Slytherin

The Atlas Mountain Range was a very imposing geographical barrier. The mountains that it consisted of were by no means world record setters in terms of height, but they were high enough to keep the moist air coming in from the Atlantic Ocean at bay. Thereby helping to create one of the world's largest deserts, the Sahara. The highest sub-range in the Atlas was simply called the High Range; it contained the highest peak known as Toubkal with an elevation of over thirteen thousand feet above sea level.

To the north of the country and incidentally near the town of Beni-Mellal, was the next loftiest range, called Middle-Atlas, with a maximum elevation of eleven thousand feet above sea level.

Numerous passes traversed these mountains, providing routes between the populated coast and the Sahara desert. The slopes near Middle-Atlas were quite densely forested; cedar, pine, cork, and oak made for a very active forestry industry. Fertile valleys and extensive tracts of pasturage lay in these ranges. The mineral wealth here was also vast, but not exploited; Morocco lacked the capital means to obtain the gold, silver, iron and even petroleum. Since mining at these high altitudes with hardly any road infrastructure to speak of, the weather impeding your every step, was really not something people were prepared to do just yet.

The Atlas Mountains were the traditional home of the Berbers, one of the principal peoples of the Hamitic linguistic stock. They lived in small hamlets and villages in the many fertile valleys that littered the range. In one such village, about eighty kilometers southwest of Beni-Mellal and situated at about three thousand meters above sea level, called Chott by its residents, a person was startled awake by the sound of knocking on the door to her hut. 'Door' being a relative term of course, if one counted a couple of weather worn and tarred timber beams merely being hammered together with nails, as a door.

The small circular hut itself was also of wood, but in contrast to the door, it was superbly crafted by the local tribes' craftsmen, and it provided ample heat retention during the cold winter, but it was summer here now and somehow was just as effective at keeping the interior cool. She assumed it was a trick with how the roof was constructed. Very efficient, considering there was nothing in any way that resembled technology here. The only things technological in the village were what she had with her, a GPS receiver and satellite phone. Both of which she kept off, since electricity to recharge the batteries was another non-existent service. It would only be used in an emergency.

She eased herself off her rickety cot bed and wrapped the animal skin blanket around her. Sleeping in the buff was not something she did as a rule, more at the moment it was necessity, all thanks to her stupid trusting of a cab driver in Beni-Mellal, who at the moment was probably making a nice profit off of her clothes, or giving them to his wife. Two thirds of her luggage was stolen, luckily she had the sense to keep the most important things in her large hiking backpack.

She approached the door and eased the animal quilt that provided visual privacy (the wooden door was obviously full of holes and had gaps in it). Standing nervously outside was her young guide, Johnny (as he preferred to call himself), was a thirteen year old boy who was the only one who could speak a passable and understandable version of English that he learned in a Catholic missionary school not five kilometers from the village. Johnny was a typical shortstop, barely reaching five feet at the moment, something that puberty would change. He had dark black hair cut into a step and dark brown skin with a skinny build. He wore knee length pants and a ruined gray t-shirt, with of all things second hand Nike trainers adorning his feet.

"Lara?" enquired Johnny. She smiled sweetly at the kid.

"Yes Johnny?" enquired Lara Croft in her posh aristocratic English accent that had been drilled into her since she could speak, and something she hoped she could get rid of in her travels.

"I just thought you wanted to know, my grandfather has returned from his time of solitude. He returned during the night. I explained to him of your wishes. He will help when he awakes," explained Johnny. It had been Lara's bad luck to arrive halfway through the self-imposed traditional exile of a widower. Johnny's grandmother had died the week before and his grandfather had left to mourn.

"Thanks Johnny, I'll get myself to the waterfall for a cleanup, and then see if I can talk to your grandfather," stated Lara. Johnny only nodded and trooped off down the path past her hut.

Lara turned to her backpack and rummaged through the little amount of clothes she had. Damn third world countries. She thought angrily. Then suddenly she had an epiphany, at least with regard to efficiency in what she would be wearing. She pulled out her one-piece swimsuit, with military camouflage pattern and deftly climbed into it. Then pulled out one of her rugged brown short pants over that. She pulled thick socks onto both of her feet and strapped her all-terrain boots on. The waterfall was a kilometer away and very rocky terrain stood between her and it. Since she also did not take chances, she strapped her belt on and clipped the holsters dangling from it on her thighs, then inspected both her Magnums and judged them to be working properly.

What an effort...just to have a damn bath. But this was the wild, and those who were ill-prepared or just plain stupid, had a tendency to die quickly. Lara packed her smaller backpack that she used for her forays into the mountain wilderness on her search. She then checked and double-checked everything.

Finally ready, she emerged from her hut and took in the unspoiled nature around her and the high fresh mountain air. By the sun she judged it was mid-morning. The mountains around her in the valley would make a beautiful inspiration for a painting. As far as the eye could see there were mountains and the unmistakable sounds of nature. The huts of the village were separate enough to prevent the chatter of rural human activity becoming audible. It felt very liberating to Lara. With her childhood of upper class British aristocracy, the very thing she called home felt like a damn prison. She privately envied the people of this village; life was demanding, but simple.

Lara started to walk North-East, where she now knew from experience the waterfall to be. She had used it twice already in her stay here. Just to get the feeling of sweat and grime out of her long braided auburn hair and her body. Her hair required a bit of maintenance, even when she was in the wilderness. She at least redid the braid each morning if nothing else was possible. She did not mind being dirty, in fact the longest time she had spent without bathing was that fateful month not more than two years ago when her plane had crashed in the Himalayas coming from a skiing trip and then learned to rely on her wits to stay alive in the most adverse of conditions. Walking into the village of Tokakeriby being the only survivor felt like the last stripping away of her posh upbringing and the revealing her true self, her soul and the beginning of a new life.

She walked at a leisurely pace, and it took about fifteen minutes with the rough terrain proving a bit worrisome at times. She climbed over a small ridge and already the rolling thunder sound of the waterfall was beckoning to her. Another ridge later and finally the waterfall came into view. It was pristine, and one of the better ones she had seen in her two years of travel. The pool was about ten meters in diameter, and the water dropped from a height of about nineteen meters. Behind the wall of falling water, Lara knew there was a small cave. Inside, it provided a stunning scene; the mouth was covered by the falling water and looked like a scene right out of the book Lord of the Rings where the men of Gondor had their sanctuary with Boromir's brother as leader.

