Prisoners of Our Minds

The sun gave way to night one unseasonably warm October day. A sudden drop in temperature sent waves of mist rolling across the enchanting landscape. Most of the students had retired to bed, for it was long past the witching hour. A lone candlelight flickered weakly in the Ravenclaw common room, accompanied by a solitary figure concealed in the shadows. Luna Lovegood settled back into the rigid blue armchair with an impassive expression upon her face. She was waiting for the energy to break and carry her away like the tide. Then the voices began to stir, like the soft hum of a cello. They invoked the hidden powers within her, for only one with the gift of prophecy could hear the heavenly melody.

Though Luna was only fifteen years of age, her grasp of the future far exceeded the quasi-talents of those older than her in years. Nobody could explain the origins of her powers for no one in her family possessed the gift of prophecy. Baffled wizards and witches could only praise the Fates for such a generous gift, and upon one so young too. As she grew older, the power within her grew stronger. Each day her thoughts became inundated with flashing images of what will be. She could anticipate when the pumpkin juice will spill at breakfast, when Draco Malfoy will enter the Great Hall with a swagger and when Hagrid will blow his nose surreptitiously at the thought of Madame Maxime. Events happened in her mind before their time in the real world.

At night, the thought of what was to come kept her awake and alert until the first light of dawn. All the while her mind worked like a loom, busily weaving together a complete picture of the future. Needless to say, Luna found little sleep of late, and the effects were beginning to show. Long etched lines under her saucer like eyes betrayed her fatigue. Her father had warned her against the third eye, branding it a curse rather than a gift. Although Luna had promised her dear papa that she would avoid using her powers, she found it increasingly difficult to keep her word of late. There were two reasons that induced her to revoke her filial promise and both had to do with the upcoming war with Voldemort. Luna didn't need her inner eye to know that war was imminent. She knew dark times were coming; the war would annihilate whole communities, ruin loving families and kill those closest to her heart. She needed to thwart Voldemort's plans. She needed to know his every move before the merciless destruction begins. But out of all the possible futures she could divine, out of all the lives she could read, out of all the changes in Fortune's will that she could anticipate, she could never prophesise the fate of the truly great wizards of the age--that of Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. It was as if the Fates had not control over the lives of the two wizards. Each was clearly the master of his own destiny, and the future seemed to fall under his supreme command. At first Luna couldn't understand the source of such unnatural power and tried to see beyond the veil of secrecy that blocked her way. But time and experience taught her the futility of raw, uncontrolled power and the importance of patience and wisdom. The art of foresight did not reward the careless and hasty; it had to be earned through hard work and practice.

Luna grinned tiredly as she continued to stare into the dark abyss. It would take time for sure, but she shall prevail. She crossed her legs and craned her neck towards the emerging sound of pattering footsteps in the depth of her mind. She could see Hermione standing before the library, gasping for breath. In recent times, she had kept a very close eye on Hermione, Harry and--though she could never have imagined it--Draco Malfoy. The secret they kept was a grave one and Luna found herself hopelessly absorbed into the enfolding tale of the three unlikely friends.

A tale, a story, that's all the future is, Luna thought in silent wonder. It is nothing but an amazingly intricate story, spell binding in its complexity and bittersweet in beauty. Most will never see the drama until they are caught in the middle of the raging tempest.

But at the same time Luna knew the future was more than a mere story. In due time, the script-like images playing out before her inner eye would transform into incontestable reality. And I do fear reality, Luna thought gravely. Once the fluid future hardens into the present there is little I can do to change the inevitable. My dear friends, you do not know of the danger that shadows your every move. We have already lost Neville and Susan to darkness, though you do not know it yet. Come tomorrow you will find them gone. Had I known in time I would have saved them, but unfortunately, the knowledge came too late. They have already left Hogwarts, Luna sighed, and it was I who failed them. I couldn't see the Dark Lord's actions until it was too late. Even now I am oblivious to the traitor in our midst. Who could it be? Why have my powers abandoned me? Why couldn't I have seen it in time? She heaved a sigh in the darkness as an uncertain tear ventured down her face. Such feeling of despair was foreign to her. She had not cried since the passing of her mother. But I shall not fail the rest of you. This I promise. I shall protect you from invisible harm, even if it means dying for you.

It was a heavy burden on the slim shoulders of a little girl; knowledge was often a painful reminder of the cruel world in which we are imprisoned. Many noble men and women have perished under the burden of knowledge, driven mad by the very truth they sought to conquer. Knowledge made fools of them all. Those who were weak of heart followed the path of ignorance, choosing to serve darkness and oblivion as their merciful idols instead. They spurned knowledge, and so remained forever foolish. But no one could accuse Luna Lovegood of cowardice. She did not fear knowledge and the pain it brought. To her, knowledge was the elixir of the mind, and knowledge alone had the power to save her friends.

Every moment she spent awake, she waited and watched for the guardian of the dead, the reaper who beat his wings to the summons of tartarous. And when he came for her friends, she would control it, destroy it, defy that which is inevitable and force the Fates to do her bidding. Luna settled back into her armchair and resumed her calm expression. Slowly, she began her prophecy, making the future collide with the present. The scene began to unfold before her mind. There on the shores of misty future stood Hermione facing both Harry and Draco. Like an invisible guardian, Luna watched on in silence...

~*~

Hermione pushed open the heavy oak doors of the library with a groan. She needed to speak to Harry and Draco immediately, and for the sake of Neville and Susan, the news could not wait. She had pelted down the noisy corridors without pause for breath. The urgency of her message burned her lungs as the doors of the library loomed into view. Now that she stood within the sanctuary of books, she found herself unable to speak from the dizziness. Harry, who had been sitting in an armchair opposite the door, quickly leapt to his feet. He casually tossed the book he had been reading aside and reached out for Hermione's hand.

"Come and sit for a while," he said gently, his green eyes laced with concern. "Don't try to speak just yet, take a deep breath."

She let him lead her to a seat beside the window where the cool air greeted her face. He sat by her patiently, not letting go of her hand.

"I'm fine now," she said softly. "Where's Draco?"

"He's at the back of the library. We thought it best that people didn't see us together," Harry replied.

