Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 72 - Storm Brewing

It was a long, surprisingly frustrating dream.

Dream state Hermione absolutely had to be somewhere at Hogwarts - but the reason and locale kept changing. First, she had a D.A. meeting with Harry either in the Room of Requirement or the Chamber of Secrets, the venue was fuzzy....

Then, inscrutably, she bustled to the main courtyard for the Gobstones Club's tournament finals, a late spring event.... But ... she could care less about Gobstones.

That scene dissolved into another, and off she sped again. Now, she tried to find the annual O.W.L. and Older Muggle Studies Non-Magical Bake-Off (held about the same time). Where was that course's classroom and hallway?

Turned around again, subliminal Hermione rushed to see the Headmaster, but his office kept jumping from tower to tower....

She almost jumped out of her robes at the feel of something on her back. Fortunately she was not having a starkers-in-public dream. Hermione whirled about and found Dobby - wearing seven of her knit caps. To get her attention, he had poked her with a wand.

When did elves get wands?

Following Dobby's directions, Hermione's dream self traversed another seemingly endless corridor. But urgency began draining away, and things turned hazy. Somehow, she displeased Dobby - the elf raked his wand along her side.

That sent shivers down her spine.

Tingling, she looked around, but Dobby (no longer at Hogwarts, except in her dream), was fading away.

Two strokes this time - one betwixt the shoulder blades, the other, scratchier, along her side. Goose pimples rocketed from armpit to kneepit.

Like powdered moonstone through a sieve her dream trickled away.... Groggily, Hermione recognised the Château's huge Proprietor's bedroom.

Those delicious sensations?

Harry had been scratching ... rubbing ... caressing her back as they lay together on the satin sheets.

Turnabout was definitely fair play.

Harry had awoken early, peckish. Watching Hermione sleep, he indulged his erotic fantasies. She had been in charge the last time. Now it was his turn....

He spooned her. The fingertips of one hand fluttered lightly along her shoulders, neck and the small of her back. His other hand stroked her side in motion that emphasised her curves, producing rapturous sensations from her shoulders to mid-thigh. At full extension, Harry's hand lazily flipped over, and the tips of his fingernails trailed up the length of Hermione's spine.

Then he started over.

The tension was exquisite, and she felt divine.

Why bother moving when Nirvana came knocking? Hermione stayed still. Surely Harry was aware. Surely he noticed her change in breathing as she awoke.

She maintained the pretence of sleep. Harry was content to scratch her back in that heavenly - and intensely arousing - manner. Her desire for him mounted as shivers from his stroking coursed to her thighs and pooled at their apex.

Oh, Merlin, that euphoric jolt surged to her core! Seeking him, Hermione started rolling over, but found Harry's soft touches suddenly becoming firm, gently holding her in place.

Okay, he wanted her passive; she would let him lead ... as he let her lead before. The mattress dipped slightly as Harry readjusted. She did the same - drawing in her knees to offer more of her bum for him to fondle.

Harry took full advantage. His hands continued their circular motion, fingertips and fingernails alternating across her sensitive skin. Hermione's world shrank to Harry's magical fingers and their electrifying sensations.

Another dip, and she felt him - the "him" part of him - at her thighs, pressing gently, then backing off, as he rocked beside her.

Circe! She wanted, no needed, him.

Hermione began to hook her leg over him, so he would have unfettered access to her most tingly spot.

Again, he stopped her. His delightful touch firmed and held her in place.

Harry had never wanted her totally still before. She granted his wish, knowing her favour would be returned many times over.

True to form, he began giving her what she wanted - excruciatingly slowly.

Up and down; back and forth; round and round, his fingers danced across her sensitive skin - back, buttocks, side, thighs - and once she let her arms go limp - her bosom as well.

Oh gods - in his hands her entire body was one huge erogenous zone.

And Harry's aroused state slithered rhythmically across her bits, slipping and sliding ever more easily. As before, his arousal joined hers. He now slid freely beside, but not quite within, her aching flesh. All the while his wonderful hands maintained their wonderful motions ... oh, wonderful Harry....

His angle shifted ever so slightly, and - all that is holy! - his sleek tip split her petals and plunged into her depths.

Hermione gasped, her breath ragged. His ministrations had left her on a hair trigger without her even knowing. Instinctively, her back arched into him, as his intimacy released a chain reaction. All her tension, all her arousal, broke loose as one. Her whole body tensed, shuddered, and released as nature's greatest pleasures ran their heavenly course.

Only vaguely conscious, Hermione felt herself rolling over. Before she could fret over ruining the sheets, the mattress bounced and Harry's hot breath tickled her now not-quite-so-hair trigger. Her brain registered that, for the first time, Harry had inverted their usual positions ... a first because she had hesitated....

This time she was beyond caring. In ecstasy as he devoured her, she wanted to please him every bit as much. 'Now, Harry, please,' she Legilimenced whilst taking him in.

Magic was wonderful. Especially the spell that kept her breathing easily.

Magic was wonderful. Harry cast that divine charm on his tongue....

En route to their shared cataclysmic climax, Harry matched Hermione - rapture for rapture - using every tool at his command.

Their last morning at the Château would be most memorable, indeed.

* * * *

By themselves this time, Harry and Hermione returned to Hogwarts much more modestly than they had left. Aside from a couple of goblin guards and the liveried house-elf driver, the only other occupants of their one-Thestral mini-carriage were a couple of international fast owls.

Harry, correctly, anticipated the need to send some messages.

One went almost without saying. The so-called "guinea pig" - a second ancient manuscript from the newly-discovered crypt beneath Château Blackwalls - went winging to Blackie Howe with instructions to test its authenticity. No expense was to be spared - not that Howe would. He was a solicitor, first and foremost.

Also on the agenda was house-elf liberation, Hermione's personal passion. Loose ends from the assembly in the Château's elf dormitory had to be addressed. Hermione suggested physical improvements to the elves' living quarters. The same spells that enlarged magical cars, tents, and trunks could expand the elves' pathetic little cubbyholes.

Overshadowing even that was Harry's spur-of-the-moment, improvised Unbreakable Vow. Dobby's personality was too - different, weird, whatever - for the Château's traditionalist house-elves. Harry needed to enhance Dobby's authority.

He also needed to convince the Château Blackwalls house-elves that, contrary to generations of deep-seated belief, an offer of clothes from this Proprietor was not an ignominious dismissal.

Whilst sweating and straining to drive screws into solid brick, Harry had recalled something critical. According to Dumbledore, a wizard-goblin Unbreakable Vow had ended the last Goblin Rebellion.

If it worked with goblins, presumably the Vow could be performed with other sentient beings - at least those not in bondage. Unlike every other house-elf at the Château, Dobby was free. So Harry went with his gut. It could have blown up in his face, but had not.

Hopefully the Vow - along with the ceremony - would induce at least some house-elves to transcend æons of superstition and accept freedom. He need not convince them all; not even a majority. A dozen or two was enough for a combat-ready unit to protect the Château against Death Eater attacks.

Hermione thought that idea brilliant - the antithesis of Harry's choice to entrust the house-elf literacy program to Ima Hogg. Not brilliant, that. Hermione suspected Hogg of opposing any form of house-elf freedom.

She was surprised when Harry readily agreed.

Hermione nearly choked on her pumpkin juice when Harry explained that he had deliberately assigned Hogg that task as a loyalty test. If she slacked off, and the elves failed the literacy testing materials that accompanied the textbooks, he would be giving her the sack.

"How ... how Slytherin of you.... I wish I'd thought of it," Hermione observed with a satisfied smile.

"I guess being a Black has some influence after...." Harry stopped short at Slamdor's approach.

Slamdor paused, waiting until Harry acknowledged him. With a soft, frustrated audible only to Hermione, Harry did. "Yes, Slamdor - greetings."

"Fealty offer I. Impratraxis, speak freely may I?" the goblin requested.

"Of course...." Before anything else escaped Harry's mouth, the goblin prostrated himself.

Hermione's eyes widened. Harry acted confused. "Umm ... anyor."

Slamdor scrambled to his feet, his expression - strangely - was quite frankly happy. "Impratraxis, promoted have been I. New division, rapid response, lead will I, under your command...."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Bloody brilliant!" he exclaimed. "How did that happen?"

"Our Stonehenge response, displeased were the lanaman ... our general staff. Too slow were we - fortunate were you...."

Slamdor had that square in the gold.

"...But no more. Special unit to create am I. Death Eaters to fight - with you."

"Who replaces you?" Hermione intervened. Slamdor's prior command was the goblin unit responsible for Harry's - and her - personal safety.

Slamdor smiled another toothy grin. "Will be led by your guard, Roxtar the Lost-Finger. But again, and soon, shall meet we."

Roxtar's role in the Battle of Stonehenge had earned him an individualised honorific - a vaunted distinction shared with predecessors like Eargit the Ugly and Urg the Unclean. Roxtar's moniker was rather more complimentary than those distinguished forebearers.

Harry was gratified at the recognition Roxtar and Slamdor received for battlefield valour. They had earned a just reward. Self interest also factored; other elite goblin braves would doubtless vie to serve in his vanguard. The constant threats endangering Harry and his friends offered goblin guards ample opportunity to prove mettle in battle. For a warrior race, no higher calling existed.

So Harry responded, "Congratulations, Slamdor, sagatak. Before you leave, can you handle something for me - it won't take long."

For a brief instant, Slamdor regarded Harry strangely, before realising his own impertinence. "Is my command, your wish," he croaked.

"It'll help with those bothersome delays," Harry added.

Goblin ears pointed in Harry's direction. Slamdor's interest rose several levels.