Lara walked to the edge of the pool and felt the pleasantly cold water with her hands. Satisfied, she walked around the pool and started to climb the short distance to the ledge, which allowed access to the cave. The climb was tricky but manageable, the hardest part being to shimmy horizontally between the mountain and the falling water.

When she was finally in the cave she removed her clothing and equipment bar the swimsuit and neatly stashed it in the shallow cave. Then undoing her braid allowing her long hair to cascade out of their hold.

The waterfall itself was not that strong, just enough to totally blind the cave from view, and also allowing the hidden cave to be used as a diving platform of sorts. She took a deep breath and sprinted as fast as her shapely athletic legs would allow and jumped at the edge of the cave, right into the wall of water. The shock of the ice-cold water nagged at her but she kept her concentration and leaned forward in mid-air to perform a perfect swan dive. For a moment she was lost in a sea of water and bubbles, but eventually her balance indicated which way was up and she angled herself to rise.

Lara burst to the surface with an exclamation of happiness and exhilaration. This was life. This was what she now lived for, moments like these. For a few moments she simply treaded water and relaxed with her eyes closed, her breathing deep and luxurious, almost meditative. The next twenty minutes she spent doing laps of the natural pool, varying her style from breaststroke to freestyle alternately. Eventually she started to tire and waded slowly towards the edge of the pool where she emerged and started to wring her hair dry of water. The sun was now nicely shining into the valley and she laid herself down on a patch of grass, in essence to dry herself, but getting a tan on her fair British skin came as a fringe benefit. When Lara felt dry enough she wondered if she would benefit from a more even tan. She was never one for modesty; something her upbringing drummed into her, but that just led her to rebel against it even more. After scanning her surroundings thoroughly she climbed out of her suit and resumed her tanning. She focused and regulated her breathing in a relaxation technique taught to her by her Aikido Sensei, Gonura. She turned over now allowing her back to get some sunlight.

Mentally, she ran over all the movements and counters that Gonura had taught her, she marveled at how much she had actually learned from her Sensei. It took her over fifteen minutes to run over her entire repertoire of Aikido (the way of Harmony) techniques.

She opened her eyes and stood. Taking in her surroundings again while she climbed back into her swimsuit. What would her father say to this? Hah. She quickly climbed and retrieved her stash and dressed.

Back at the village, Johnny met her on the outskirts and guided her to his grandfather's hut. It was obviously slightly larger in construction, since a village elder had to have some sort of perk. The grandfather had the more traditional Middle-eastern name of Saleem. Islam was right next Christianity in terms of number of followers in the Northern Regions of Africa, but Saleem was a devout Christian.

He was a tall man, with thin build and by the gray of his hair, Lara judged him to be in his early sixties, quite an old age to reach for somebody living in this environment. He wore traditional white African robes and his weathered face had eyes that held a great wisdom in them and a tinge of sadness, obviously his wife's death had affected him greatly. He spoke French but used a dialect that Lara's native Creole-French couldn't simply understand. So Johnny had to do translating work from English.

"'What is it you seek young lady?'" translated Johnny for his grandfather.

"I seek if you have any knowledge of dark...magicians that may have once lived in these mountains," she answered shortly, she had wanted to say 'dark alchemists' but was not sure if Johnny knew the word. Saleem listened to the translation, and he narrowed his eyes at Lara. He spoke a reply that had a solemn tone to it.

"'Even if I do know anything, why do you seek such things?'" translated Johnny.

"I am a person who does research into all things of the past. I seek to make the unknown past known to all," replied Lara.

"'You are in a quest to search for evil, Miss Croft. How can anything good come from making such things known?'" asked Saleem in calm tone that was really beginning to annoy Lara.

"To know the light, you must first see the dark," retorted Lara, remembering an eastern philosophy book she had read. This seemed to stump Saleem for a moment; he stared contemplatively at the ceiling his hands intertwined on the armrest of his elaborately carved chair.

"'True, very well Miss Croft,'" Saleem sighed and drummed his fingers, "'my father was nineteen when he and two of his friends went to climb to the summit of Tizi-n-Tamjurt, not thirty kilometers north east of us. Halfway up they came across a cave where they took shelter for the night as a heavy storm was bearing down on them.'"

Saleem paused and took a drink of water from a wooden goblet.

"'They set fire to keep themselves warm, and that was when my father noticed strange inscriptions carved on a large stone present in the interior of the cave. They could not make heads or tails of it. Further they found that the stone was blocking a small passage. Their curiosity got the better of them and the attempted to move the stone. They were successful, but then...well my father described it as if he was suddenly deluged in all his worst fears multiplied by a thousand fold, it seemed the stone was cursed. They ran from the cave into the storm, both my father's friends died.'" Saleem's jaw became rigid.

"'Many such stories of apparent curses and magic is passed down among the families of the villages. It's to the point where Tizi-n-Tamjurt is a forbidden mountain to climb amongst all of them,'" explained Saleem.

"The Priest at the Catholic mission says the stories are just that...stories," fished Lara. This was not the first village she had visited. She had visited three others and all called Tizi-n-Tamjurt the 'mountain of fear.' Saleem snorted after hearing his grandson translate.

"'He would say that. Father Devon is as aware of that mountain's true nature as anybody else here. Why do you think there is of all the places a Catholic Mission here in Chott?'"

"I assume for education and spreading the Word," Lara replied.

"'Yes,'" Saleem frowned, "'but its there also to protect and guard whatever is up there on that mountain. Our farmers have often reported seeing Father Devon and the monks journeying to Tizi-n-Tamjurt. If you talked to him he would mislead you,'" the old man explained.

"How dangerous is the journey to the summit?" asked Lara, wondering if her fledgling climbing skill might be needed.

"'Its an easy enough walk to the base of the mountain, and there are many passes and trails, the western face is the most perilous, while the south face is what my father used. It's easy enough and he free-climbed it," stated Saleem with a hint of pride.

Silence fell, while Lara mused on whether her research would pan out. Would she get the 'big discovery' up on that mountain? This was the most logical place for the dark alchemists to flee the witch-hunts of medieval times. Scholars considered it a fairy tale, but there was just something in the research texts and old scriptures of the Order of Lux Veritatus and Knights Templar, that nagged at her. It was compelling to say the least. Lara stood and shook hands with Saleem.