Hermione nodded. "That's wise," she said. "Come on then, take me to him."

Draco was sitting behind the last shelf of books with his back turned to the light. A strand of soft blonde hair fell into his eyes as he perused the letter in his hands. He sensed their arrival before seeing them. "Any news?" he asked calmly as the letter disappeared into his pocket.

Hermione nodded as she took the seat opposite him. "Dumbledore's sealed the school. No one is to leave here for the Christmas holidays."

Draco tensed but it was Harry who spoke up first. "Sealed the school? He can't do that can he?"

Hermione nodded faintly. "He can when there's a state of emergency," she replied.

Harry nodded. "I guess Dumbledore doesn't want any more students to go missing. And what of Neville and Susan, any news? Is the Ministry any closer to finding them?" he asked hopefully.

For a fraction of a second, Hermione noticed Draco looking uncomfortable. His grey eyes shifted nervously to the furthest corner of the room as a look of intense remorse crossed his pale face. She looked at him closely, hoping to understand the cause of such a reaction, but to no avail. The moment passed by all too quickly.

"No," Hermione said as a hint of anger crept into her voice. "The Ministry isn't responding to Dumbledore's requests. I overheard McGonagall telling Snape that the Ministry's broken all ties with Hogwarts. They've been evading contact with the Headmaster. Something's not right in the Ministry."

"But people are missing!" Harry cried. "Surely the Ministry's responsible for finding them. Not to mention Neville's the son of ex-Aurors and Susan's aunt works for the Ministry."

"I have a bad feeling about this," she said shaking her head. "Fudge has always relied upon Dumbledore for advice and guidance. It's uncharacteristic for him to just ignore Dumbledore's presence. As far as anybody knows, they haven't been on bad terms, so why the sudden coldness on the Ministry's part? There's only one explanation I can offer."

"You don't mean to say..." Harry whispered.

"The Ministry's under Voldemort's control," Hermione stated firmly. "Of course we'll need to speak to Mr. Weasley and the other members of the Order to confirm my theory. But so far, I can offer no other plausible explanation."

Draco, who had been sitting in silence, spoke up at last. "What of Dumbledore sealing the school? Will that affect our plans?" he asked.

Hermione blinked at him in confusion. So deep were her thoughts on the Ministry that she had completely forgotten about the school. "Oh! Well, I don't know that it does. We'll have to survey the grounds and test the charms they put up, that's if Dumbledore's put up charms at all. Charms and hexes are usually employed to prevent outsiders from coming in. I've never heard of charms being used to prevent people from getting out!"

"In any event, the staff will be keeping a close eye on us all for the rest of the year," Draco said darkly. "How do we evade them?"

Hermione reached into her pocket and produced a small piece of rolled up parchment. She quickly unfurled it for Harry and Draco to see. "I've thought about all the ways to get out of Hogwarts since Dumbledore's announcement. Admittedly they're just draft plans since I haven't had much time to think about it." She paused a while to collect her thoughts. "I've read every book I can find on Albania from the library and they all tell me that the ancient forest has been enchanted against Apparition and Portkeys. However, we can still fly or Portkey to the edge of the forest then walk. I for one am against flying simply because we can be followed too easily. Therefore I think Portkeying is the answer."

She looked up at Harry and Draco who were nodding in agreement. Satisfied that they had no objections, she continued. "This is a simple list of calculations for the optimum time to depart Hogwarts. Recent events--" She paused to take a shuddering breath. "Recent events have interrupted our schedule somewhat. Now with the added security around the school, the only time we can leave without fear of detection would be sometime around Christmas, perhaps after the Ball."

"After the Ball?" Draco asked incredulously. "So late! My mother doesn't have long to live."

"I know," Hermione said patiently. "But the poison is slow acting and will take at least six months to deplete its victim of life. As for Neville and Susan...only the heavens know how much time they have."

A quiet sadness settled in her eyes. Harry, sensing a sudden change in Hermione demeanour, leaned over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She looked up at him gratefully.

"They're alive," Harry whispered comfortingly. "I feel it. They're going to be okay."

Hermione nodded and blinked away the urge to cry. "Well, assuming they are with Narcissa and Madame Maxime, we'll be able to rescue them all at the same time." A note of hopefulness had crept into her voice. She turned to look at Draco. "We cannot risk detection. Should the teachers discover our plan we will never reach Hogsmeade let alone Albania. Dumbledore will expect us at the Ball and so we must wait until that is over before we can slip away. The fastest way to Hogsmeade would be to fly there. We can gather supplies the next morning then Portkey to the outskirts of the Albanian forest. The trek through the forest should take three days, no less. Once inside the Fortress of Grindelwald, we'll have to rely on Harry's instinct for directions. He's the only one who knows the rooms within it." Hermione shot Harry an uncertain look. "Hopefully we'll find all of them quickly and without fuss. Any questions?"

"How are we to move my mother?" Draco asked. "She's far too weak to walk."

"We'll fly out of the Fortress, hopefully we won't be detected," Hermione replied, feeling a little nervous at the prospect of being caught.

"You had better make sure nothing goes wrong Granger," Draco drawled.

Hermione chose to ignore his ungracious arrogance and turned to Harry. "Do you have any questions?" she asked.

Harry shook his head while looking at her intently. "Make sure you bring that Wand," he whispered softly, fearing Draco would overhear.

"And you bring the Sword and Shield," she whispered equally softly in reply. "Just in case, you know, things go wrong."

Harry nodded before turning back to Draco. His crystal green eyes hovered over the blonde protectively. To Hermione's surprise, the ordinarily impassive Draco smiled back at Harry with a dim twinkle in his eyes. She had never seen Draco so at easy with anyone until now, and in the presence of his arch-nemesis no less. And Harry, what a difference Draco's smile had made! The haunting look of loss and fear vanished from Harry's vacant green eyes. Instead they were replaced with an inquisitive innocence that befitted his age. And all because of Draco, Hermione mused. What had caused such a transformation?

"We'd better get to class," he coaxed Draco. "Lunch must be over by now."

Wordlessly, the two boys rose and left the library. Alone in the sanctuary of books, Hermione was left to ponder the unspoken words between Harry and Draco. What had changed between them, she didn't know. And yet she could sense the beginning of something new, something terribly convoluted and intangible. Some things would never be the same again. Some things would not go on unchanged...