"I would like a mirror portal ... a splixii I think it's called ... built somewhere in the Château's basement," Harry requested. "It must be where my staff can reach it in an emergency - and goblins, too, of course, coming the other way."

"How many?" Slamdor asked.

Harry considered that. "No more than thirty or forty," he estimated.

Slamdor's strange look returned, and lingered. "Thirty or forty?" he questioned.

"Not counting house-elves," Harry quickly clarified, with Hermione looking over his shoulder.

Utter confusion replaced Slamdor's strange look. "What? Talking of same thing are not we."

"I want my staff able to escape if the Château is attacked," Harry hastened to specify.

"Number of splixii seek you, trying to learn, am I" Slamdor reciprocated, "so your order to complete can I."

"Oops. Just one," Harry clarified, wondering where they had parted ways. "As long as it's easy to find."

"One splixat, then," Slamdor confirmed.

Harry understood that the confusion arose from his using a plural when he meant the singular. His Gobbledygook plainly needed improvement before he could even consider giving a speech in that language. But for now, that did not matter.

"Great," he said. "That's why I have this Château owl."

Until he reached Hogwarts, Harry wrote out instructions to Jerry McAllister detailing preparations for evacuating the staff to goblin territory in event of emergency.

* * * *

As the Hogwarts term recommenced, the depths of January heralded truly horrendous weather. Biting northeasterlies brought snow more days than not, and when not drove the mercury far into negative territory. In London heavy snow brought the Muggle bus system to a halt more effectively than the Blitz - and almost as effectively as a drivers' strike.

In some perverse pact with the climate gods, the school's professors piled mounds of homework upon their snowed-in charges.

Harry's and Hermione's return to the Castle and its familiar pedagogical routine brought the return of petty frustrations - with a vengeance.

Harry also had to contend with Dumbledore. The Term had barely started when the Headmaster conducted another "special" lesson. Harry experienced yet another Pensieve memory - Tom Riddle's second visit to the Gaunt house, more bleak and run down than ever. By the end, the Slytherin ring had been stolen and the last of the Gaunts sentenced to life in Azkaban; framed for murdering Voldemort's Muggle father and grandfather.

Defence Against the Dark Arts recommenced as onerously as any other class, with extensive reading on curse deflection through fortification. A rigorous practical lesson, coordinating spellfire using enfilade and defilade principles, was set for the second Thursday after the students returned.

Heavy snow did not deter Professor Shacklebolt. Rather, it provided building material.

On the previous Monday, Shak had sent a Patronus to Harry summoning him to his office Tuesday during Harry's first free period. Harry, Hermione, and Ron speculated endlessly about this mystery meeting, but reality hardly measured up to the hype.

Shak glanced up from his office desk when Harry arrived. "Shut the door. I'll Charm the room," he directed in a flat and business-like manner.

With Locking and Silencing Charms in place, Shak placed both hands on his desk, looked straight at Harry, and revealed, "As part of its inquiry into the events of New Years Eve, the Ministry wants to interview you, Harry."

Harry stiffened. "That's not a good idea. The last time, the Ministry leaked like a sieve. What's to prevent everything I say from going straight to the Death Eaters? We're better off just letting Voldemort guess what happened."

"My sentiments exactly - and although he say so publicly, the Minister's as well."

Harry was displeased. "So why are we doing this?"

"There has to be an inquiry. Rules are rules, and Thicknesse knows them. But you put your finger on it - we're doing this, not him."

That grabbed Harry's attention. "What do you mean, we?"

Shak stared him down with a look brooking no opposition. "I mean you, me, and Alastor Gumboil will have a nice chat here at Hogwarts. Thicknesse can't dictate who does the interview, or where, so to hell with him. To be doubly sure of keeping things under control, I've decided to make it a teachable moment."

"I ... I don't know about that," Harry tried to resist. "Who's going to be teaching what?"

Shak glowered, darker than even his ordinary ebony complexion. "Here's what'll happen. I want this over with quickly - and properly. Understand that if ... certain persons ... can't get at you, they might come after your friends. I'm going to turn the next Defence class into a demonstration of Auror procedure...."

"But Malfoy and the other Slytherin death nibblers will be there!" Harry protested.

Shak's chuckle sounded like distant thunder. "Got that covered. Attendance will be optional - open only to those interested in possibly joining the Corps. Attendees have to sign an official orientation sheet, and the magic on those.... Well, let's just say that the hex your lady friend laid on Edgecombe last year pales by comparison."

The idea sounded more plausible, but Harry still wondered. "What about the press?"

"That won't be a problem," Shak reassured, "not this time. The Ministry doesn't want publicity, and you and I both know that what the Ministry doesn't want covered, the Prophet doesn't cover. The Minister's got Cuffe's balls in his robe pocket."

And so, Thursday afternoon's Double Defence session became something quite unusual. Maybe half the class shuffled into the classroom - Auror service in wartime was not a particularly popular career choice.

The attendees found two tables at the front of the room, each covered with plain white tablecloths. Professor Shacklebolt occupied one table with a wizard unknown to the audience - Alastor Gumboil, tall, as bald as Skak, sporting a jet black handlebar moustache. Facing them were Harry, Hermione, and Neville. All three knew Gumboil from their Glastonbury outing.

Only two Slytherins were in attendance - Daphne Greengrass, a trustworthy D.A. member, and Tristan Marlowe, one of the recent replacements for the House's three vanished Sixth-Years. He was rumoured to be at loggerheads with most of his House.

Intrigue grew as, just before Shak gavelled the proceedings to order, the Headmaster slipped in, George Weasley with him. George came forward, but Dumbledore remained at the very back of the room, where he conjured a chintz armchair and silently took a seat.

"George!" Ron called from the audience. "You're looking well ... if not good."

"I can't hear you," George chirped. He cupped his hand about the ear that no longer was.

Ron riposted, "Then maybe you need the extendable version."

"To think I lost it rescuing you, you daft prat," George replied, his tone good-natured.

With the commotion, Harry, Hermione, and Neville turned in time to greet George, who was typically all smiles - but with a plaster where his right ear should be.

Hermione conjured another of the rather uncomfortable straight-backed wooden chairs the "witnesses" were occupying, as Harry asked. "What brings you back here?"

"Well you know how it is," George cracked, "ear today, gone tomorrow."

"So is that a new Three-W product - expendable ears?" Hermione returned in kind.

"Not sure there's any market in that," George shot back. "At least I haven't heard of any lately."

Hermione giggled. Harry joined moments later. Finally, Neville, who knew the Twins only slightly, dissolved in laughter.

"Bit slow on the uptake, eh, Nev?" George went on. "Well, don't worry. At least now, you can tell us apart...."

"And now you resemble Vincent Van Gogh," Hermione allowed. Her stab at humour fell flat, as George responded with an uncomprehending look. Knowledge of Muggle culture was not a Weasley strong suit.

George's suit, however, was quite strong - on the eyes. In Gryffindor colours, red and gold stripes, its chevron pattern repeated "WWW." Recovering from Hermione's failed quip, he turned to his audience and asked, "Know any good ear jokes? They're worth a ten percent discount at the shop...."

"If we could get started," Shak dryly talked over the ebullient redhead. Since this was primarily an Auror inquest, he took the lead. Gumboil was quite content to let him.

Shak opened his dragon-skin briefcase, and removed a stack of papers. "Dididio!" He waved his wand, and the papers leapt apart and soared across the room. One for each student, they landed neatly on each occupied desk. "Now, you can follow along," Shak directed. "This is a standard debriefing outline for Aurors returned from a mission involving Death Eater confrontation."

Shak had chatted ahead of time with all three student interviewees so they understood what was coming. Hermione and Neville had outvoted Harry, agreeing that he should do most of the talking.

Although Shak could conduct such an interview from memory, he paused and consulted his copy. "First, Auror ... er ... Mister Potter, what was the objective of the mission?"

"To rescue Ron Weasley, sir," Harry responded.

"Nothing else?" Gumboil followed.

"No, sir," Harry reiterated. "All we wanted was to get in, get Ron, and get out. But the Death Eaters had other ideas."

"I'll wager they did," Shak snorted. "All right, then. Next category. Intelligence."

"None, sir," Harry had to admit.

Shak was incredulous. "None? Surely you knew something. At least the reason for going to Stonehenge ... didn't you?"

"I know it sounds crazy, sir, but we didn't know where we were going until we got there," Harry responded rather plaintively. "That's just how it is with me, I guess. We sure didn't know what we'd find when we got there...."

Hermione jumped in. "Nobody expected the Spanish Inquisition, sir ... that is, encountering Voldemort and a thousand of his closest friends...."

An incredulous look passed between Shak and Gumboil. Harry and his youthful followers had dealt a bigger defeat to more Death Eaters than the Aurors ever accomplished, but ... they went into battle blind? "How did you know where to go, then?" Gumboil demanded.

Harry, with help from Hermione, explained how Mad-Eye Moody led a small search party to Cho Chang's house, discovered it swarming with Death Eaters, and used a captured Death Eater Portkey to send a disguised Tonks ahead to an unknown destination - with a ring on a goblin's amputated finger serving as a tracking device.

By the time this description was complete, Shak had to force himself to maintain professional deportment. It would not do to smack himself on the forehead in public.

"I suppose your answer to the next item, planning, will be the same as before - that is to say, none?" Shak cross-examined after hearing more than enough.

"Well, sir, we did have to plan to leave the Château unnoticed," Harry allowed. "But as for fighting Death Eaters, you'd be spot on. We made that up as we went along."