"Thank your for your knowledge Saleem. How can I repay your village for the kindness extended to me?" she asked solemnly.

"'In material wealth you need not repay, simply promise me that whatever you find up there, that you would not use it for evil. May God bless you on your journey, and keep you safe," he declared and bowed his head slightly.

"God bless you too. Thank you."

*

Lara jabbed her walking stick into the ground and used the leverage for a last push with her legs. She finally stood at the top edge of the valley and looked down from where she had come. The Village from here looked like tiny toy blocks. Being confronted with this magnificent vista of mountains in comparison to the tiny village, suddenly made her feel awe inspired and very small, how little did the affairs of mankind matter in the grand scheme of things.

To the west she could see the extremely distant Beni-Mellal, it was amazing how far one could see from an elevated position such as this. With the sun high above her head the temperature was at it's highest and the sweat that glistened on her skin was proof enough that she was not used to such high temperatures. She thanked her lucky stars that the humidity was low, or else she could not sweat (thereby keeping her body temperature in check). Lara made sure she drank often but sparingly from her water bottle. The five liters of water she had with her would have to last until she could get to a stream, Saleem had told her there was plenty of runoff from the snowfall at the higher elevations and assured her she would not run out. Even so, she still rationed her drinking as much as possible.

Slowly she walked down the steep edge of the valley. It took the rest of the day to get down to neighboring valley's floor. The difference between Chott, and this was quite substantial. The entire valley was filled with deep forest, it was not natural, and the symmetrical planting of multitudes of pine, cedar and oak trees betrayed this man-made forest plantation.

Once she was in the forest, Lara had to repress a shudder. It was extremely still under the canopy of the forest and only wisps of light penetrated to the forest floor. The trees groaned and creaked under the wind that blew above the canopy. The temperature and humidity difference was huge. It felt like a chilly day in Scotland now and the air was so thick with moisture that it glistened off the low leaves of the trees. She could also feel it condensing on her skin, starting to make her shiver. She could start a fire after doing the proper precautions, since having this entire forest burn down would ruin her day and whoever ran this plantation. It got her thinking if there was anybody from the forestry company who lived here. There had to be. If she got into trouble she could come and look for heshethem.

Finally, the last wisps of sun disappeared, the sun had set for the valley and Lara was dog tired. She picked a spot next to a thick pine tree and unclipped her backpack and began to set up camp for her small one-man tent. Using a small hand shovel she created a small circular firebreak in front of her tent and started to gather wander around for dead wood and kindling.

She broke the dead wood into smaller pieces and bunched the kindling on top of it. A handy Zippo lighter provided the flame and soon she had nice fire started. She added the wood slowly, piece by piece. It prevented smoke from forming; it was a trick the American Indians used to make fires on the open plains of Nevada without getting spotted. Since even a tiny column of smoke from a campfire stretched pretty far up into the sky, allowing anyone with eyes for miles around to deduce your position.

It was not that Lara was worried about being spotted. She just wanted to keep her relative privacy. She pulled out her long survival knife from her leg holster and stabbed some raw sausages to hold over the fire.

She wondered what she would be facing up on that 'mountain of fear'. The elements of nature were daunting enough. But what about the stories that the people told of curses, dark magicians and alchemists, even the Lux Veritatus spoke of this; which was a very credible source. Eventually she shrugged her mental wandering off and bit into the now cooked sausage at the end of her knife.

For a while Lara just stared into the fire, its hypnotic dancing pattern calming her and even lulling her to an early state of sleep. She gave up eventually and climbed into her tent and fell asleep the instant she was in her sleeping bag.

*

The next day was spent constantly walking and by the end of it she was outside the forest valley at the base of Tizi-n-Tamjurt. Night fell and she pitched camp to rest for the next day's ascent of the mountain. The journey thus far was quite uneventful, which surprised Lara. By her standards of luck something challenging or bad had to have happened during the walk, maybe a grisly bear, or wolves or something else should have attacked her with lethal intentions by now.

Not that she wanted things like that to happen. It was probably a primal urge within her, wanting to be tested, wanting to feel that adrenaline high that came with mortal combat, or whatever.

Lara was sitting in front of the fire when she heard a distinct sound of a branch cracking somewhere to the right of her tent. She reacted instantly by drawing both her Magnums and aiming toward the noise, her senses flaring with clarity, taking it all in. The light from her campfire hampered her natural night vision so she couldn't see beyond what the fire itself illuminated. She slowly swiveled, scanning the perimeter of her campsite. After twenty minutes Lara lowered her pistols and holstered them. She then ran over possibilities what it might have been, an animal or person. The former being the most likely occurrence, the alert kept her up another hour before she went to sleep.

*

The next day would be on record as one of the most odd but life changing ones in her life.

Lara awoke to the soft sounds of nature breezing through at her and stretched awkwardly in the confines of her tent to get the kinks out of her body. She crawled out and had barely even stood up when she heard a voice shout something that sounded distinctly like Latin. It had come from her left and she stared wide eyed at a purple light that was moving toward her at an inexplicably fast speed, she knew this because her movements felt slow due to the time dilation effect of adrenaline.

Her instincts were as razor sharp as ever though, she fell over and rolled. The purple light had only given her a glancing hit over her legs but that was enough, it felt like somebody was peeling off her skin in those areas the light did hit. It was also lucky that Lara never slept without some sort of weapon on her, as you never knew when something could go bump in the night. The adrenaline had totally dulled her pain receptors though and she did still feel master of her actions.

As she finished her roll, she reached to a holster on her arm that held throwing knives. Her eyes alighted on a dark figure from where the purple light had come from, with a flick of a wrist she sent a knife flying toward it. Her aim must have been on as she saw the figure clutch at his chest and fall over. In the next instant she realized her true predicament, there were six others.

There was no way she could avoid all of them, they had her surrounded. Then one of them raised their arms at her and he shouted the Latin word for pain. White light hit Lara from behind and she felt as if every nerve ending in her body was going crazy with pain. She was screaming, or at least she thought she was. Everything seemed to be happening at a distance. She saw herself on the ground writhing in agony at the pain that was coming from nowhere. The pain just as suddenly stopped and the dark figure lowered his arm.