~*~

Luna pulled back from the pool of vision, her grasp of the future slipped away as she retreated to the present. The lonely candle flickered feebly in the overwhelming darkness, still aiding its master like an obedient servant. Luna blinked her large blue eyes a few times, slowly, tentatively, as if she was new to the sensation. She looked about the room and felt the first delicious beckon of sleep calling her to bed. Picking up the candle, Luna headed upstairs.

So the story progresses thus, she thought dreamily. They'll brave the hazards of Albania irrespective of failure or success. Luna grinned wistfully. But alas, my senses tell me that they will indeed fail for Narcissa is fated to die within Salazar's walls. Poor Draco, how will he bear the loss?

The Ravenclaws who shared Luna's bedroom were already fast asleep and breathing in a synchronised rhythm. Luna undressed quietly before sliding under the covers of her blue and bronze bed sheets. She untied her long, unkempt blonde hair and gave it a quick ruffle. As her head met the soft cloud-like pillow, ghostly shadows floated into her mind and danced the intricate waltz of life. Once again, the future collided with the present, but this time she was much too tired to take heed of their secrets and warnings. Though she did not know it at the time, she would come to pay dearly for that mistake. Fortune, at last would abandon her.

*

Amelia Bones strode into Dumbledore's office with an agitated expression upon her face. Her thick eyebrows furrowed together at the sight of those seated before her. Dumbledore was behind his desk as expected, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin and Arthur Weasley sat to his right while a bereft-looking Mrs. Longbottom sat on his left. A spare seat beside Mrs. Longbottom indicated to Amelia where she should sit. She nodded to the party politely as she crossed the room. Dumbledore's gaze fell upon her immediately.

"Welcome Amelia, I'm sorry to trouble you today," the old Headmaster said kindly.

"No trouble at all Professor," Amelia replied briskly. "The Ministry doesn't know I'm here. Any word on my niece?"

"Not of late Amelia," Dumbledore replied wistfully. "I must profess my deepest regret and apologies once again to you and Mrs. Longbottom. It seems I have been negligent in my duties. No student should come to harm in these halls whilst under my protection. And yet, I have failed to secure their safety. I am sincerely sorry. Though I hope you will accept my apology, I do not expect you to forgive me for my wrong doing."

Amelia looked up at the Headmaster in shock. Never had he been wrong in her eyes. And now, he seemed less than perfect and more human than before. That incandescent smile disappeared. He looked tired and worn from the unrelenting years. His weary soul yearned for rest. And yet he could not, must not until the war is over.

"Albus," Mrs. Longbottom said quietly, her voice kept steady by the sheer strength of her will. "Our families have known each other for generations. We have been the closest of friends before many in this room were born. My son and daughter-in-law served under your leadership during the dark days of Voldemort's terror. I entrusted my grandson to you with nothing but the deepest trust in my heart." She paused to draw in a shuddering breath. "That trust remains undiminished. It is not your fault Albus. No wizard or witch is perfect, the world would not have it so."

The room stood silent. Nothing but fondness shone in Dumbledore's eyes, it was as if Mrs. Longbottom's words gave him life anew.

"Nor do I think it is your fault Professor," Amelia said. "Now that the situation is at hand, what do we do to get these children back?"

Dumbledore settled back into his chair and peered out through his half-moon spectacles. "Unfortunately we know very little of their whereabouts. However, this came in a little past dawn." He picked up the parchment lying on his table and handed it to Amelia. "It bares ill tidings."

"Who from?" Arthur Weasley asked.

Dumbledore looked at him directly without blinking. "Voldemort."

A collective gasp echoed around the room. Amelia felt her stolid heart palpitate in fright for the first time in her life. "Read the letter dear," Mrs. Longbottom coaxed gently. Amelia came out of her thoughts immediately and read the letter.

"The children are still alive. They are my prisoners until you return what is rightfully mine. Do not try my patience with fanciful rescue missions. Every blunder you make will compound the children's misery. Act quickly Dumbledore, for I am not a patient wizard, nor are the children incorruptible creatures. There is only so much of the Cruciatus they can take and only so much blood they can yield for your worthless chivalry. May this vial persuade you to act swiftly before the lives of those so dear to you perish in vain. Don't be foolish Dumbledore for you can ill afford to be. Obey my command and the children will enjoy my amnesty, defy me and all hell will pay for your mistake."

An eerily silence descended upon the group like a thick suffocating blanket. The distant sound of children laughing seemed so surreal to those sitting in Dumbledore's office. Fresh in Amelia mind was the sound of her sister weeping. "What do you mean she's missing? Was there an attack? Did You-Know-Who come for the school? Answer me! You must know something! You're with the Ministry for Merlin's sake!" Amelia had never felt so helpless in her life. She couldn't comfort her sister with answers, nor could she do anything to alleviate her distress. The Ministry had seemed disinterested and indifferent to the children's disappearance. It came hardly as a surprise with so many Death Eaters taking over the administration.

"This letter confirms our worst fears," Snape said grimly, looking at the two vials of blood sitting upon Dumbledore's desk. "What do you propose we do Headmaster?"

"Well Severus, there is little we can do since we do not have the Scroll," Dumbledore replied.

"What is this Scroll he speaks of?" Arthur Weasley asked.

"It is the Scroll of Slytherin," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Scroll of Slytherin?" Remus said, making a noise of disbelief. "That's a mythical relic isn't it? Said to raise the dead by the thousands?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said seriously. "But it is no myth, it is as real as this school, as real as the Founders and Salazar Slytherin himself."

"Really Albus," Mrs. Longbottom interjected. "I've never picked you as one for fanciful notions. There's no record of the Scroll save a few scraps of information tucked away here and there in dubious sources."

"It is not a fanciful notion," Snape spoke up, shooting a cold look at Mrs. Longbottom. "It must exist because the Dark Lord seeks it. He does not harp after dreams and fantasies. He is much too opportunistic to be foolish."

"Severus is right," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort is aware of its existence but he does not know of its whereabouts." He leaned towards Amelia. "There is a reason he took Neville and Susan. There is something these children have in common."