"We'll get to that. But for now ... you actually planned for the - what - eight of you to sneak away from the score or more of staff, employed by you, and even more house-elves, which again were bound to serve you loyally?" Shak asked with frank disbelief edging into his voice. "Were you trying to get yourselves killed?"

"No, sir, it was Mad-Eye's idea, and he wasn't trying to get anyone killed - at least not on our side," Harry answered as directly as he could.

"Nobody but himself," Gumboil interjected. Their shocked looks - especially from Harry and Hermione - told the Hit Wizard that he'd overstepped. He had forgotten the deceased Auror's relationship with the boy.

"I'm sorry, Mister Potter, that was uncalled for," Gumboil retreated, worrying his moustache.

"Actually, sir, it wasn't," Hermione spoke up. "Objectively, we were extremely stupid - foregoing all those resources. But there were good reasons for it. That was Mad-Eye's advice. He may have been paranoid, but he was right enough, often enough, that we went along. Ron's life was at stake...."

Shak was concerned. "Auror Moody's advice...?"

"...Is private in nature and is being addressed ... sir," Hermione forcefully ended that line of inquiry.

Shak and Gumboil both looked at Harry.

"Gentlemen, she's right. I've dealt with that," Harry confirmed, and said no more.

Silence reigned as the Board of Enquiry and the witnesses took each other's measure.

"All right, then, since that's not to the Ministry's interest, we'll continue," Shak retreated, as Gumboil nodded. "Resources. Both Wizard and materiel. What did you have handy to accomplish your mission?"

Between them, the four rattled off the names of eight wizards and six goblins who travelled to Stonehenge. Hermione made sure to mention Dobby. They described motley means of transport - emphasising the two Valkyries, since they figured in the battle. Neville described the now-splintered Staff of Asclepius.

George hit his stride. "We had with us about a dozen Suicide Spyders - you know, the ones that blow things up? Been trying to interest you blokes in a Private Tender for months. Well, Stonehenge was proof positive that they work famously in battlefield conditions. We also brought along a gross of something new, reverse water balloons...."

"Reverse water balloons?" Gumboil repeated, looking intrigued. "What are those?"

"Bog standard Muggle balloons filled with alkahest," George happily informed the enquiry. "Brilliant, really. Alkahest turns anything that isn't alive into water, so the problem's always been how to package the stuff. The answer turns out to be Muggle latex. The balloons melted the stones that supported the grandstands where Voldemort's Chinese pals were. We could give you excellent terms...."

George's blatant sales pitch even began embarrassing Harry, so he broke in. "I also brought a phial of Felix Felicis - the stuff Ron won in Potions. He'd given it to me in secret to hold for him...."

"Thanks, Harry," Ron called from the audience. "Inspired use of it, really."

"I have to agree with him," Gumboil concurred. "Mister Weasley, Ronald that is, may I pose a question to you?"

Ron was visibly hesitant to get involved. "Umm.... Sure, I guess...."

"Did you request Mister Potter to take possession of your Felix Felicis in strict confidence?"

"Did I ask Harry to keep mum on it, you mean?" Ron rephrased the question. Then he answered. "I sure did. I reckon only Hermione knew - they don't keep secrets ... er ... from each other, that is."

"Then all I can say is you were truly lucky, all of you," Shak declared solemnly.

"What do mean, sir?" Harry asked, inverting the roles of questioned and questioner.

But not entirely.

"Harry, I think the professor's referencing the fact that an effective antidote to Felix Felicis has existed for about two decades," Hermione spoke up. "Had the Death Eaters known that you had the potion, instead of Ron, they might have had that antidote on hand. Snape could surely have brewed it. It's not particularly difficult to make. That's one reason that Aurors, such as Moody and Tonks, don't use the stuff."

The enquiry turned to strategy and tactics. The strategy was simple. Use the element of surprise to get in and rescue Ron - then pray they could get out again. If Plan A failed, hunker down and hope the goblin army arrived before it was too late.

Ultimately Plan B worked, although even that proved a very close run thing.

Harry and Neville pointed out that, in terms of tactics, eliminating enemy brooms (and, for Triads, other flying objects) was the first priority. They used different methods - Harry launched a barrage of fiery spells from his triple-cored Valkyrie whilst Neville used noxious vines. Both were effective: No Death Eaters took to the skies during the entire battle.

Harry's mission was to engage Voldemort and generally try to hold back the Death Eaters, so the others could get to Ron and then make good an escape.

The Board had a series of rather technical questions about flying manœuvres, spellfire, broom-handling, and similar subjects - directed mostly but not entirely to Harry.

The Death Eaters had some sort of portal. It was still discharging Triads from who knows where when the attack began. Hermione's objective was to shut down the portal, employing (as the Twins ensured everyone knew) a Suicide Spyder. To accomplish that, her primary tactic was making multiple copies of herself with a Duplicating Charm. Moody did the same, she recounted. His mission had been, first, to send up Auror assist signals seeking help from the nearby Salisbury Auror headquarters; next, to take down the Death Eaters' anti-Apparition wards; and after that to cause as much general havoc amongst the enemy as possible.

George recounted his mission to collapse the grandstand atop the stone circle where most of the Triads were located, so as to incapacitate as many of them as possible. It had not gone as planned.

"...I was pants. Couldn't hit a bloody thing with those balloons from the back of a broom. Hadn't anticipated flying. After two passes didn't accomplish squat, that crazy witch told me just toss them up and she'd do all the work. That's when I lost my bloody ear...."

"I'll have to ask Miss Granger if she agrees with that characterisation," Shak remarked, amusement at George's account showing on his face.

"I had nothing to do with that, sir," Hermione demurred. "By then I was pinned down inside the circle trading curses with Death Eaters."

"I'm sorry, I must be confused," Gumboil intervened. "Mister Weasley, exactly what were you flying and with whom?"

"Her name's Jazzy, that's all I know," George answered. "We flew Hermione's broom. Right wicked it was. Too bad it got wrecked, but with all those Dark wizards, that probably couldn't be helped."

"What about the broom's protective charms?" the Hit Wizard followed up.

"Didn't - couldn't - use them," George admitted. "Everything coming at us, we had to dodge. Speed and manœuverability, that's all we had. That Jazzy, she's an out and out maniac, but she sure can fly. I can't fly like that alone, and she did it whilst carting me about."

"Miss Granger, why didn't you use your broom?" Shak asked. "It would have been much safer." Shak and Gumboil both expressed surprise that Hermione would turn her Valkyrie over to Jazzy (who, as a Third Year, was not present in the classroom).

"Because, sir, I'm a terrible flyer," Hermione answered, pained to admit failure at anything. "Even with all the charms, I couldn't have managed what they did and I knew it. I'm best at cursing Death Eaters with my feet firmly planted on the ground, thank you very much."

The questioning concerned the Dementors. Harry described his unusual, persistent Patronus. Shak and Gumboil had no better idea Harry what might have caused it. The next peril they had overcome - Fiendfyre - was a different story.

"...Once the Dementors had to retreat, Voldemort tried clearing the circle with Fiendfyre," Harry expounded. "He was mostly after Hermione. She fought off the first bit of it, but there was a lot more. When the Fiendfyre was about to come after her again, I put it out with a Fluvius Azote spell."

The questioners looked at Harry blankly. Gumboil asked, "What was that spell again?"

The incantation is "Fluvius Azote," Harry repeated.

"Never heard of that," Shak commented.

"Probably because I only invented it a couple of months ago," Hermione hastened to add. "A linguistic extension of the usual Fluvius spell."

"Yes, by the usual conventions, 'fluvius' refers to water," Gumboil agreed. "But 'azote,' that's a new one."

Hermione shook her head. "With all due respect, sir, 'fluvius' simply means a liquid. Water, being most common, is simply a default. 'Azote' is a term Healers use to invoke various nitro-based charms. Liquid nitrogen is extremely cold and burns not at all. It's extremely effective at putting out fires. I've used it to extinguish Greek fire, and that even burns under water."

"I only tried it because I'd seen Hermione's results," Harry admitted, thinking how she had used it during their duel in the Room of Requirement.

Shak and Gumboil looked intrigued. "Do either of you know what Fiendfyre is?" Gumboil asked.

"Heard of it, sir, nothing more," Harry answered. "I don't recall it from my summer's training." He instinctively looked to Hermione.

"Not exactly, sir," she added. "It's intense magical fire, and its origins are, I believe, obscure. I know the Death Eaters burned ... umm ... use it, and it's hard to put out."

"Fiendfyre actually burns magic," Shak explained. "Ordinary extinguishing spells are useless, as adding magic only makes things worse. It wasn't covered in your training because, frankly, there's little to cover. The only countermeasure is to isolate it from magic and let it burn itself out. But that wouldn't work at Stonehenge. The more magical the place, the fiercer it burns. And Stonehenge is strongly magical...."

"Then why did my spell work?" Harry asked. "I certainly used magic ... er ... sir."

"Probably because your magic conjured a non-magical substance," Gumboil speculated. "One that, as mentioned, is extremely effective at putting out fires.... But without seeing it work, I can't be sure."

Shak paused for a bit and remarked. "An effective means of combatting Fiendfyre would be useful, very useful indeed, to have ...."

"Sir, I'm sure I could show you some time," Harry offered.

"I'm sure you can," Shak implicitly accepted. "What happened next?"

"Ron was gone, so I reckoned Luna had rescued him. I tried to signal everyone to get out, but I got hit - my broom that is - by an AK," Harry recounted as evenly as he could.

