could sleep more soundly."

"He had nightmares about betrayal." The Auror repeated. "Don't you find that rather ironic?"

"Yes ... but I felt.... I was a puppet on a string. Betrayal ... Ronnie was once interested in Granger, though that didn't get very far, if at all. But in one recurring nightmare it had. They were together, maybe married, and she ruined him by having some sort of affair with Potter. Ronnie called it his 'Locomotive Breath' nightmare. He named his dreams."

"What did Mister Weasley mean by that?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe he woke up panting. Maybe it involved the Hogwarts Express, where he, Potter, and Granger first met. Or it might.... I don't know."

"All right. When did you learn what lay in store for Mister Weasley?"

"I had suspicions.... I was trying to sort things out when I had that confrontation with Granger. But I couldn't stop. Our sex became more dangerous. Ronnie fainted a couple of times. The last time.... It was horrible. Something inside me sliced him up pretty badly. He passed out. I healed him. But those were just premonitions."

"I only learnt for certain once I came home to Wales for the winter holiday. Yan fu took me into his business study. He'd never let me in there, or even Jia mu ... umm ... my mother. He informed me that he wasn't really in the import-export business as I'd always believed. Instead, he was hereditary leader; he called it 'Mountain Master,' of the White Lotus Triad. I was to enter an arranged marriage to He Who Must Not Be Named. Our heir would rule over both the Triad and the Death Eaters, effecting a merger. Yan fu wanted access to money He Who Must Not Be Named had stashed in banks in China. The Death Eaters needed more manpower, which the Triad could supply."

"What did becoming a succubus have to do with any of this?"

"I'm sure I wasn't told everything, but He Who Must Not Be Named was so thoroughly Dark that he could not successfully mate - that is, father children - with a normal witch. It had to be Dark Creature. Why a succubus rather than, say, a harpy, I don't know. I would become a succubus. Immediately after...."

Even under Veritaserum, Cho could not keep from shuddering at the thought.

"...feeding, succubi are very fertile, but I was had to drink a potion, just to be sure. We were to marry, in a Chinese ceremony, to satisfy the Triad. Then we would mate and hopefully produce an heir to unite the Triad and the Death Eaters. But first, I had to ... Kill Ronnie.... Oh, Merlin."

"Why Ronald Weasley?"

"I don't know. Yan fu never said. I think it was because Ronnie was a friend of Potter's. With all the brouhaha about The Chosen One, I think Ronnie was a bargaining chip Yan fu used in arranging things with He Who Must Not be Named. We were both pawns in a greater game - Ronnie more than I."

"Let's talk about that 'greater game' as you call it. What do you know about Death Eaters and Triads?"

"Little. I'd never seen either before the holiday. After my last lecture from Yan fu, I was not permitted outside the house, so I don't know what went on outside. In the house, I saw hundreds of Triads and maybe two dozen Death Eaters. I know nothing of their plans."

"You stayed at the compound in Wales, then. How did you get to Stonehenge?"

"I remained in Pantllefrith until New Years' Night. I met Ronnie at the Floo, and took him to my bedroom. We were starting to shag when he was seized. I didn't see him again until Stonehenge. When it was time, I was escorted to a Triad portal. On the other end was a tent. The tent was at Stonehenge. It was dark. I don't know any more than that."

"What was supposed to happen?"

"I was supposed to mount ... Ronnie...." Cho choked up, again. "Can I have ... some water?"

"Surely. Would pumpkin juice do?"

"Yes."

"You know I'll have to add a maintenance dose?"

"Doesn't matter, does it?"

Several minutes passed whilst Cho composed herself and slaked her thirst.

"You were about to tell me what was planned."

"Ronnie would be.... I don't know. Anyway, he would be there in a suitable state for me to shag him. I would ... feed on his fluids until he was ... dead and drained. A metamorphosis would occur - as you can tell, some of it did. My wings would unfurl, and the usual horns. I would become a succubus."

"Then I would return to the tent. I would receive more Virginity Restoring Potion. I would wear a traditional Chinese red wedding dress and exchange vows with He Who Must Not Be Named. We would have sex. I would return to Pantllefrith for confirmation of pregnancy. That's all I know."

"What did happen?"

"I prepared as required. My eyes were fully blue, and my feet had changed, too. I left the tent. I saw Ronnie chained to a large stone. He was ... ready. I slipped off the robe I was wearing and made ready to mount him. I knelt to kiss him with that hideous forked tongue.... Suddenly I heard a lot of noise. Some spell hit me from behind. I never saw it coming. I woke up here."

"Have you been promised anything in return for your interview today?"

"No."

"Is there anything else you would like to say?"

"I ... I never wanted to hurt anyone, least of all Ronnie. But the tattoo.... It's gone, thank Merlin. I hate Yan fu ... my father. I hate what I've become. But I don't think I deserve to die for what I couldn't stop."

60

C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch51 Padfoot's legacy.doc 7/25/2009