"What?" Amelia asked as she furrowed her thick eyebrows in wonder.

"They both come from families of Aurors. More specifically, Aurors who were assigned the Potters' case." Dumbledore peered out at the sea of questioning faces before continuing his explanation. "The disappearances are all interconnected to a single factor that yet remains hidden. Allow me to make the scene a little clearer for you." He cleared his throat before continuing. "Frank Longbottom and you, Amelia Bones, investigated the Potters' case shortly after their death. As I remember, you were in charge of their property, clearing up the wreckage, boarding up the house and other general investigative work. Both your families were familiar with the Potters and were on good terms with them. Now, let us move to another victim who has also lost a dear one, Rubeus Hagrid. Hagrid brought baby Harry to me after the attack and was among the first to witness the tragedy. A few weeks ago, we received an Owl from Lucius Malfoy, informing us that Madame Maxime has been captured. Now consider the events in relation to one another. Can you see a conceivable pattern?"

"The Potters," Remus whispered. "They're all connected to the Potters."

"Precisely," Dumbledore said in agreement. "Voldemort believed that the Potters were in possession of the Scroll. What happened to the Scroll after their death, Voldemort can only guess. For a long time he believed that the Scroll passed into the hands of those closest to the Potters, like the Longbottoms, the Bones and Hagrid. So he imprisoned Madame Maxime, Neville and Susan. But now he thinks differently. Since Neville and Susan's imprisonment, something has made him change his mind."

"He thinks you have it doesn't he?" Snape interjected sharply. "That's why the Owl was addressed to you."

Dumbledore nodded. A humourless smile curled at the corner of his mouth. His incredible old age was beginning to show on his illuminated face. "It certainly seems that way Severus," he said.

"But why?" Mrs. Longbottom asked with a perplexed expression upon her face.

"For a number of reasons I presume," he answered. "But one seems more convincing than the others. When an artefact of ancient origins is uncovered to the world, it radiates the very essence of magic itself. So powerful is its brilliance that wizards and witches are drawn towards it like moths to a flame. Only a powerful spell can diminish and conceal magic so primordial in origins. Of course, Voldemort cannot sense the power of the Scroll. And so he suspects that I have hidden it from him. I was also close to the Potters and was at their house the night they were attacked. I could have easily removed the Scroll before the Aurors arrived."

Amelia drew in a sharp breath. "I cannot help but ask then Professor, do you have the Scroll?"

Dumbledore gave her a sincere grin. "No Amelia I do not. Though our old venerable Sorting Hat informed us that the Scroll lies within the School."

At the mention of its name, the Hat began to speak. "Indeed Headmaster," he said gruffly. "It lies within these very walls. I can feel it in the wrinkles of my leathery skin! It's a weapon of the most unfathomable evil. It doesn't belong here. But alas, he remains oblivious to its power."

"Who are you speaking of?" Dumbledore asked with a blaze in his eyes.

"Can't say Headmaster," the Hat said in an apologetic voice. "I can only read what's in their heads. Can't do a thing when they don't know what they've got. Mind you, I can sense the evil here at Hogwarts, and it seems to be growing, a bit like the mould around my brim really." The Hat pouted before continuing his monologue. "The Scroll's been here for years, decades even, though not as long as I've been enchanted. Anyway, it moves. Every summer the evil disappears, only to return when school recommences." The Hat smiled knowingly. "What do you make of that Headmaster?"

"How curious," Dumbledore said to the Hat. "That is a most intriguing piece of news. Thank you kindly."

The Hat beamed. "May Hermes' sandals be upon your feet. I wish you gods' speed in finding that villainous weapon."

Dumbledore murmured his thanks before turning to the group. "That's all we know of the Scroll's whereabouts: it's somewhere within Hogwarts. However, the fact that it travels informs us that a student or teacher is in possession of it. The question is simply who."

"Why don't we search the students?" Snape said coldly, clearly enjoying the thought of terrorising the school.

"You can't do that," Remus said, drawing himself up to his full height. "It would be a violation of privacy."

Snape growled. "It is necessary at a time of emergency."

Before Lupin could lose his temper with the stubborn Potions Professor, Dumbledore intervened. "A search would be futile. No doubt a capable wizard has already placed the Scroll under a formidable disguise. That's why the owner of the Scroll is yet unaware of its powers. There is no guarantee that any of us would be aware of its presence, even if we are holding it in our hands."

Snape and Lupin glared at one another but said nothing. Arthur Weasley took the silence as an opportunity to clear his throat and speak. "Aside from worrying about the Scroll, what are we to do about the children? We don't know where they are and we haven't anything to bargain with the Dark Lord. The question is, how do we keep them from harm when we are so powerless?"

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Each felt extremely dejected at the prospect of losing Neville and Susan. But Dumbledore still had a trick up his sleeve. "There is only one thing we can do," he said clearly. All eyes turned to the wise old wizard for enlightenment. "Bluff our way through it."

The silence in the room was stifling, like the rolling humidity before a heavy storm. Amelia pondered the possibility of a bluff. It can work, she mused, if Dumbledore is an excellent liar. And given the Headmaster's propensity to excel in everything, Amelia didn't doubt his abilities in the least.

"Bluff the Dark Lord?" Snape echoed uncertainly. He looked as if a stinksap had been placed under his long, hooked, aristocratic nose. "That's quite mad."

"Indeed!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "But we have no better alternative. And I for one believe the scheme is mad enough to work in our favour."

"Just what do you have in mind Headmaster?" Amelia asked, feeling particularly curious.

"Simply inform Voldemort that we have the Scroll and that we plan to use it," he replied calmly.

All who sat before him, gasped. "Use it?" Remus exclaimed in disbelief. "He'll never believe us capable of using it."