"I thought he was dead," Hermione added morosely. "I expected to follow, so I fortified myself - to take as many with me as I could. That's when Dolohov nearly killed me. Roxtar rescued me...." A broad, satisfied smile spread across her face. "...and the goblin army finally arrived."

"I was buried by then, sir," Neville said, shaking his head. "I didn't see that or anything else."

"Very well, Mister Longbottom," Gumboil replied. "You may be excused. We thank you for your cooperation." Neville quickly stood and retreated to the ranks of the student observers.

"We, Jazzy and I, used up the left over Reverse Water Balloons making as much quicksand as we could," George gave his vantage. "Then left me where we started. I had more gadgets - Hydra-Headed squibs packed with Clarion Crystals - brilliant for night warfare. Helped the goblins find...."

"Yes, we're aware that your ordnance is excellent," Gumboil remarked sharply in a let's-move-this-along voice. "What was this ... umm ... Jazzy witch's mission?"

George frowned. "Mission? You mean what was Jazzy supposed to do next? She didn't say. She's a bloody third year, see? She just went out and attacked the lot of them, until finally she got cursed.... I thought she'd died. Wouldn't surprise me if she intended to."

Shak looked unhappy. "May I remind you we're discussing strategy and tactics? The goblin army had arrived. I assumed that changed your approach to the Deaters."

"Sir, I just wanted everyone out," Harry sighed. "I was trying to keep Death Eaters away from Hermione. I didn't know where anyone else was. Then the Triad leader - Chang, but I didn't know that - he conjured up a huge swarm of meat-eating bugs...."

"They were locusts," Hermione corrected. "They nearly ate Luna's leg."

"Lovegood? I thought she'd gone off with Ronald Weasley," Shak interrupted.

"She came back, sir. I was so surprised, I nearly cursed her," Hermione recalled with a slight smile. Taking a deep breath, she continued. "Luna suggested the cleansing spell. As you mentioned, Stonehenge is extremely magical. I thought it might disable the Death Eaters or something. I had no idea...."

That was true enough, but not enough truth.

Shak followed up. "Please explain exactly how this cleansing spell operated...."

The distinguished wizard at the rear of the room rose. "I think we know quite enough on that subject," Dumbledore pronounced with finality. "It is redundant of my own investigation, which I shall happily share with the inquest - in private."

Hermione relaxed visibly. Uncharacteristically, Harry spoke up and drew attention to himself. "Sir, tactics.... After I escaped, those bugs attacked the goblins, which I guess was the point. From History of Magic, I knew goblins couldn't cast Shield Charms.... But I could conjure the next best thing - netting. So I flew all about covering every goblin I could reach with netting. With my broom damaged by the AK, it was the best I could do. That's a tactic, I guess."

"A helluva good one, I'd say," Gumboil agreed.

"Then, I urged them to fight, so I could hardly do less myself. I flew out ahead...." Harry regarded the witch beside him. "Hermione was still out there.... Oh, something you definitely need to know, Voldemort can fly - without a broom or anything."

Disgust flashed over Harry's face at the audible gasps his use of the Dark wizard's name prompted, even from an audience of possible Auror recruits.

"Did you see this yourself?" Shak immediately asked.

"Yes, sir, it was at the end - just after I finished with the goblins," Harry responded quickly. "He flew towards me. We started to duel, our second go, but he broke it off. Voldemort went back down. Then.... Well, he hit me with something I couldn't see, but it felt like a brick wall. I lost control and ran into something ... really hard. That's when I broke my leg. I'm guessing he saw Hermione, because he went after her straightaway. I'm glad he didn't wait, because I was nearly falling off my broom. That's when I created the condensate."

"What condensate?" Gumboil immediately asked, taking the words from Shak's mouth.

Harry started to answer, "Sir, it's something that happens when I charm the air to get really cold...."

"Ahem...," Dumbledore intervened again. If the condensate became public knowledge, it would prompt uncomfortable questions. "This is another delicate matter previously looked into. I am available to assist the enquiry in this respect."

Both Harry and Hermione lost consciousness shortly after the last events they related, bringing the session to a close - once George treated the room to a flabbergasting account of the magic touched off by Hermione's final spell.

"So what's the verdict, sir?" Harry asked at the end.

"My professional opinion is that you created an effective strategy on the fly against an unexpected and overwhelming enemy force," Shak pronounced. "I'm recommending that some of your tactics be studied in the Ministry's War College."

"Personally, I think the lot of you were madder than Martin Miggs," Gumboil added.

DADA being their last class of the day, Harry and Hermione stayed behind chatting with the enquiry board members, mostly about press coverage of the Ministry's actions on the night in question. Stepping into the corridor, they were intercepted by a visibly anxious Daphne Greengrass.

"Could I have a word?" she mumbled barely audibly. "In private. I've interesting news for you."

They followed the willowy Slytherin blonde to a vacant classroom next to the stairs leading to Professor Trelawney's tower classroom. "What is it?" Hermione hissed as Harry cast a Muffliato.

"I've a note from my Aunt Lili. She says I'm to help you - basically do anything you tell me to," Daphne revealed, her tone midway between sour and suggestive. "She wants me to give you this."

From her robes, she produced a visibly enchanted letter.

Hermione's outstretched arm blocked Harry from accepting the unorthodox post. "What's this all about?" she asked suspiciously. "Who's Lili?"

"Lili's my aunt, and the most powerful witch I've ever met. What does she want with you? Hell if I know." Daphne answered scathingly. "I'm a go between. With Aunt Lili, its no questions asked. She always has her reasons...."

"Bit like Dumbledore, I'd reckon," Harry said dryly.

"A bit," Daphne allowed. "Don't know or care to know her business with you, but she's not Dark, so this isn't a concealed Portkey or anything. She can be pretty scary, though, so watch yourselves."

Reassured, Hermione dropped her opposition, and Harry took the letter. The moment it touched his fingers, its surrounding enchantments vanished.

"Umm ... well, I'll be off," Daphne muttered, not wanting additional involvement with the happy couple. "Let me know if you need anything."

Harry's expression grew serious as he scanned the letter.

"What is it now?" Hermione asked, intrigued.

Harry pulled her close and whispered in her ear. "It's from the Sisters of the Moon - about the gold. A lady named Lilithu - no surname - wants to meet. There are instructions."

* * * *

He was already there, with the day's ingredients laid out, when she arrived. "That was damn short notice," she groused. She deposited her rucksack with a thud on the adjoining table. "And why are those creeps Spott and Cambo out there?"

"One at a time Reds," Malfoy drawled. "Smed and Preston are guarding against any more Squib interruptions - with Vince and Greg gone, I needed replacements. They won't bother you, unless I wanted them to."

"I've shared DADA with them for five years," Ginny scoffed. "They're okay for target practice, nothing more."

Draco shook his head. "Maybe, maybe not. And I couldn't help the scheduling. The announcement that today's Defence class was optional only happened yesterday. You didn't have a class, so why are you complaining?"

"I had a Quidditch practice right afterwards that I had to skive off," Ginny responded. "This better be good."

"Wait a minute," Draco eyed her suspiciously. "Quidditch isn't scheduled this early, and unless they've changed something, this isn't even your practise day."

Ginny flipped her hair haughtily. "Not Gryffindor practice. I had to miss the first session for the all-school picked team. I'm one of the Chasers."

"Bully for you," Draco allowed, somewhat churlishly. "That's your tosser brother's team, isn't it? What excuse did you give him?"

"Excuse?" Ginny bristled. "I told the truth. I had remedial Potions - I just didn't mention you."

"And that's part of the problem," Draco grumbled.

"What problem?" Ginny shot back defensively. "Like you deserve mention."

"We'll get to that," Draco put her off. "But first, the sixty-four thousand Galleon question. Do you want to go ahead with this?" Unseen, Draco's left hand rubbed the talisman that 'prompted' the girl to answer properly.

"Yes - of course," she huffed. "We've been over all this. Over the holiday.... The more I think about it, the more I think she probably enchanted him herself."

"Oh, really?" This was new, and anything to keep the girl motivated was good news. "And why would our favourite resident genius need that?" he responded sarcastically. "She led the Great Git by the nose for years before starting to lead him by something else...."

"Oh, shut it, ferret," Ginny shot back. "Durmstrang hadn't even rejected you yet, so you wouldn't know."

Draco seethed inwardly at that insult. He dared point out its inaccuracy. Besides, here was a rare opportunity, his first, to hear what things had been like on the other side. "Do tell, then."

"The Opening Feast.... An attempt to rescue Harry failed - from your own stupid Manor, I'm sure you know now...."

"Yeah, I know. They bloody well wrecked it," Draco growled in the most authentic show of anger he could muster. "Both effing sides. So, go on...."

He gave the talisman inside his robes a little rub.

Ginny did. "Well, Dumbledore was desperate - we all were - and Hermione somehow convinced the Headmaster to try a bunch of really complicated spells she cooked up with Luna Lovegood. Hermione took centre stage, of course. Dumbledore used a big blue stone in a basement dungeon that nobody, even her, knew about. These spells sent her off to search for Harry, so we were told."

"To search for the Great Git?" Draco was, frankly, shocked. He had never heard of such magic - far more complex than anything he had ever tried. Now he knew why everything had gone to hell.

"Everybody who saw what happened said so," she told him briskly. "But I don't know. Looking back, I wonder if she slipped some sort of Love Charm or something into all those spells. Because ... well, she found him just before nearly getting herself killed - and since he returned, he's been absolutely fixated on her. He hardly looks at me. Before, I know he played the field a bit."

Draco knew as well - another off-limits subject - so he led Ginny somewhere else. "Well, thanks for filling me in. But you're right, if she's enchanted him, then evening the playing field with a little Love Potion is only right. And it just so happens, I have some right here."