Lara was breathing raggedly and shaking uncontrollably as the after effect of the pain still lingered. She was lying flat on her stomach; luckily she had slept in her clothes. Then she felt as if she was lifted in the air by an invisible hand that shoved her upright, back against a tree. Through half-lidded eyes she saw one of the dark figures raise a hand and from a wooden object in his grip, ropes suddenly sprang forth and tied her arms above her head and snaked around her legs. She was tied to the tree, powerless.

The lead figure turned to the others.

"Check on him," ordered the black robed figure with a hood obscuring his face.

Another went over to the crumpled form of the man that Lara had succeeded in hitting.

"Dead," came the answer. The lead figure turned to Lara.

"You'll pay for that, you miserable muggle, with your life," sneered the apparent leader in a cold voice. Lara assumed that 'muggle' was some sort of epithet, but not one she had ever heard. What was left of her mind could only deduce that these were dark magicians, and that they were after her for...what? Her research? Stop her from violating Tizi-n-Tamjurt?

"Of course, the reasoning for keeping you alive is...compelling." Lara vaguely felt a hand stroking her face and slowly moving down over her chest and stomach. If her legs were free she would have given him a kick in the gut.

"Where is your research?" he asked calmly.

"Go...fuck...yourself," gasped Lara. Talking was for some reason incredibly difficult.

"Now, now," scolded the magician as if talking to a child, "please don't make me use other means to convince you to tell us, not all are very pleasant."

Lara said nothing. The dark magician eventually ordered his helpers to search through her stuff. It was then that Lara noticed two of his five fellow magicians suddenly stumble; they seemed to prevent themselves from falling and stood. Both walked with a sudden odd gait and Lara could tell there was something wrong with them. The lead magician noticed this as well.

"What is wrong with you two?" he sneered.

The two magicians paid no attention to their leader and walked over to what seemed to be flanking positions. The unaffected dark magicians looked at each other quizzically.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, appeared three more figures. Two appeared next to the odd-acting magicians, and another alighted right next to Lara. The difference in them was obvious; they wore camouflaged robes and cloaks, and did not have their hoods up.

Things happened very fast from there. The two odd dark magicians and the two camouflaged ones startled hurling light of all colors at the three dark magicians. The dark magicians fought back, either deflecting or throwing light themselves. The magician that had appeared next to her though went totally unnoticed; it was a young man with pulsing blue eyes and dark blonde hair. He smiled reassuringly and warmly at her and put a forefinger to his lips, indicating she should keep quiet. Lara could only nod weakly. The young man had what seemed like a thin short staff in his hand, which he pointed at the battling dark magicians.

In a great voice he shouted in what she registered as Old Upper-Kingdom Egyptian. Lara watched in amazement as yellow light shot from the short staff and hit one of the dark magicians in the back, who promptly solidified into a gold sculpture. The remaining dark magicians decided the odds were against them now and disappeared into thin air.

The young magician swore at this and came around to stand in front of her.

"Easy now...we're here to help," he stated in a friendly reassuring voice. Lara met eyes with the young man and could see his concern and sincerity. He snaked an arm around her waist and waived his staff at her bindings, which disappeared. Every movement Lara tried to initiate caused pain, as if needles were being pricked into her joints. The young man though was surprisingly strong for his size and deftly maneuvered her in his arms to where she was lying down next to the ash of the previous night's campfire.

"Do you want to be sedated? I know you are feeling like death warmed over now," only now Lara realized his English carried a British accent as well, like those from North England. She was in such discomfort that any unconsciousness had to be better than this, so she agreed with a nod.

"Stupefy," was all she heard and it was as if someone had flicked a switch and all was dark.

*

Stephen stared for a moment at the young woman they had come all this way to save. She was about just under one point seven meters tall and had long braided auburn hair, with brown eyes, her face was very beautiful and she had a rather well adorned chest to say the least. Her outfit also did not help in hiding the curves of this rather goddess-like womanly body.

With effort he tore his eyes away from her and checked to see how Harry and Moody were doing. The two Death Eaters they had covertly placed under Imperious were now unconscious, tied to their golden statue of a partner. While the dark wizard with a knife in his chest, courtesy of Lara Croft was lying next to them.

"How is she?" asked Moody.

"As well as can be expected from the Cruciatus, I stunned her to ease the pain," answered Stephen, "how long should I keep her this way?"

"Give her five hours, but we'll need to Apparate away as soon as possible, no telling when that bunch will return. We had surprise on our side," replied Moody.

Stephen headed over to the rounded up Death Eaters where Harry was busy taking off their masks to reveal their identities, or at least, that was the idea.

"I don't know these Death Eaters, they're definitely not related to the inner circle," murmured Harry. He rolled up the left sleeve of one unconscious Death Eater and examined the palm. Tattooed there was a dark skull with a snake for a tongue, the slight luminescence gave it away as a magical tattoo, it was the Dark Mark. Something Stephen had only seen for the first time two years ago at the Quidditch World Cup. He now looked at the Death Eater's face more closely.

"This guy comes from Spain," stated Stephen, "this one Northern Europe, that is definitely a Greek...the only person with an English Anglo-Saxon look is the one I hit."

"How do you know that?" asked Harry skeptically.

"Well, the wizard from Spain has an obvious light brown skin, which is also very leathery, and the facial structure fits," explained Stephen.

"Blimey, this is worrying," muttered Moody, Stephen and Harry frowned quizzically, "it means that Voldemort is not restricting his recruitment efforts to the British Isles any more. Other Dark groups in Europe and who knows where else could be supporting him this time."

"Sir, is there not a possibility those other groups would try similar campaigns of terror or war in their own countries?" asked Harry.

"Yes," Moody shrugged, "but that's for other Ministries and the International Confederation to deal with, the Order can only focus on the British Isles and Voldemort, we can't afford to stretch ourselves. What we are doing here is an isolated case."

"So what do we do with these idiots?" asked Stephen, pointing with his wand to the three Death Eaters.

"We could take them in, but we are here covertly, we've spent three days searching for Ms. Croft, and I think we must head back to England as soon as possible with her. We have no support from the local Ministry so we can't legally take them in," answered Moody, "I think though that the Death Eaters will be back for them."

Stephen walked to a nearby tree and picked up their backpack, while Harry had started to pack up Lara's things into her backpack, this proved to take longer than expected since the Death Eaters had been rather indiscriminate in searching her possessions, they were lying everywhere. Now Harry was hauling a similar backpack. Moody knelt next to the prone form of Lara and grabbed her one arm.