"That's where you're wrong Remus," Dumbledore replied calmly. "I've known Voldemort for a great number of years, since he was a child in fact. Tom Marvolo Riddle had been an exceptional student here at Hogwarts. He possessed a cold determination to succeed that few among his peers could rival. He was ambitious, inquisitive and cunning. He mesmerised those he spoke to with his wit and charms. He was a born leader of men, and a true destroyer of all we hold sacred. Little has changed since the days he wandered these very halls. And yet beneath the assuring façade of the Dark Lord lies the seed of his demise, sown so many years ago in the younger days of his life. Since his birth, Tom had learned to trust no one. Where friendship and love should have been, hatred and suspicion flourished. For a long time he thought himself invincible; he thought suspicion would make him invulnerable to the world and its lies. But in the end it is he who failed to see the true evil of a suspicious mind, for suspicion breed insecurity, like an ulcer that feasts upon the body of its host. He is weak to us because he cannot banish his fears. We will vanquish him in time, simply because he has lost the ability to trust, even in himself."

"I see Albus," Mrs. Longbottom smiled knowingly. "I see how the bluff can work. But do go on. Explain all the details to me."

A twinkle appeared in Dumbledore's eyes. "It's really deceptively simple in nature. All we have to do is tell Voldemort that we have the Scroll and intend on using it. The story is not unbelievable in the least and Voldemort will accept it whole-heartedly. For you see, the Scroll bestows upon the user complete control over the realm of the dead and its armies. The armies of the dead are unvanquishable in numbers, giving whoever possesses the Scroll complete control over the course of the war. Voldemort believes that the Scroll is in my possession and he fears that I will use it destroy him. The bluff can work easily. All I have to do is to keep up the pretence that I have the Scroll."

Amelia managed a wry smile as the other murmured their approval. "I hope it'll keep the children alive," she said. "It is a most dangerous game we are playing here."

"Indeed Amelia," Dumbledore said sincerely. "But the board has been set and the dice cast. We have no choice but to play this game of chance."

For a moment Amelia lost her composure and sobbed in her gloved hands. There was so much they all stood to lose and the thought scared her. How many more sleepless nights must she endure, waiting for the flutters of that Ministry owl calling her to work? Another attack, another broken family, another unknown assailant, it's always the same. How many more must lose their lives before it ends? How does one cope with the loss of loved ones so dear to one's heart? Or worse yet, how does one live with the constant anticipation of death hanging over them? The future looked bleak, and hope was scarce. What are they to do before it's too late?

"Have heart Amelia," Dumbledore whispered as he reached out to grasp her hand. "Don't despair, for the end has not yet come. Neville and Susan shall be safe and we will prevail, that I promise you."

Amelia nodded and wiped the offending tears from her eyes. With a brave smile, she turned her attention back to the group. They have better things to do than comfort my weak nerves, she scolded internally. She was determined never to cry again, such public behaviour was appalling and uncalled for, she reminded herself. Dumbledore smiled at her kindly before broaching the next issue on his agenda.

"Now, I have a most unpleasant piece of news to relay," Dumbledore said softly to the room. A note of resignation had crept into his voice. He held up a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of his long, flowing beard. Amelia, who had missed the morning news, readjusted her monocle for a closer look. "I shall read it out," he said before turning the paper towards him. "'The Minister of Magic, Mr. Cornelius Fudge, has sought asylum in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Ailments and Injuries for the remaining duration of his office. It is believed that a sudden and mysterious illness has incapacitated Mr. Fudge, making him mentally incapable of fulfilling his duties as Minister. Before being admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital, Mr. Fudge relinquished documents that name Mr. Lucius Malfoy as Minister of the Interim Government. Mr. Malfoy is expected to assume all ministerial duties immediately." Dumbledore lowered the paper.

The room fell silent once more.

*

"Mum, it's me Neville can you hear me?"

The woman looked at the young brown haired boy before her and frowned. A gobbet of drool formed at the corner of her mouth as she tried to speak. Swiftly, Neville produced a handkerchief to cleaned up the mess. The woman's smiled sweetly at the kind gesture and blinked her long, black lashes at him. But she didn't try to speak again.

"I'm going to Hogwarts in September," Neville continued his monologue. "Nan's relieved that I'm not a squib." He laughed dryly and looked down at his hands. "Ma-maybe one day when you're well enough you can come and visit me at home, at our home?"

For a brief moment something stirred at the pit of her clouded brown eyes, as if she suddenly recognised her son. Neville looked at her closely, hoping to see that flicker of recognition again. But he was too late. The look vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Neville sighed dejectedly. The tears pushed against the barricade remorselessly, and yet he would not permit himself to cry. He was beyond such weaknesses.

A sign of compassion stirred in the woman's eyes. Slowly she pulled out a bubblegum wrapper from the deep folds of her robe and offered it to him. There wasn't much she could offer but she wanted him to understand the importance of his visits.

Neville took the pro-offered wrapper without hesitation and pocketed it. "Thanks mum," he whispered to the woman who was now grinning happily at her guest.

"Come on Neville," came his Nan's commanding voice. "It's time for us to go."
She crossed the room quickly. "Goodbye Alice dear, we'll be back next week. Frank and the nurse are waiting for you to join them."

Alice Longbottom stood up and followed Mrs. Longbottom like an obedient child. She did not turn back to wave goodbye to her only son. It was as if she had already forgotten his presence.

"Goodbye mum, goodbye dad," Neville whispered to the empty room. A moment later his Nan reappeared beside him.

"Come along then Neville, no time to dally. There's much to do today. First we'll have to get your school supplies..."

The bitter taste of dried blood assaulted Neville's senses as the hard, cobbled floor came into focus. At first he tried to sit up, but found the pain too intense to contemplate. Time and place had lost all meaning. It was getting hard to breathe, and even harder to think.

"Neville?" came a small voice. "Neville? Are you alright?"

That voice, Neville thought, squeezing his eyes shut. I know that voice.

"Neville?" she gasped desperately. "What's wrong?"

Go away, Neville thought bitterly. I don't want you here. Why won't you leave me alone? He didn't want her pity. He didn't want to hear the waves of panic echoing in her words. Why should she care whether he lived or died? He wasn't Weasley, so why should she care? It was always about Weasley, never about him. He knows that now, but it's too late. The feeling of nausea engulfed him, and for a brief moment Neville thought he was going to be sick.

"Neville Longbottom?" Another voice reached out to him. This one belonged to someone far older, someone who laboured for every breath. Neville knew she had little time left on this earth. The pain of speech was overwhelming for her, and yet she persisted. He tilted his head towards her voice.