Draco placed three small phials of clear liquid on the countertop.

"You did it!" Ginny almost shrieked. She practically bounced on her toes in anticipation.

"Keep it down, Reds," Draco admonished. "Of course I did - first new moon after solstice, remember? This is what it looks like." He held it in front of one of the Potions dungeon's sconced torches. The transparent potion shimmered and glistened with the fire of liquid diamond.

"How did you sneak it past Filch?" she asked.

"Filch is a pitiful Squib," Malfoy scoffed arrogantly. "I soaked my socks and other woolens in it and let them dry out. He never even looked at them. Of course, I diverted him with some forbidden items in my trunk so poorly hidden that even he could find them. What I didn't want him to find, he didn't."

He pushed the phials temptingly across the table. "There's enough for six doses here. Now it's up to you to personalise it. Again, the more, well, close to you, the better...."

"Don't you worry, I've got that covered," Ginny tossed off that reassurance with another toss of her long red hair. "Don't forget, we share the same Quidditch clubhouse."

Draco made a nauseous face. "Believe me; I'm not worrying about that. I don't even want to know. Remember, the longer you keep it close to you ... anyway, I don't think I have to repeat myself."

"No, you don't. I'm going to take at least six weeks, maybe more. I want this to work, so it must be as strong and as personalised as possible." Carefully, she picked up the phials and slipped them inside her robes.

"I hope six full doses is enough, but if you need more, I have additional potion stock. I' might need your help to finalise it, though."

"What would you need me to do?" Ginny asked cautiously.

"Maybe nothing. Maybe stand watch as I put the finishing touches on the new batch, but only if I can't use Spott and Cambo. Now that I control the Malfoy family fortune, I rather suspect they'll be available."

"That's how you Slytherins are," Ginny commented acerbically, "kiss you when you're up, kick you when you're down."

"At least we know where we stand," he unkindly responded. "We're predictable - and we do get kissed."

Ginny scowled. His comment hit a little too close to home. "So, what's all this for?" she changed the subject, referring to the potions ingredients Draco had assembled.

"Remember - part two of the problem, as I mentioned earlier," Draco responded chillingly.

"And that is?" Ginny bade him continue.

Draco put it as bluntly as he could. "Think about it, Reds. She's nothing if not clever. If she not only figured out how to enchant him, but tricked Dumbledore to do it for her.... Well, you figure it out. Will she sit idly by and let you take away the Great Git? I don't."

Ginny's eyes narrowed at Draco's snide tone, she could not deny the implicit threat Hermione posed. "Just what exactly are you proposing?" she asked cautiously.

"Well, if Granger takes it into her head to look for potions, she's clever enough ... it won't be hard for her to find them, and then to find first you and then me," Draco shrugged. "The key is preemptive action ... to stop her from deciding to look in the first place. So what you see here are the ingredients for the Draught of Despair."

"Ugh.... You mean we not only have to dose him, but her, too?" Ginny asked, her face a picture of dismay. "How you think I could do that? She won't exactly be my best pal, you know, when I waltz up to her and say, 'Here, let me freshen up your pumpkin juice a bit....'"

"It doesn't work that way," Draco snapped.

"You're damn right it doesn't," Ginny continued.

Draco shook his head firmly. "No, I meant the bloody potion. The Draught of Despair isn't like that." He put out his hands, palms down, for emphasis. "I know the dynamic as well as you. That's why I've chosen the Draught. It's keyed to an event, not to a person."

Ginny remained sceptical, arms tightly crossed over her chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I thought you only sought peer tutoring in practical Potions," Draco reacted insultingly. "If you don't know that answer to that, you need theoretical help too...."

"Spare me your snide comments," Ginny growled, not at all amused. "You can't come close to Snape's wit and wisdom, no matter how hard you try. Just answer the question."

Draco took a deep breath. "All right. Lots of potions, the majority, are keyed to one thing or another. Some, like Ageing Potions, are keyed to particular times. That limits their use to certain periods. Others, like Love Potions, are keyed to people. That likewise limits their use. Still others key to particular events...."

"And this Draught of Despair?" Ginny cut him off impatiently.

"Keys to an event," Draco finished. "That's why it's not necessary to keep dosing the Mudblood...."

"I've told you I don't like you using that word around me," Ginny upbraided.

"Very well then. Let's get started." Draco motioned her to take the knife and start cutting up pangolin spleens to mix into a small, already bubbling cauldron of Essence of Glumbumble.

For the rest of the session Draco supervised Ginny's preparation of the Draught of Despair - everything from armadillo bile to ground Hellebore and ebony root. Draco knew his Potions. The end result was perfect: a fathomless black liquid, syrupy like molten licorice, but with absolutely no sheen. From any angle, properly brewed Draught of Despair reflected no light.

Pure, unadulterated nocturne for the soul - that was the Draught of Despair.

Whilst Ginny brewed, Draco instructed her in the Draught's notorious, and nefarious, means of operation. An event-keyed potion obviously needed an event. The event had to match the desired result. The Draught of Despair required a traumatic event capable of triggering the user's despondency.

That gave even Ginny pause. She did not hate Hermione - their relationship was far too complicated for anything so black and white. But for the Draught to stop Hermione from investigating, the traumatic event had to sever her relationship with Harry. Harry's and Hermione's eventual break-up would have to be messy indeed.

Exactly how to bring that about?

Draco ostentatiously left that task entirely to Ginny's ingenuity. Still, the Draught of Despair's modus operandi did set a deadline of sorts, albeit not strictly time based. With the Love Potion formula from Ron's book, Ginny had time. That potion operated cumulatively, so the longer the exposure, the better. Her "chemistry" with Harry would only improve over time.

The Draught of Despair was different. Once ingested, there was at most a one-week window of opportunity. Without a traumatic during that period, Hermione's despair would be triggered.

Worse, the Draught was not well tolerated. Exposure rapidly built up resistance, especially in wizards of high magical potential. Whilst Hermione fell a bit shy of Harry, she was nonetheless quite high on the scale. Ginny had quite convincing evidence. As a D.A. member, she had been eyewitness to Hermione besting Harry in their notorious duel in the Room of Requirement.

Thus, if Ginny failed to take Harry away within the week of dosing Hermione with Draught of Despair, a second attempt would require at least a double dose - with less chance of success. There could be no third try.

As she left the Potions dungeon, Ginny thought the obscurity of the Draught of Despair was appropriate. Its finicky nature almost outweighed its functionality - except for very limited uses - such as the precise use Ginny was contemplating.

She now had two objectives. First she had to cure Draco's six doses of Love Potion for maximum effectiveness. Whilst uncomfortable at times, that task was at least within her control. Her second assignment, with a far greater degree of difficulty, was to plot out and then execute a hostile takeover of Harry Potter's affections.

* * * *

The morning owl post was a fixture of breakfast at Hogwarts. The Creevey brothers prescreened almost all of Harry's mail, but occasionally some enterprising soul - or owl - slipped by. A barred owl bearing Daily Prophet livery appeared wing its way to Hermione. No surprise, since she took the paper despite its past libelous efforts.

At the last moment, the liveried owl swerved and thudded to a halt in front of Harry. From the small size of the owl's burden, it obviously bore a letter rather than today's edition.

Cautiously, he undid the fastenings. Accepting a rasher from Hermione, the bird flew off.

"Oh jolly," Harry snorted sarcastically upon reading his unexpected post. "It's from my favourite person in the whole bloody world."

Dear Mr. Potter,

Several sources have informed me that the Ministry's version of the events of last New Years Eve and Day is less than truthful. Are the Ministry taking credit for a victory more properly belonging to you and your supporters? However, the constraints under which I operate require approval from you and Granger before I can publish.

Surely no love is lost between you and the current Ministry. I would be more than pleased to convey to our readers your unvarnished perspective on the Battle of Stonehenge and what prompted it. The truth should, and will, come out.

I would suggest an interview and other arrangements along the lines of last October's successful collaboration except, of course, with the Quibbler out of business, I'm back to working for the Prophet.

Yours very truly,

Rita Skeeter

Reading over Harry's shoulder, Hermione commented, "This Ministry exposé far would be more justified than that drivel she wrote about the World Cup."

"But I can't," Harry reminded. "I promised both Dumbledore and Scrimgeour that I wouldn't reveal how close a thing that was, for the sake of 'morale.' She'll have to find other sources."

"She's scared, Harry, and rightfully so," Hermione suggested. "I made that Vow pretty broad. If it has anything to do with either of us, she needs our go ahead."

Harry chuckled at the obnoxious reporter's dilemma. "Serves her right." He started crumpling the parchment, but Hermione's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Not just yet," she cautioned. "She's desperate. She'll write whatever we want. That might yet come in handy...."

* * * *

Ron Weasley was finally in his element.

That element was Quidditch.

The second practice for the Hogwarts picked nine (seven starters and two reserves) had just begun. At the end of the term, Ron's team would fly against barnstorming Quidditch all-stars, led by Viktor Krum - generally regarded as the best Seeker in the world.

Even with Katie Bell hospitalised at St. Mungo's, the all-school team had a definite Gryffindor cast. Ron started at Keeper and captained the team. Ginny was a Chaser. Harry had replaced the disgraced and still-under-investigation Cho Chang at Seeker.

Reflecting Slytherin's decline in the new, equal-broom era, only Chaser Moose Montague made the team from that house. Adrian Pucey, another Slytherin veteran of Elsinore, was out, having sustained a dragon-related injury later the same summer.