"We Apparate back to Hogsmeade train platform," he stated.

With a Pop of rushing air, Moody apparated with Lara, Stephen closed his eyes and went through the mental processes of apparition, he felt the now familiar tingling all over his skin and when the Universe righted itself, he was standing on the cobbled train platform near Hogsmeade. Harry appeared two feet away and started to take in their surroundings.

The platform was quite deserted and the only sounds were that of the occasional bird chirping in a tree.

Stephen reached into a side pocket of their backpack and withdrew three five-inch brooms. With flicks of his wand he enlarged them to their proper size and handed them to their owners.

"Remember what I taught you about conjuring a stretcher and carrying it with brooms?" asked Moody sternly. Both Stephen and Harry nodded. Stephen walked over to the prone Lara; he twirled his wand intricately and conjured a stretcher to appear right under her. Harry walked to one end and Stephen to the other and both conjured ropes around the wooden poles of the stretcher and tied them to their brooms.

"Good."

They mounted brooms and kicked off the ground. For Stephen and Harry though it was slow going carrying a still body with them and added to that the weight of their backpacks. The ropes pulled the stretchers sides up and around Lara, making a hammock and keeping her securely in the stretcher.

They landed in front of the school doors and carried the stretcher inside and to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey came bustling at the sight of them carrying a stretcher and directed them to an appropriate bed. Harry and Stephen stood afar and let Moody explain to the matron what was wrong. Stephen picked up a veiled presence approaching the ward and it was not much of surprise that Dumbledore appeared behind them.

"Everything went fine, I trust?" asked the Headmaster. It startled the wits out of Harry, who whirled his head around in surprise.

"As alright as can be expected, Professor. Quite lucky actually, the only casualty of the whole affair was a Death Eater, Ms. Croft hit with a throwing knife," answered Harry who was massaging the bridge of his nose as if trying to relieve weary eyes and head.

"Three escaped though, but we managed to stun and bind another trio and left them there for their buddies to find," Stephen turned to face Dumbledore, "they had already used the Cruciatus on her, tied her to a tree, and were using veiled sexual threats." The pure anger in Stephen's eyes and voice told the tale of what he felt about the latter issue.

"Seven Death Eaters then...just for a single woman...and her research, this must be very important," murmured Dumbledore, stroking his long white beard.

"Oh yes, of the Death Eaters we examined closely, only one was from Britain," intoned Harry, nodding to Stephen.

"Indeed," Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in astonishment, "well, Voldemort has used foreign wizards to do his bidding in the past, Antonin Dolohov was the most prominent among these of course."

Stephen detected a slight shudder coming from Harry at the mention of that name.

"Ah yes, before I forget, a great number of mail has come to me concerning you Harry, your friends are dying for news, the most numerous of these are from Miss Lovegood," Dumbledore reported, Harry looked rather guilty at first but then he became puzzled.

"May I go Professor?" asked Harry rather insistently.

"Of course you may, Harry." The young wizard dropped the large backpack of Lara next to her bed and headed out of the hospital wing. Dumbledore's expression now grew rather grave as he appraised Stephen.

"Is there something wrong Sir?" asked Stephen nervously.

"Yes, unfortunately. We (Stephen understood that to mean The Order of the Phoenix) have come upon some intelligence...worrying intelligence, and it will concern you in the near future, please come up to my office so we can discuss this."

Stephen walked silently next to the Headmaster as they headed up to his office. Stephen hardly even noticed that they had arrived, his thoughts were bent and preoccupied at the possible futures he could contrive in his mind. He dropped the large backpack under the window overlooking the Hogwarts grounds and sat in the visitor's chair facing Dumbledore's desk. He sat like this for a while, in a deep reverie. After a while Stephen snapped out of it and looked at his Headmaster who was smiling gently at him.

"Sorry Sir, I was somewhere else," Stephen blushed, "you wanted to discuss the intelligence you received."

"Don't be sorry Stephen, there is no shame in practicing your gifts, Foresight is one I posses as well, and use often," Dumbledore chuckled; "yes to the intelligence, Lemon Drop?" the Headmaster offered a sweet.

"Yes, thanks." Stephen took the candy and propped it in his mouth.

"It was a list of names, more specifically those targeted for blackmail, recruitment and forced recruitment...into the ranks of Death Eaters, among these names are current senior students of Hogwarts, your name Stephen, is among them," explained Dumbledore in a gentle voice. Stephen closed his eyes in pain.

"Under which category?" asked Stephen slowly. Keeping his voice calm, his face indifferent, even as a storm of emotion was brewing in him.

"Encouraged recruitment. Since you are in Slytherin house, pure-blood and knowing you have no parents or close relatives, they have no reason to expect you to refuse, if you do refuse though, they will first try and use Imperious, if that does not work, they will kill you." Dumbledore sighed and looked sad.

"How will they approach me?" Stephen was lost in thought once again, a strange calm settling over him, while his outrage and anger waited for release.

"In the past, it was by a charmed letter, bordered in black. It should give you instructions to meet another Death Eater, who would escort you to Voldemort himself, for your answer," explained Dumbledore.

"Do you know how my parents died Sir? Do they know that I know how they died?" asked Stephen insistently.

"Before the Manchester incident I did not know, but I looked into the records while doing research on you. To answer your second question; I highly doubt it." Dumbledore propped another Lemon Drop in his mouth.

"They must think I am some stupid, muggle-raised, pure-blood schoolboy, longing for deliverance from muggles and muggle-lovers," Stephen growled, "or they must think my parents were stupid too, for not leaving me the means to know the truth."

Stephen stood abruptly not being able to stay still with all the emotion coursing through him. He started to pace back and forth.

"How much good can I do now?"

"That depends entirely upon yourself, and what burdens you are willing to bear," answered Dumbledore.

"I won't be able to keep the Dark Mark off my arm, will I?" asked Stephen, suddenly stopping and staring at the seated form of Dumbledore. The Headmaster was entirely astonished though at Stephen, the boy's Foresight was extremely pronounced.

"If you refuse, you will become a marked man and you will be forced to remain in Hogwarts, but Voldemort's arm is long, he would order another willing recruited student to kill you in a very subtle means. In the end you would achieve very little," explained the Headmaster.