"Neville, my name is Narcissa. I'm Draco's mother. Do you know where you are?"

Draco, Malfoy, Neville thought as the waves of fury drowned his mind. That lying bastard! Neville clenched his teeth. I must stand up. I won't let that bitch see me defeated.

"Oh zis is good, he is able to stand." Neville looked to the corner of the opposite cell and spotted a large woman who looked vaguely familiar. After a moment's hesitation, Neville recognised her as Madame Maxime. The Dark Lord's dungeon seemed crowded all of a sudden.

"What are you doing here?" he rasped.

"Ze same as you of course," Madame Maxime boomed. "I am an 'ostage."

"For what?" he asked incredulously. "Why are we here?" He gestured towards Susan who was crouching beside a pile of straw. He found it difficult to look at her face. There were too many wounds, too many memories to bury.

"Pertinent questions Longbottom," a voice drawled from the shadows. "Although the answer to that very question lies with you."

"You leave them alone," Narcissa said stonily, but her words carried no weight with the stranger. Slowly, he walked into the light, unperturbed by the sudden brightness.

"Come here Wormtail," he ordered. A small, stooping man walked forward obediently. His sycophantic posture reminded Neville of a particularly nasty rodent. "Bring that prisoner to me."

Wormtail came forward and released Neville from his cell. Neville couldn't help but gasp at the ghastly sight of Wormtail's eyes. They were electric blue and wandered from corner to corner erratically. It reminded him of Mad Eye Moody.

The tall, blonde man gave Neville a look of unfathomable loathing before brandishing is wand. "This doesn't have to be an ordeal Longbottom, if you cooperate," he drawled.

"Lucius, no!" Narcissa began.

"Shut up you stupid woman or so help me you'll never speak again," Lucius growled.

Neville shuddered but hoped no one saw his cowardly gesture. Lucius turned his attention to Neville once again. "Tell me where the Scroll of Slytherin is."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Neville said icily.

Lucius gave him a studied look then gestured for Wormtail. "Bring me the girl."

Neville watched as they brought out Susan. She was visibly shaken, her fear mirrored in her tears. "Don't worry," he whispered to her hastily. "It'll be alright. Dumbledore and Harry will come for us."

For a moment Susan looked relieved. Neville felt pleased in spite of himself. He liked giving her comfort, though he knew she would return to Ron. He sighed, there's no point dwelling on negative thoughts, especially when things were about to get much worse.

"What about you little girl?" Lucius asked. "Have you heard of the Scroll?"

"The Scroll of Slytherin?" Susan whimpered uncertainly. She looked to Neville for support. The words fell unspoken from her lips.

Don't tell him, Neville urged silently, be strong Susan, don't tell him.

Lucius watched on intently as the two children fell silent. "Well?" he barked furiously. "What do you know?"

"Nothing," Susan stammered.

"Don't lie to me!" Lucius yelled. "You will pay for this!" He pointed his wand at Susan and began to enunciate the Cruciatus Curse when Neville jumped between them. A look of surprise flashed across Lucius' face as the spell hit Neville in the chest.

Somewhere in the distance, Susan screamed. Though Neville could barely register her reaction. He could no longer see for the heat of pain had clouded his vision. Tears fell freely from his eyes to the cold stone below. He felt himself burning from the inside, as if he was being stabbed with a million hot pokers at once. So this is what it feels like mum, he thought sadly. Was it worse than this dad? How much longer did you withstand before you surrendered to them? I don't know how much more I can take...

"Stop it! Please! I'll tell you all I know!" someone shrieked from below.

The spell was lifted and Neville hurtled to the floor. For the second time that day, his legs abandoned him. There he remained, gasping and choking for air to cool his smouldering lungs.

"Speak," Lucius commanded.

"I-I heard Mum and Dad talking," Susan began shakily, "about the Potters. Dad had heard from people at the Ministry that the Scroll wasn't with the Potters. Mum didn't believe in the Scroll but dad insisted that it exists. Some people at the Ministry told Dad that Dumbledore might have it. Dad wasn't convinced but that's all he'd heard. And that's all I know...please don't hurt Neville anymore. He doesn't know anything. Please."

Neville heard the soft swish of Lucius' robes as he walked towards the door. "I've heard enough. Lock them up Wormtail."

The door clicked shut. "Well then, you heard the wizard. Get up you lazy sack," Wormtail whined, then gave Neville a kick. Neville groaned then rose reluctantly. He gritted his teeth to stop from buckling under in pain. He collapsed once he reached his cell, feeling breathless and weary.

Wormtail pointed his wand at the locks and muttered an incantation under his breath. But before he turned to go, he approached Susan once more. "Did your dad say what the Scroll looked like?" he wheezed.

Susan looked at him in disdain. "I don't have to answer you."

"No, you don't. But we can always bring back Mr. Malfoy," he squeaked maliciously.

At the mention of Lucius, Susan froze. She feared the man more than any other in the world, perhaps even more than the Dark Lord himself. "My dad didn't know what it looked like. But he figured it couldn't have been very big. After all, the Potters had to hide it. So it must have been disguised as a piece of parchment or an item of clothing or something."

Wormtail considered this with interest. His beady little eyes lit up as if a thought occurred to him. "This disguise must have been very powerful to deceive so many wizards," he said.

"You ask too many questions," Susan snapped fiercely.

"And you'll answer them, if you know what's good for your friend," he growled as he pointed his wand at Neville's crumpled figure.

"Don't listen to him," Neville croaked. "He can do what he wants with me, you don't have to answer him."

"Cru-"

"Stop!" Susan cried. "Please don't hurt him!"

Wormtail dropped his silver arm and waited for Susan to speak.

"Dad formed a theory that the Scroll never left Hogwarts. I mean, that place is so charged with magic no one will suspect anything out of the ordinary, plus it must have a disguise. I'm sure it's with Dumbledore as we speak, which means you'll never get your grubby little paws on it!" she said defiantly, a dry chuckle escaped her lips like a kite lost in the winds. A look of madness crossed her face and Neville was suddenly afraid for her. He wasn't sure how long she could hold out, how long she could resist the fear that threatened to overwhelm her senses.