Balancing out the Snakes' decline were the improved fortunes of Ravenclaw (until the Chang affair), and especially Hufflepuff. Whilst Ravenclaw had narrowly beaten the Badgers on St. Andrews Day 260-240, that win a fluke. The Snitch flew up Cho's sleeve during a driving rainstorm. It took Cho five minutes to realise that she had the thing. Before that lucky catch, Hufflepuff had been well ahead on points.

With Chang a candidate for expulsion, and her emergency replacement Stephen Cornfoot not nearly as skilled, Hufflepuff was now the clearly superior team.

Elsinore participant Zach Smith led the picked nine's Hufflepuff contingent and held down the third starting Chaser's spot. He was joined by starting Beater Tabitha Moon and reserve Beater Harold Dingle.

Ravenclaw's representatives were starting Beater Samuel Toke and reserve Chaser Zebulon Bradley. Both flew the same positions on the Elsinore team.

"All right everybody, listen up," Ron called the team to order. "We've less than six months to build a team that won't be squashed like a Chizpurfle under a cannonball. Ginny, take the Chasers and run some drills.... Oh, and thanks for the drink, but the house-elves can do that from now on - since this is my team."

"Oh, no bother, Ronniekins," Ginny answered light-heartedly. "Really, it isn't. I just whip up a little more when I do it for Gryffindor."

"You sure?" Ron considered it a menial task.

"Ronald, you and Hermione are just back on speaking terms," she dropped the smile and eyed him seriously. "Don't press your luck with anything that might oppress her precious elves."

Ron frowned, thinking. "Okay, then."

Ginny led the Chasers away, a Quaffle under each of her arms. Ron addressed the rest of the team.

"Tabby, can you organise drills for the Beaters?" Ron requested. "I'll try to get some of my mates for us to scrimmage against next time."

"Sure, but don't expect any House secrets," Tabitha responded grudgingly. "We have to play you Gryffindor lot yet - and it'll probably be for the Cup."

"I expected, or at least hoped, for more cooperation," Ron responded slowly. "I'd rather not get absolutely flattened by Krum's team. They beat the Woollongong Warriors by over 300 points in their last match - and they're pro. If we're not a team, we can't hope to compete. I'll teach everyone our moves if you'll do the same."

"I dunno...."

"I'll wager Hermione could enchant another sign-up sheet," Harry offered. "After what happened to Marietta Edgecombe, I doubt that anybody on the team would cheat."

"She did that?" Tabitha gawked, looking both impressed and a touch frightened. "I wouldn't want to cross her...."

"Of course, this time, perhaps she'd change 'Sneak' to 'Snitch' - to be a bit more literal," Ron chuckled. "Brilliant idea, Harry."

Tabitha and the other two Beaters slowly flew away, chatting amongst themselves in animated whispers. Ron and Harry supposed they were discussing the merits of cooperating. Quidditch players were born competitors - they did not fancy anyone embarrassing them, even the great Viktor Krum.

Ron turned to Harry, "Well, just like the old days, eh mate? Before I went all funny in the head. Friends again?"

Harry was taken a bit aback. "We've never stopped ... what do you mean being 'funny in the head'?"

Mental I was," Ron told him, becoming abruptly more serious. "That damn brain attack, the Healers told me. It left me paranoid, with terrible nightmares - dying in all these gruesome ways, like being eaten by spiders. Sometimes you and Hermione were killed, too. But not anymore...."

Harry, who had turned serious when Ron did, brightened considerably. "You mean you're cured - that's awesome!" He gave Ron a huge, almost Hermione-like hug. He hadn't been this friendly with Ron in quite some time.

Ron rapped his knuckles on his Firebolt handle. "Cured - knock on wood - I'm won't go that far, yet, for fear of jinxing everything, but I'm getting there. I've been nightmare free since you guys rescued me; not a one, not even about what Cho did."

"None at all?"

"Not about that," Ron confirmed jauntily. "I occasionally dream about Cho - but not the bad things. Not at all. Sometimes I have to Scourgify the sheets, if you know what I mean. I think that was one reason I liked being with her...."

"I can imagine," Harry smirked.

Ron looked at Harry, and almost burst out laughing. "Oh, yeah, that too, but that's not what I meant - at least not now."

"Then what?"

"My nightmares. What I said before was true. Being with Cho kept them away - sometimes they'd stop completely, at least for a while."

"Nifty self-medication," Harry commented dryly. "But watch those knock on effects."

"Yeah, right," Ron replied, shaking his head. "The only witch that'll have me turns out to be a succubus in training."

"Nah, that's not true," Harry told his best mate.

"Is so!" Ron reacted loudly. "She damn well was a succubus - I saw....!"

"I agree," Harry cut him off. "That's not what I meant...."

Ron gaped. "Then what do you...?"

"Rule number one Shak taught me at last summer's Auror training," Harry cut over Ron again. "Be aware of your surroundings."

"Wha.... What are you saying, then?" Ron asked, blinking.

"Such as behind you," Harry pointed. "Your Chasers want you to Keep against them."

Ron turned around and, sure enough, Zach and Ginny were waving at him. They had been motioning for Ron's attention for the better part of a minute.

Ron hastily mounted his Firebolt. "So what'll you do?"

"Practise some of my fancier rolls and feints, I reckon," Harry replied, raking one hand through his unruly hair. It stuck out in all directions above his headband. "Since these aren't closed practices, I suppose I need somebody to train against."

"You could ask Jazzy," Ron recommended from only two metres aloft. "I'll bet she'd jump at the chance."

"Capital idea," Harry agreed. "I'll have to ask her."

Ron grinned evilly, "No, I'll do it...."

Harry frowned. Jazzy hardly knew Ron, and was very suspicious of all strangers. "No, you'd better...."

"Oi, Jazzy!!" Ron yelled at the top of his lungs. "Grab a broom and have a go with Harry! He could use a good thrashing!!"

It was Harry's turn to whirl around. Whilst the all-Hogwarts team practices were indeed public, the stands were virtually empty. One of the few attendees, however, was Jazzy, who would rather be a loner in peace in the long shadows beside the pitch than deal with her housemates back in the common room.

"Be aware of your surroundings, Harry," Ron roared as he flew away towards the goalposts.

Sure enough, Jazzy was more than willing to scrimmage against Harry - and she never backed down an inch. Having received a great deal of Quidditch, and specifically Seeker, instruction from him, she put it to good use. In short, she made the rest of his practice miserable.

The first time they squared off, she blocked Harry. From there, she fouled him at every turn. Unlike their first encounter, she was now proficient with the Firebolt and no longer fooled by a Wronski Feint.

"Aahh! That was blurting!" Harry protested as Jazzy again pushed him from the Snitch. This time, she slammed their forebrooms together, using the Firebolt's slight curvature to hook his broom with hers.

"Only if there's a referee about to call it," Jazzy replied shortly. "For the last time, quit complaining. Krum weighs twice as much as me...."

Her voice trailed off when she heard a short loud BANG. It resembled an appearance by the Knight Bus, or to Muggle ears, a gunshot.

Harry brought his broom around. A uniformed wizard stood by the poles supporting the near-side stands. His wand glowed with a powerful Illuminating Charm. When Harry turned in his direction, the Wizard waved his wand.

"About time to call it quits anyway," Harry told Jazzy as he descended.

In the wizard's glaring wandlight, Harry recognised a Ministry flight wing uniform. Behind him, covered by a tarpaulin, something rather large hovered maybe a metre off the ground.

"Mannock!" Harry shouted when near enough to identify the mystery man. "Haven't seen you in a while. What brings you here?"

Their handshake turned into a back-slapping hug.

"Congratulations, Harry," Mannock cheerfully responded. "Not as long as you think. You wouldn't recall the last time I saw yeh...."

"That's because?"

"You were out cold and barely breathing," Mannock informed him. "You were sprawled on the Stonehenge battlefield with Healers working on yeh. Still, that was a damn sight better than Auror headquarters. The Deaters turned it into a bloody charnel house."

Harry winced. He had heard some of what happened there from Dennis, but nothing so blunt. "So you were first on the scene?"

"Pretty much," Mannock grunted, not wanting to dredge those memouries. "I found your friend locked in a cage. They.... He was lucky to be alive. Anyway, enough of that. I've got replacements for yeh."

"Replacements...?" Harry started before deducing what Mannock meant. He looked at the still-covered object in the background. It was just the right length to be a Valkyrie or two.

"New brooms for the both of yeh," Mannock announced. "They're just like the old ones. We analysed the battle damage, trying to improve the design, but nothing."

"You couldn't figure out how to fix anything?" Harry asked.

"Nah. As for yeh, what do we say? Don't fly into any more Killing Curses? Hell, you know that. What happened to yours was obvious," Mannock rattled off his response. "The other one, what happened confuses us no end. All-over spell damage suggests total failure of the Valkyrie's defences, but how? Couldn't suss that out - no shorts or anything like that. It's just amazing that Granger survived."

"Hermione didn't fly that night," Harry told Mannock, who obviously had not seen the record of the recent enquiry. "She wasn't good enough to fly it in battle, and she knew it."

"Aha, that would explain it," Mannock observed gruffly. "Shields never turned on. Damn simplest answer is, as usual, correct. Occam's bloody razor. So who was the lucky one?"

"That would be me," Jazzy interrupted. She moved - literally and figuratively - out from Harry's shadow.

"Blimey," Mannock let slip as he saw how young Jazzy was. "You went against all those Deaters with no shields - nothing but the broom's flying? Granted, it's a Valkyrie, but.... I'm sorry, I don't believe it."