"Its ironic, I swore an ancient Light Oath to fight evil, and as fate would have it I now have to swear to evil to do exactly that," Stephen laughed humorlessly, "I have to become a spy." Dumbledore lowered his head and sighed.

"It would be your choice Stephen, whether you would be willing to do that for the Order," stated Dumbledore.

"But I don't have a choice, Professor," insisted Stephen.

"There is always, always a choice Stephen. I would not hold it against you for refusing to spy, it is done at great personal risk to yourself," insisted Dumbledore in turn.

"Even so, I would only be able to report what activities would be going on pertaining to Hogwarts..." complained Stephen, but he was cut off by Dumbledore raising a solemn hand.

"But that is all the Order asks of you Stephen, me in particular, for I am still Headmaster of this school and would like to know what Voldemort is planning for my students, I did not expect you to get invited into Voldemort's inner circle from day one," explained a tired looking Dumbledore.

"I will spy, Professor," Stephen stated with finality.

"Very well, you will have to join Harry in Occlumency then, we will need your proficiency in it up and running, and in very little time. School begins in slightly less than two weeks and when you receive the letter you will be given a month to decide, usually."

Stephen sighed, more work.

"Professor, what if I'm asked to prove myself?" asked Stephen. His voice betraying his doubt and fear at what was coming. Dumbledore closed his eyes and rested his face in his hands.

"If you want to spy, do what you must Stephen. Your own conscience is your only guide in such matters. I can only say that, whatever you are forced to do, when this is over, the Order will not abandon you," he stated solemnly and sincerely. Dumbledore rose from his seat and walked over to his Phoenix's perch, where the magnificent bird itself was preening its feathers. The Headmaster murmured softly to the bird and Fawkes turned to face Stephen, it spread its wings and flew into the air. Eventually it turned and landed on Stephen's shoulder. He regarded the bird with awe and great respect. It trilled a soft note and he felt a sudden calm come over him. Fawkes cooed again and flew off Stephen's shoulder.

Stephen noted that it had left a feather there. With wide eyes he turned his gaze to Dumbledore, who smiled at him with warm blue eyes. A Phoenix never lost a feather idly. He thought that Fawkes must have somehow judged him.

"I asked Fawkes here to give me his opinion on you joining the Order. And it is given. My own is that it is a necessity for your upcoming role in this war, and somebody of your skill and talent, I would be a fool to ignore that too. Do this Stephen for the good of all, you included. Though I lead the Order, I am not your master; you can openly disagree with me and other members, but I expect some form of command subservience." Dumbledore walked around the desk.

"What is your answer to this call?"

Stephen smiled and closed his eyes, he opened them again and replied: "Professor, the path I see before me looks beset with danger, whether I survive is impossible to see, but it is the road I am choosing. I accept the call." Dumbledore nodded.

"Take the feather on your shoulder and place it on your right forearm," instructed Dumbledore, who pulled out his wand, "take out your wand as well."

Stephen did so, placing the red phoenix feather on his forearm and held his wand ready in his left hand.

"Touch your wand to the feather," Stephen complied and Dumbledore did the same with his wand, "recite the following incantation thinking of your commitment and duty to preserving the Light 'Ipse ego iuro ad vocatio phoenix'"

Stephen, concentrating as hard as he could, bending all his will and thought to the Light present in all the Universe, incanted softly: "Ipse ego iuro ad vocatio phoenix." Dumbledore had also uttered an incantation, but it was obviously different. The effect was truly amazing. The phoenix feather started to glow with an unearthly pure light and a radiance that dazzled the eye; Stephen had to squint to keep staring at it. He could feel the skin under the feather start to become very warm and it would occasionally feel as if a needle was going into the skin and back out. The feather suddenly became ethereal and merged inside Stephen's forearm; the light faded leaving him astonished and breathless.

He examined the skin where the feather had been and found it was a touch red from increased blood flow.

"Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Stephen. The magical ritual you have just experienced is as much tradition as it is done for practical reasons; you can now Apparate to the Phoenix library on your own if you wish, or any other such location, should it eventually be revealed to you. Also, it will allow me to contact you, no matter where you are, if there is a meeting that you will need to attend, you will hear the phoenix call in your mind alone, along with the location to Apparate to. Understand?" asked the Headmaster sternly. Stephen nodded.

"If you need to communicate simply take your wand and place it on the 'feather spot' and incant 'Impertio' followed by the name of the Order member. It will send a request to that person, if he or she agrees, your uppermost thoughts will be communicated to each other."

"Impressive," replied Stephen, totally awed, "I take it would obviously only work for those who has done the ritual?"

"Yes," replied Dumbledore. His face a mask of thought as he stared out the window in his office, as the sun was setting on a Thursday, the twenty-first of August.

"Is there anything else Professor?" asked a subdued Stephen. It seemed to spring Dumbledore from his own thoughts as they were running away from him.

"Yes, two matters, I want you to be an 'unofficial' Prefect if you will in Slytherin House. As I'm sure you are aware Mr. Malfoy and Miss Parkinson are not the most reliable of avenues for the students to address their problems to," Dumbledore shook his head gravely, "I fear for my students in all the houses, especially in Slytherin, Stephen. Can I rely on you to bring to me any problems that students may have, especially those who are targeted for recruitment, for they may decide to refuse," Dumbledore trailed off. He did not need to speak more about the matter.

Stephen knew that students whose parents were Death Eaters would be at the highest risk, if they chose to refuse the path that their parents had chosen for them. Any who refused would be marginalized by those who had accepted, they would be at risk in the very house that had protected them for their whole school lives.

"You want my efforts to be 'below the table' Headmaster?" asked Stephen obviously.

"Yes absolutely, you now have a cover to maintain, after all," Dumbledore coughed and cleared his throat, "after dinner I also have to ask you to be there when Miss Croft awakens, since you are the only one she actually saw before you stunned her."

That made sense to Stephen; she would definitely be startled to wake up in the Hospital Wing of a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And she could react negatively out of fear and haste, something they and her would regret quickly. Stephen nodded his agreement and the Headmaster bid him to leave.

*

He went with all his gear back to the Slytherin common room and dumped his belongings on his bed, he would have to sort it back in his trunk later, he was too weary to even think properly at the moment. It was a long hard trek of three days to find Lara, through wilderness and steep terrain. They had found the seven dark wizards on the first day and hung on them like a shadow.