Wormtail grinned savagely as he retreated into the shadows. Something about his expression unsettled Neville. He knows too much, he thought worriedly. It may be too late.

Once he was gone, Susan turned to Neville. "Neville?" she began uncertainly. "Is there anything I can do? I mean, to ease the pain?"

Neville looked up to see her peering at him through the bars. That look of confusion, fear and sorrow on her face would haunt him for the rest of his life. But at that moment, the image flittered by like a lost dream.

He smiled at her as comfortingly as he could muster. He was supposed to hate her, and yet he couldn't bring himself to it, not now, not ever. "I'm fine, thanks for caring," he said.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, the tears were gathering at the corners of her eyes again.

"Don't," he pleaded softly. "Don't say anymore. It's too late."

"I know," she said, looking down at her hands.

"No, you don't know," he said with resignation. "I wasn't talking about us. I was talking about everything else, everyone else. I'm afraid it's too late for the world."

*

"Hey James, you in here?" Sirius asked as he poked his head through the door.

"Yeah, I'm in here. What are you doing standing about the door?" James asked in dismay. He ventured towards Sirius who was sliding into the room sheepishly. James squinted at his dishevelled friend. "What have you been up to? Playing hide and seek with Isabella Nott again?"

"No," Sirius grinned. "Medi-wizard and nurse with Kiara Hart."

James gaped. "The same Kiara Hart Snivellus has been hankering after for the past seven years?"

Sirius' grin grew wider and more wolfish. "The very same."

"You know the news will kill greasy snivelly," James said sombrely.

"I know," Sirius replied with a yawn. In a single stride, he crossed the room and collapsed suavely onto his bed.

"Then it's imperative," James said, creeping closer to Sirius, "that I tell him."

Sirius looked at his best friend fondly then burst into peels of laughter. "The honour my good man is yours."

James chuckled then pushed up his glasses. "I always thought Kiara was a bit of a prude."

Sirius snorted. "No, you're just hopeless at seducing women."

James sniffed indignantly. "I have Lily," he pointed out.

The love god rolled his eyes then stifled a yawn. "And I maintain that you've placed her under the Imperius Curse. No self-respecting girl would consider you a serious boyfriend. Casual shag when drunk maybe-"

"For your information, we have not been indulging in acts of passion," James interjected heatedly. Lily's reputation was important to him, but he couldn't rebuff Sirius without feeling a little wistful. He was about to finish high school, a virgin.

"Pity," Sirius said with a smirk. "Obviously not that strong an Imperius Curse."

For a brief moment Sirius was scared that James would throttle him. But he needn't have worried, James looked more amused than angry. "I'm going to miss you," he said sincerely.

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. "We'll keep in touch."

"I know," James said softly. "But we could drift apart and..."

"Oh stop," Sirius said. "Peter's been sniffling all day and I've just about had enough of it. This isn't the end of the world you know. Nothing will come between the Marauders."

"Yeah," James said, brightening a little, "you're right. We'll always be friends."

"That's the spirit," Sirius said, rolling off the bed. He joined James a moment later by the mirror. "What a handsome devil you've become. I don't know how Lily manages to control herself."

"Are you making a move on me Padfoot?" James gibed good-naturedly.

"Of course, that's exactly it Prongs, there aren't enough women in the world, I now have to resort to the likes of you," Sirius retorted.

"You could do worse," James stated.

"Yeah, yeah," Sirius said absently. Then in a flash, his expression changed to one of apprehension. He looked around the room quickly as if someone might be eavesdropping. The hair on his back seemed to stand on end.

"What's the matter Padfoot?" James inquired quietly.

"Someone's on to us," Sirius whispered, which came out more as a low growl.

"What? How?" James asked.

"I don't know. But I can sense it. Someone knows. Where's the map?" Sirius whispered urgently as he sniffed the air.

"Here, in my pocket. Look, don't be so edgy or you'll be the one giving away the secret. The others don't know anything about it. I did it in complete secrecy. It's safe. I promise you, Padfoot, it's safe."

Sirius softened. The hard lines around his mouth fell away as he nodded in agreement. "It'll be safe here. Hogwarts is the last stronghold. He won't ever find it here."

"No," James shook his head, "he won't get to it. We won't let him. This place is undetectable remember? The magic that resonates within this school cannot be seen or heard or felt outside of the immediate grounds. There are thousands of spells guarding every conceivable entrance, not to mention there's Dumbledore, the impregnable wonder himself. Trust me, there'll be no place safer for it than Hogwarts."

Sirius muttered in agreement before another thought struck him. "Where are you going to hide it? What if a student gets hold of it?"

"Relax," James said calmly, "I've already thought of that. Before the farewell ceremony, I'll slip down to Filch's office and hide the map somewhere in his drawers. No student will venture into Filch's office. That's suicide."

Sirius nodded. "You're right. You'd better bring your cloak. That man has a hundred eyes and he never sleeps."

James grinned. "There's at least one good reason why we should leave this place."

"Yeah..." Sirius trailed off. "Listen, what ever happens..."

"Hey!" James interrupted sharply. "I thought we've been through this. It's not goodbye remember? You said so a moment ago."

"Yeah," Sirius grumbled. "You're right. Unless it's the end."

James looked at Sirius oddly. For one so confident, Sirius could be extremely pessimistic at times. The time came for them to say their final farewells and James didn't want to see his best friend so dejected. "If it's the end..." he said softly, "then we'll cross into darkness together."

Sirius looked up in surprise. "Really? You promise?"

"I promise," James said with conviction. "But of course, that means you can't do anything dangerous ever again. I plan to live to an old ripe age of a hundred and four thank you very much! And I'm not about to sacrifice my life for one of your stupid stunts."

Sirius chuckled agreeably. "Don't worry I won't rob you of your grandchildren, that I promise. After all, I want to be Godfather to your troupe of little critters. Now I had better get dressed before Shannon suspects my shenanigans with Kiara." With that, he bounded towards the bathroom like an overgrown puppy.

James shook his head and chuckled. Everything was in place. His robes fell neatly around his lean frame and for once his unruly hair was well behaved. His fingers touched the edge of map hidden deep in the folds of his robes. Nothing would go wrong, he assured himself. Nothing.