Wrong thing to say. Jazzy visibly fumed at his comment.

Harry would have hell to pay unless he thought of something. Jazzy had been insulted, and when insulted she was most unpredictable.

He stepped around Mannock and fisted one of the new Valkyries. Ignoring the man's protests, he said, "Here," and thrust the broom towards the angry witch. "Why don't you show him? Just stay inside the Castle's wards ... oh, and use the running lights so he can see you...."

Harry saw her gritted teeth relax - replaced by a hard glint in her eyes and a smile on her face - a right evil one, that.

"You're on." Without another word, she hopped on the broom and, lights blazing, flat-hatted full tilt for the far goal posts. Just before colliding with them, she shoved the Valkyrie straight up. In a flash, she climbed the goalpost, circling it tightly as she rose. Reaching the top, she pulled back on the broom again, and whipped through the goal mouth - upside down.

She did all this whilst accelerating to nearly three hundred klicks.

"Merlin's bollocks!" Mannock exclaimed. "That girl ... she's crazy. She'll kill herself!"

"Mental is right," a familiar voice added. Wondering what was keeping Harry, Ron had returned to the pitch.

"Right in one," Harry concurred, "but not the other. Mental? Maybe. But she won't kill herself. She's that good ... better than I was at her age...."

Harry had an idea - a bloody inspired one.

Ron ducked as Jazzy flashed by, headed towards the Castle. Her intent was obvious - all those turrets and towers made the best obstacle course around.

Ron gawked after the hellion.

Harry's eyes met Mannock's. "Do you think you could...?"

"I'll see what I can do," he instantly agreed. "No promises, though. This is the Ministry I'm dealing with."

* * * *

The D.A. shuffled into the Chamber of Secrets and learnt they had guests. One was Shak, the group's official sponsor now that the D.A. was a sanctioned club. His presence was not unprecedented - just unusual.

In addition two Aurors were in attendance. Harry did not know them. One was rather short, a stocky middle-aged witch. The other was younger, a wizard with shiny, flowing dark hair. Harry thought that the witch, Yura Pratt, rather resembled a pillar box in her maroon robes. As much as she was stolid and stationary, the other Auror, Exton Gwyce, was fidgety and constantly in motion.

Harry and Hermione also knew - no, not "knew," but had met - the fourth attendee. Her surname was Jackson.

She was an Unspeakable.

"What brings you here?" Harry asked the black-robed witch.

"Observing," was her typically enigmatic reply.

"What's to see?" Hermione tried another tack.

"A demonstration of a new approach to Fiendfyre; so we're told," she answered a bit more openly. "I'm to observe that."

Unspeakables never saw - they observed.

Harry recalled something else. "Well, you were right about Ron."

"Who's Ron?" Jackson responded blankly. The soles of her black patent leather shoes clicked on the stone corridor leading to the Chamber.

"One of my best friends," Harry told her. "Tall, red hair. He's here tonight."

"How was I right?" Jackson either did not recognise the description or was not letting on if she did.

"He was attacked by that brain thingie last June," Harry told her - finding himself giving, rather than getting information. "That caused him horrible nightmares. But after his fright from nearly being killed at Stonehenge, he's shot of them. At least he thinks so."

"Is that right?" Jackson said evenly. "Glad to hear it.... Well, look at that - it should be enough, I think...."

They had entered the Chamber of Secrets.

In the massive stone space, encircled by two rows of humming silver bollards, was a farrago - more junk and rubbish than Harry had ever seen in one place at Hogwarts. A gaggle of house-elves, still lurking in a nearby alcove, had evidently collected it.

Harry looked over the pile. Parchment was the largest component - stacks and stacks, including a fair number of Hogwarts examination booklets. Mixed in were a huge number - probably thousands - of damaged and discarded books. Magical photos also lay about. Visible at the edge of the pile was one of a witch and wizard in a compromising position, still frantically trying to cover up.

The pile contained old clothes, cloaks, shoes, hats, robes, and even ladies' knickers. The legs of a stuffed Mountain Troll protruded from the mass. That troll must have stood four metres high. One of its knees rested on a polished wooden door of some sort, torn from an armoire. Other smashed up furniture was scattered about : old beds, chair cushions, pouffes, a stove-in cabinet or two, and what looked like miscellaneous Potions equipment. Bottles and phials - some empty, and some stoppered and full of what might still be nasty potions - were strewn amongst copies of old newspapers. Plenty of Quibblers were included, Harry noted, most with his picture on them.

Various bits of crockery were sprinkled throughout, some recognisable as from the Hogwarts kitchens. Gobs of mouldy food added their unpleasant odour. He saw old bones, too, including a skeletal Quintaped. Pure garbage further seasoned the distasteful mess - cauldrons half full of congealed substances, large egg shells that could not have been avian in origin, all remnants of who knows how many unsuccessful Potions experiments.

The contents of Filch's confiscated items bin must also have been dumped in, as the mélange included joke shop items - empty cartons with the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes logo, a Fanged Frisbee or two, miscellaneous fireworks, even a winged catapult split neatly in half. There was a statue, missing a leg, and a couple of busts, the nearer one visibly cracked. Bent and damaged weapons protruded, staves, rusty swords, dirks, knives, even a bloodstained battle axe fit for the likes of Hagrid.

Some items might even have been valuable. Harry saw several wands, some broken, some not - and a coin purse or two. An occasional gemstone glistened, as did the odd gold or silver item, most bent beyond recognition. Parts of suits of armour, some shiny, others quite dull and dented, lay amongst the massive hodge-podge.

Everyone milled about - waiting for Harry or Hermione to take charge. Harry ambled over to Shak. "What's all this?" he asked, genuinely perplexed. Hermione echoed the sentiment, and very little confused her.

"You mean the rubbish pile?" Shak replied. "That's for your Fiendfyre demonstration. The elves gathered it. I'd say they took the opportunity to empty out several rooms full of accumulated trash. Not a bad idea, if you ask me."

A block of stone was in place for the demonstration. Harry hoisted himself atop it and addressed the D.A. "Okay, everybody. In case you haven't heard, we've pushed the first-aid and blood typing session with Madam Pomfrey back a week. Professor Shacklebolt requested that we take up fire starting and extinguishing spells. That's also why the visitors are here. We'll be covering important stuff tonight...."

Ron asked the question on everyone's minds. "Is that why there's all this rubbish?"

"Yeah," Harry answered. "We needed something to burn, and Headmaster Dumbledore gave us this."

With the refuse mountain looming behind them, Harry and Hermione began the lesson. Before the D.A. had only touched on fire. This time they methodically covered every fire-related spell they knew. They started small, conjuring bluebell flames - a skill Hermione mastered in first year. They proceeded through Incendio, which lit fireplaces, Flambus, Flagrate, the Incandens Charm, the Flagrante Curse, and finally Inflammare. With each demonstration, the conjured fire grew fiercer and more dangerous.

"This next spell, most of you probably won't master," Harry admitted. He made his way to a raised stone platform close to the Chamber's wall. The house-elves huddled nearby. "But you need to recognise it. If anybody uses it, it's Disapparition time. It's almost impossible to put this stuff out unless you're a trained firewizard."

On three sides the platform was surrounded by one of the bigger water-filled channels that snaked about the edges of the Chamber. The channel vanished into shadowy catacombs on either side. The fourth side was the mossy stone wall of the Chamber. It rose overhead until also fading into shadow.

At the edge of the channel, Harry turned and faced that wall. "Hellas Infernum!" he bellowed. The burst of liquid fire from his wand splattered against the opposite wall. Fire instantly engulfed nearly the entire platform. The intense heat forced Harry to step back, despite being on the other side of a metre or more of water.

The fire, burning as fiercely as ever, began flowing from the platform into the water. Small, burning fingerlets quickly spread into a sheet of flame.

To keep matters from getting out of hand, Harry made a couple of small motions with his left (non-wand) hand, invoking minor elemental magic. A soft breeze blew the floating fire back upon itself.

"Note the acrid smell," Hermione told the crowd. "This is called Greek fire. It's a mixture of jellied petrol and various chemicals, some of which act as oxidants and support the fire. As you can see, Greek fire floats atop water. However, because of the mixed-in oxidant it can even burn under water."

"'Oly dooley!" came an incredulous voice from the crowd. "You sure you're not pushing pork pie? I mean, fire that burns under water? I'd like you to give that a burl."

"I'm sure they will, Mack," Neville replied from near the front of the crowd. Unlike the Aussie Ravenclaw, he had absolute faith in whatever Hermione said. Still, that improbable sight would be something to see.

A bit crossly Harry announced, "That can be arranged. First, let's put this out. Hermione, care to do the honours?"

The Greek fire continued burning fiercely. The water beneath even started steaming. Hermione nodded. "Everybody back - at least five metres," she warned. "It could get a little hard to breathe." She turned her wand on the conflagration and incanted, "Fluvius Azote!"

A sheet of intensely cold liquid shot from her wand. It fell upon the fire like a foggy cloak. With a hiss and a whoosh, the brilliant flames disappeared, leaving behind only blackened stone and a chill mist. Where the clear fluid struck water, several centimetres of ice instantly froze.

Harry and Hermione cast Bubblehead Charms on themselves. Pure nitrogen was not dangerous (it comprised three quarters of the atmosphere), but in large quantities it could be suffocating.

Satisfied that the fire was indeed out, Harry dialled up his elemental magic several notches and blew the foggy mist into the catacomb, where it would gradually dissipate.

"What was that?" the male Auror, Exton, spoke for almost everyone.

"You'll see," Harry answered, betraying very little. "We'll be demonstrating this again."