Stephen had to admit that Moody was an excellent Auror and tracker; it definitely showed on their journey. The old Auror would forget more in a month than most would know in entire lifetimes of experience. Stephen and Harry had basked in this experience and learned well from it.

It was Harry's idea to even the odds with the Imperious Curse and though Moody did not like it, he had admitted that he could not take on seven Death Eaters on his own with only two half-trained apprentices as backup.

So on the second night, they had under cover of Invisibility Cloaks placed two Death Eaters under the Curse while the group slept. The alarm wards the dark wizards had placed around them were pitifully easy to silence for someone of Moody's skill.

"Hello there lad," greeted Salazar from his portrait, as Stephen descended from the dorms, "had a good journey?"

"It was successful Sir, but not related with anything remotely good," replied Stephen.

"Ah yes, but such is the battle with darkness. Nothing good comes from war," stated Salazar solemnly.

Stephen got himself cleaned up in the dorm showers and donned fashioned black and white robes. He wondered of the future, whether he was actually not in over his head, but he reasoned to himself that Dumbledore would only use him where he could be most effective, and that was amongst the student body.

He sat in front of the large fireplace of the common room, staring idly into the crackling flames that danced in front of his eyes, hypnotic in their manner. He almost missed the fact that the common room entrance had opened. Stephen picked up the visitor in his dormant magical sense, a presence filled with coldness, and auras of green, black, and red.

Stephen stood abruptly and faced his Head of House. For a fleeting inch of a second a flash of surprise passed on Professor Snape's face, but it was replaced instantly with the usual mask of indifference he wore.

"Moon...Slytherin." The Professor acknowledged Stephen and the portrait with a nod.

"Ah, greetings Severus, what brings you to the common room today?" asked Salazar.

"The Headmaster asked of me to have little chat with Moon here." Snape turned his gaze to Stephen, and indicated he should sit on one of the couches. Stephen nodded and obeyed.

"What is it Professor?" asked Stephen curiously.

"I know you are aware that you are to be recruited to be a Death Eater soon, the Headmaster also told me of your agreement to be a spy," Stephen's surprise at the Headmaster divulging this to Snape showed, "he wants me to train you, one spy to another." Snape rolled up his left sleeve and bared his wrist to Stephen; on it was an exact replica of the Dark Mark tattoo he had seen on Lara's attackers. The Professor now also rolled up his other sleeve and showed his right forearm to Stephen. Snape closed his eyes in seeming concentration and suddenly an ethereal Phoenix symbol, similar to the floor mosaic in the Phoenix library, emerged from his arm.

"That should validate me enough." Snape rolled his tight sleeves back over his arms.

Hesitantly, Stephen bared his right forearm, concentrated and thought.

"Phoenix, show my truth, show my light, and show my calling."

He stared in awe as a similar Phoenix symbol emerged from his own arm. The symbol remained for a few moments and disappeared.

"Good, now tell me what you think spying involves?" asked Snape, seemingly suppressing a sneer.

"For a double-agent I can only tell you what I've read in muggle books and seen in movies; you trust no one, you must usually do things which will appall you but is necessary to maintain your cover, you must deliver any information you get speedily and secretly knowing full well that your cover can be blown at any moment. To be captured means torture and certain death," explained Stephen.

"You get all that from reading muggle literature?" asked Snape distastefully.

"Espionage is practiced by muggles as well Professor, very efficiently, especially since the Cold War, its quite prevalent in their popular culture." Stephen grinned at Snape's amazed expression.

"Well, everything that you mentioned is true, that is the reality of the situation. Another thing is, there might come a time where you will have to overlook information that you might be able to obtain, even information which could save lives," Snape trailed off his eyes showing a hidden pain, "that is the hardest thing of all."

"But why would one have to do that?" asked Stephen incredulously.

"Think it through, Moon. If you report everything you hear and obtain constantly, and the Order shows up and neutralizes whatever operation the Death Eaters had going, Voldemort will realize there is a spy in his midst and will start to try and flush him or her out. So here is another thing you must learn, discretion."

"Makes sense," murmured Stephen, "but doesn't Voldemort run counter-intelligence the whole time?"

"Explain," ordered Snape. Stephen barely suppressed rolling his eyes at the Professor.

"Doesn't he run fake operations occasionally, to see how the Order or the Ministry responds? Let's say he only informs a select group of Death Eaters of the mission, those who are involved for instance, and then he lets another loyal follower spread a rumor of that mission occurring," Stephen trailed off.

"Yes, I see what you are getting at. I remember a Ministry spy in the seventies being caught that way," murmured Snape thoughtfully.

"The biggest hurdle you will have will be at your initiation, it's a very unpleasant, humiliating and painful experience."

"What will happen?" asked Stephen his voice hesitant.

"You won't be individually initiated, usually its in a group of five or more, you will pledge your life to serving the Dark Lord, you become his apparent property. You will have to postulate yourself before him, and accept his Dark Mark. Getting this tattoo is like getting branded with hot iron, in terms of pain. You also will get the Cruciatus at least once."

Stephen winced at the memory of his Cruciatus training; he idly wondered how it would feel from a wizard as powerful as Voldemort.

They spent another hour talking about life as a double agent, the ins and outs, the pleasures and the very heavy pains.

"Will I get prosecuted for any crimes I have to commit in maintaining my cover Professor?" asked Stephen darkly.

"Yes, if there is any evidence of it. In a post-war situation your role as a spy would come out should you be brought before the Wizengamot, it also helps that the Head of the high court is Dumbledore, so he will make sure things are fair for you," Snape stared thoughtfully into space, "we will both be needing him."

Snape stood and nodded to Stephen: "It's refreshing to have a intellectual conversation for once, Mr. Moon. You have my thanks. We will be seeing much more of each other in the future. Good Luck to both of us."

With that Snape walked out of the common room, his black robes moving like a living thing behind him.

*

After dinner, Stephen walked into the hospital wing to find Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey chatting amiably to one another at the foot of Lara's bed. It seemed the Nurse had changed the young woman into cozy pajamas and she was now snuggled contentedly into blankets of her bed.

"Ah Stephen, had a fine dinner?" asked Dumbledore.

"Delicious as always, Headmaster," smiled Stephen, "shall I wake her up now?" he asked to the Nurse, brandishing his wand.

"If you would do the honors Mr. Moon."

"Enervate," he cast pointing at the still form of Lara Croft.