"James?" Sirius said as he reappeared in the room.

"Yes?" James replied, turning around to face his childhood friend, now a man.

"Thank you," he said softly, "for everything."

James smiled.

And that was the last thing Peter saw before he scuttled out of the room.

*

The dark hall was deserted. The candles had flickered out long ago. No light dared penetrate the room. Luminous folds of rich, velvet curtains blocked out the unwelcome sun. The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters had left to induct new Death Eaters. Of course these prestigious events did not include Peter. He was just the donkey that carried the load. He was insignificant, dispensable in fact.

He hurried along from room to room, hoping to see a Death Eater, a familiar face. But the Malfoy Manor was barren. His footsteps smacked loudly on the cold marble. Peter shivered involuntarily at the engulfing silence. He needed to speak to the Dark Lord urgently before someone else figured out the whereabouts of the Scroll. For once Lucius wouldn't be the one to receive the accolades. For once he, Peter Pettigrew, would be the Dark Lord's favourite, his most humble and faithful servant.

He was drunk on the thought of greatness. The Dark Lords' beneficent hiss was practically echoing in his ears. Oh how he had longed for this moment!

"What are you doing here?" an accusing voice interrupted his dreams.

Peter jumped and nearly collided with a wall of books. He looked around hastily. In his aimless wandering, he had found his way into Lucius' study.

"Did my father send you? Answer me damn it!"

He looked up to see the young Malfoy bearing down on him.

"No," Peter stammered. "No, I was looking for him. He's obviously not here."

"Not so fast!" Draco commanded. Peter stopped in his steps. For one so young he sure knows how to wield authority, he thought grimly. "Why are you skulking about?"

"I'm not skulking," Peter said meekly. "There's something very important I need to impart with the Dark Lord."

Draco narrowed his eyes and glared at the mediocre specimen before him. "What is so important?"

"Nothing," Peter declared quickly before turning for the door. But before he had the chance to escape, Draco drew out his wand.

"Halt," he said icily. "Come with me."

Caught without a wand in reach, Peter had no choice but to follow grudgingly. Draco shoved him into the fireplace then stepped in after him. "Hogwarts!" he bellowed.

Peter sneezed several times as the dust stirred around him. He shut his eyes tightly and clung onto Draco for dear life. He hated the floo network vehemently. But before he could complain, they had arrived in Draco's dormitory. Peter found it spacious and accommodation. The usual colours of green and silver greeted his eyes. This is where I should have been, Peter thought miserably. Slytherin should have been my home.

"Why do you need to see him so badly?" Draco barked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Our liege?" Peter questioned. Draco nodded. "It's none of your business," he said with as much courage as he could muster. He suddenly felt very protective of his secret. It was his discovery, his victory over James Potter and Sirius Black one last time.

Draco looked murderous. In an instant, Peter fancied he was looking at Lucius, not his son. "Talk you miserable rodent," Draco growled.

Peter knew it was no empty threat. He looked up at the boy and began to speak reluctantly. "A long time ago, James, Sirius, Remus and I made a map. This map showed every corridor, room, dungeon and secret passageway of this castle." He knew the boy was enthralled. Peter was a little cheered by it and continued. "On the day of our graduation, I caught James and Sirius conspiring over the map. I had transformed into a rat and was hiding next to Sirius' old socks." He wrinkled his nose at the memory. "They couldn't see me but Sirius caught my scent at one point. I had to crawl into a cup of sour milk to hide my smell."

Draco looked on impassively. "This is all very tragic. Why were they conspiring?"

At this question, Peter's eyes lit up. "The Scroll of course. Legend has it, the Scroll passed into the Black family. Old Mrs. Black was aware of its value and hid it somewhere in her house. But then one day, it vanished. Who else would take it but that traitorous son of hers, the one that favours muggles and renounced the noble ways of the wizard? Sirius brought it to Hogwarts to spite his mother. But then he discovered its real power and decided that it must never be found. He and James concocted the Marauder's Map and made Remus and me a part of the scheme. No one would suspect an old, blank piece of parchment to hold the most dangerous weapon in history! Then the day of graduation came and they realised the Map would be safest in Hogwarts. So they hid it in Filch's draw."

Draco considered this and gripped his wand a little tighter. But Peter was oblivious to Draco's reaction. He was so caught up in his own grand narrative that he was no longer cautious of his surroundings.

"And they would have gotten away with it if I hadn't seen them talking. I put two and two together when that freckled girl said Hogwarts was the perfect place to hide something so powerful. It would go undetected in an institute of magic. So you see, it's a simple matter of retrieving it. No one would even notice it's gone. Well, perhaps one person would." Peter chuckled at the thought of the mischief he would cause. Dumbledore wouldn't know what hit him. Hogwarts would fall to ruins without so much as a protest. Finally, the end would come.

"What makes you think Filch still has it?" Draco asked casually as he paced the room. "What if Dumbledore's found out and has it under impenetrable security?"

Peter chuckled, feeling elated. "Dumbledore doesn't have a clue, that blind old bat's passed his prime years ago! As you probably know, I was the Weasley pet for years and you learn a few things when you're allowed to roam free around Hogwarts. Those terrible twins retrieved the map from Filch's draw and put it to good use for many years until they bequeathed it to someone else." Peter paused for effect. The excitement was become unbearable. Even Draco seemed curious. "They gave it to none other than Harry Potter."

For a moment Draco looked stunned, but the look was so fleeting Peter thought he had imagined it. "Now that I'm back in Hogwarts, thanks to you, it'll be an easy task to steal the map back. The Dark Lord will be so pleased!" he gushed.

Draco grinned coldly. "Well then good luck to you," he said.

Peter gaped. "Really? You don't want to be a part of it?"

Draco looked half amused. "No, the credit is all yours." He walked over to Peter and didn't stop until they were face to face. "Although I must thank you for everything you've just told me. It will prove...invaluable."

Peter swallowed in panic. Something wasn't right, his sense told him so. "Well then," he stammered uncertainly. "I'd better be going then."

"Yes," Draco cooed. "I'd best send you on your way. Goodbye Wormtail. Avada Kedavra!"

A stream of light hit Peter in the chest before darkness took over, then oblivion.