"Could everybody come over here?" Hermione prompted. She stood beside the Chamber's largest pool - where a basilisk carcass had slowly rotted for several years. Thanks to a crew of goblins, the pool was now completely cleared.

Once the D.A. again clustered about, Harry dipped his wandtip beneath the water's surface. "Hellas Infernum!" he spelled a second time, somewhat less loudly. A stream of flame, not nearly as large as before, flashed into the depths of the pool. The bright firelight seemed to dance, its glare refracted and softened by the intervening water.

As the crowd watched, the underwater fire gradually floated towards the surface, as Greek fire was somewhat less dense than the surrounding water. Well before it emerged, bubbles of steam roiled the surface of the pool.

After Harry or Hermione demonstrated each spell, they encouraged the D.A. to practise what they had just seen. As expected, conjuring Greek fire was beyond the skill level of most Hogwarts students. After a quarter hour, only Neville, Daphne Greengrass, Zach Smith, and possibly Ginny (nobody had watched closely; hers might have been a bit that floated away from a previously conjured patch) had succeeded.

It was time for the grand finale. "Now we're going to demonstrate Fiendfyre," Harry spoke loudly. He clambered back onto the metre-high block of stone. "More precisely, since neither of us can conjure that, we're going to demonstrate a new method we've discovered to put it out."

A murmur went through the crowd. Those familiar with Fiendfyre let the others know that Harry's statement was impossible.

Throughout the lesson the elves had kept to themselves. At Harry's mention of Fiendfyre, they stepped forward and stationed themselves at regular intervals around the massive rubbish pile.

Two elves stood near Hermione, in front of the stone serving as Harry's podium. They seemed nervous and out of sorts.

Harry continued describing the upcoming test. As gently as she could, Hermione spoke to the elves. "Excuse me, but where did all this rubbish come from?"

"Oh," the closer of the elves squeaked. "The one who ... er ... Harry Potter's Miss. We's a been wanting to clean out the room - well, it comes and goes - for ages. When Master Dumbledore told us you'd be wanting junk we...."

Unexpectedly, the elf burst into tears. But it was just cleaning.... Elves liked cleaning.

This bizarre behaviour took Hermione aback. She attempted to comfort the poor thing.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, trying not to disturb Harry's explanation of what would happen with Fiendfyre. "What's wrong? Maybe I can help."

"Sorry Miss, you can't be a helping," the other elf interrupted as he tried shushing his partner. "It's being elfin business.... We's a dealing with our Master. It's not being anything for student witches and wizards to go a meddling...."

It was passing strange, but Harry's talk was concluding, and these elves were stubborn. Typically they fell all over themselves to do anything she wished. Hermione dropped the awkward topic, at least for now.

"Why are you here, then?" she changed the subject.

A quick answer followed. "We's being told that you's to use the fire of the fiend," the second elf answered. "We's being here so it stays under control."

Harry had finished explaining how liquid nitrogen - the Fluvius Azote spell - could extinguish even Fiendfyre. Now Shak, who could actually conjure the evil flames, was speaking.

"Fiendfyre is a Dark wizard's tool," he boomed, "and rightly so. Fiendfyre consumes active magic. Once started, it burns uncontrollably until all the active magic within reach is gone. Or so we thought. Our current techniques for combatting Fiendfyre are rudimentary. Basically, we abandon and cordon off the immediate area to isolate it from other magic. Then we wait until the Fiendfyre burns itself out."

"You see the double row of bollards," he waved his hand in the direction of the rubbish pile. "The zone between them is a magical vacuum, and the bollards themselves are hardened. That's how we'll contain the Fiendfyre as it burns all this rubbish."

"Only, we hope it doesn't quite burn everything," Shak continued. "Mister Potter and Miss Granger have assured me that the spell you saw them use to extinguish the Greek fire also works on Fiendfyre. It's a new spell - an adaptation of Fluvius, used forever to conjure water, but making something we've never thought of. Unlike Muggles, we wizards haven't thought to liquefy the air we breathe. It's one way in which the Muggles have outstripped us. It's an example of how Muggle concepts can advance the practice of magic."

A few in the crowd scoffed at that.

"We begin." The rows of silver bollards went silent.

Not keen to teach anybody, even Harry and Hermione, Dark magic, Shak cast a Muffliato about himself. He slipped just inside the inner bollards and performed the complicated magic that created Fiendfyre. In under thirty seconds, the rubbish pile was alight.

Shak jumped back as the Fiendfyre spread. The bollards resumed humming.

The roiling conflagration began generating Fiendfyre's distinctive animal forms. Those shot outward in all directions - until reaching the surrounding vacuum of non-magical space. The fiery gryphons, bunyips, and manticores dissipated upon contacting that barrier.

With the entire accumulation aflame, Shak turned to the two students. "Your show," he told them, smiling. Dropping the smile, he added, "I hope this works."

"We fully expect it will," Harry answered confidently. "I did it alone at Stonehenge. Now, it's the two of us - a stone block on each side."

Harry jogged off to the other side of the rapidly incinerating rubbish heap. Hermione climbed atop the near stone Shak had just vacated. She unsheathed her wand - and waited.

And waited.

Nothing happened. A concerned look crossed her face. She concentrated hard, but no magic followed.

Shak clambered up beside her. "Something wrong?" he breathed.

"Yes, I can't hear Harry," she complained. "We need to coordinate...."

Harry came jogging back around. He motioned, and she jumped down, after waving off Shak. This was a private conversation.

"What's wrong?" she asked immediately.

"The telepathy," he told her. "I can't hear you. Could you hear me?"

"No," she responded, adding silently, 'and that's very strange.'

"What's strange?" Harry wanted to know.

"It worked now," she answered. "I switched to telepathy at the end."

"Oh, really," Harry cocked his head. "Let me try." 'I'm getting randy; we need to get away,' he Legilimenced.

'Me too,' she agreed. 'I've got it....'

'A place we can go?' he asked hopefully.

'No, I'll think more about that,' she demurred. 'I mean why it works now. It must be that magical vacuum in between us....'

"Why?" Harry switched back to normal speech.

"Ordinary sound waves can't travel in a vacuum," Hermione pointed out. "I'll bet a magical vacuum does the same to our telepathy."

"Yeah," Harry agreed almost instantly. "I learnt about sound in Muggle Studies. That has to be right."

"So what do you want to do?" Hermione asked.

"Get Ron," Harry decided after a moment. "He can give us both a visual cue."

The two of them sought out their once and reconfirmed friend. He was only too happy to help - and thus play a role in of would have to be an impressive demonstration, given the amount of Fiendfyre now that the rubbish pile was fully involved.

Harry and Hermione returned to their respective stones. Ron stood halfway in around, where both could see him. Raising his wand, Ron performed a series of Encoloured Lumos spells - first yellow, then green, and finally red.

When Ron's flashed red, both Harry and Hermione screamed at the tops of their lungs, "FLUVIUS AZOTE!!!"

Their wands simultaneously spewed wide swathes of liquid nitrogen - Harry's larger than Hermione's. Hissing, instantly freezing water vapour in the intervening air, the two layers collided just about directly over the Fiendfyre. The cryogenic fluid splattered in all directions, with most falling directly into the fiery rubble and refrigerating its entire expanse. Liquid nitrogen being entirely nonmagical, it traversed the magical vacuum without obstruction.

With a huge whoosh, a bang, and a powerful outward wind, more than a tonne of the liquid evaporated essentially simultaneously.

The inherent frigidity of the liquefied gas, aided by evaporation's heat absorptive process, deprived the Fiendfyre of the heat required to burn. Simultaneously a smothering layer of unburnable nitrogen blanketed the smouldering ashes, depriving anything still hot enough to burn of the oxygen required for combustion.

When the smoke, fog, and steam cleared, the Fiendfyre was out. Harry used elemental magic to create a vortex wind to confine most of the now gaseous nitrogen within the bollards.

Her aspect of the demonstration completed, Hermione stood down. Less powerful than Harry, she had performed some heavy-duty magic. She was tired, and wanted only to relax. As she had invented the spell just successfully exhibited, she felt entitled to a reward of the sort they had recently discussed.

The Unspeakable Jackson clapped Hermione on the back. "Jolly good," she congratulated the younger witch. "A significant advance, that was. When you graduate...." Someone in the crowd started applauding, and in an instant everybody was clapping. The ovation drowned out whatever more Jackson planned to say.

The pair had completed an impressive presentation of heretofore largely unknown and untried magic. Conducting this test in public only raised the stakes - magnifying both success and failure.

Harry came running over, his face alight with exhilaration. "We did it!" he exclaimed. He scooped her into a great hug - of the sort she usually gave him - and twirled her around.

'I know what I want to do now,' he Legilimenced. 'As soon as we can get some privacy.'

'And I think I know where,' she returned breathlessly. 'There's a place called Library Off-Site Storage.'

'It's a date.'

"As soon as we dismiss the D.A.," he confirmed. Then Harry noticed that the applause had stopped.

Every head in the crowd turned towards the approaching figure of Albus Dumbledore. He had his wand out.

Hermione broke free. "Headmaster, we did it...."

She never completed the statement, as Dumbledore's grave expression silenced her.

His good hand pointed his wand at his own throat. He incanted, "Sonorous." Drawing himself to his full, impressive height, the Hogwarts Headmaster announced, in a voice that commanded obeisance, "Everyone must return to your Houses immediately. The Castle is in lockdown until further notice. Murder has been committed tonight within these walls, and the perpetrator is still at large."

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C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch51 Padfoot's legacy.doc 11/1/2009