Lara stirred in her bed and snuggled the blankets, she opened one eye and instantly shot upright in bed, in an alarmed posture.

"Easy Lara, you're safe," Stephen encouraged. She instantly groaned and held her hand to her head in pain.

"Headache," she mumbled.

"It will pass, just a side-effect from the curse you were hit with," explained Stephen. Lara took in her surroundings carefully.

"Is this some sort of clinic?" she asked her voice cracking.

"Hospital wing, you are in Hogwarts Castle, somewhere on the Grampian Highlands of Scotland. Its about ten hours after I stunned you," he sat down on a chair next to her bed.

"Ten hours?" she asked incredulously, "from the middle of nowhere in Morocco to Scotland."

"Well wizards can travel very fast if they want to," grinned Stephen. Lara seemed to do a double take on her surroundings and stared wide-eyed at the Headmaster and Madam Pomfrey.

"Let me introduce my Headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, can't miss him with that beard," teased Stephen, "and in charge of this Hospital is Madam Pomfrey, supreme master of her domain." The nurse blushed at Stephen's jibes and had to suppress a giggle.

"Headmaster?" she asked quizzically at Stephen.

"Well I am still not out of wizard school yet, still a student."

"So is this castle..."

"The whole castle is a school, welcome to Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry, Miss Croft," greeted Dumbledore, speaking for the first time.

"Am I dreaming?" asked Lara skeptically. Dumbledore chuckled merrily.

"No my dear, you are very much alive and awake," he answered. Lara closed her eyes in pain.

"Those men who attacked me, who were they?" she asked rubbing her temples.

"Wizards of a most unpleasant variety my dear. They were sent to kill you and obtain all your research regarding the Dark Alchemists, you can be thankful you were last on their list. Otherwise, your father would have never been able to put the pieces of the puzzle together in time. He alerted me and I sent three wizards to help save you, one of them Stephen here," explained Dumbledore. Lara grew rigid suddenly and gasped.

"The others are dead, Clancy and Giles?" she asked guiltily.

"Yes, unfortunately and all their respective research were taken as well, we luckily prevented the same from occurring to you." The Headmaster gestured to Lara's backpack in the corner.

"But why? All my research showed that I would find nothing more than old artifacts, the use of which would only be in a museum display case," she seemed to almost be pleading for an explanation.

"To your perception perhaps, but to a wizard it could mean a lot more...the dark wizards who attacked you are under the employ of an extremely powerful and evil wizard who calls himself, Voldemort. Full thirteenth century Dark Alchemy would be a very dangerous tool in the hands of such a wizard Miss Croft, which is why he is very interested in it," explained Dumbledore.

It was then that Stephen heard the Phoenix call in his mind, and a request for communication. He allowed it and closed his eyes.

"Yes?"

"This is Professor Snape, I need you to run an urgent errand, that has cropped up. Hurry down to the dungeons immediately. It's Order business."

"Ok Professor, I'm on my way."

Stephen opened his eyes and saw that Dumbledore was watching closely.

"May I be excused Professor?" asked Stephen standing nervously.

"Yes, do hurry," grinned Dumbledore with a twinkling eye.

Stephen ran out of the Hospital wing and through to the Entrance Hall, soon he was knocking on the Potions dungeon front door, totally out of breath.

"Enter!" Stephen heard.

He entered the dark and damp dungeon filled with cauldrons of all sizes and neatly stacked and displayed ingredients that arrayed the shelves. Snape was standing in an isle between the desks carrying a large box between his arms, which he dumped into Stephen's arms. It was quite heavy and by the looks of things was filled with potions vials of various colors.

"Do not break these if you know what's good for you," he muttered darkly, "memorize what is on this piece of paper and your apparition co-ordinates."

Stephen put the box down and grabbed the piece of parchment and read:

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, is at No. 12 Grimmauld Place, London.

Snape immediately grabbed the paper and incinerated it with his wand. Without further encouragement Stephen drew his wand and levitated the box in front of him as walked back out and to the Entrance Hall. He focused briefly and summoned his broom from the dorm bed on which it was lying. After it arrived Stephen conjured a bag around the box, which he tied securely to his broom. He mounted the broom and kicked off from the ground and sped out of the castle.

Over the grounds, Stephen passed Hagrid, who waved up into the air. Stephen waved back smiling at the exhilaration of flying that flowed through him. He landed at the train platform and disappeared with a Crack.

*

Stephen materialized in a back alleyway leading up to a street. It was a seemingly very affluent neighborhood, judging by the houses he could see in the night, illuminated sparingly with the electric streetlights. He shrunk his broomstick and picked up the box under his arm, his wand he kept in his right hand ready for anything.

He looked at the house numbers and found he came out at No. 4 Grimmauld place. He walked calmly but intently down the street, his magical sense open for anything untoward. It was odd though, because there was no No.12. Stephen stood looking at houses No.11 and 13 for a moment, totally at a loss. Then he thought back to the parchment on which the address was and got the fright of his life.

A whole new house seemed to inflate in between the two visible houses as if it was a plastic balloon. It also made the horrible squelching noise as it pushed both houses on either side to make room for itself. Stephen chuckled, the magical world was a very deadly place, but sometimes it was just plain ridiculous as well.

He put his hand to the doorknob and he felt his Phoenix mark start to glow, the door opened. Stephen walked into a dark foreboding entrance hall, it seemed the lights were turned off here. His magical sense picked up quite a few people present in the house.

He quietly put the box down.

"Hello?" called Stephen. It was then that he got the biggest fright of his life. A loud screaming erupted from his left, behind a set of curtains that was covering something. He pointed his wand at the source of the noise. The screaming was from a female voice and it blew the curtains covering it away. It was a portrait of a witch with long dark tresses and an angular face. She would be considered beautiful if it wasn't for her screeching, which was loud enough to make Stephen dazedly cover his ears.

"FILTH! BLOOD TRAITORS! LEAVE THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS! GO AWAY! WHO ARE YOU?" she screamed.

"I'm Stephen Moon! Who the hell are you?" he screamed back.

"I AM THE RIGHTFUL OWNER OF THIS HOUSE! AND YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE...BEGONE!" she shooed him with a hand.

"I am not listening to a bloody portrait! So you can just shut up bitch!" exclaimed Stephen angrily at the portrait, his naturally loud baritone voice equaling the hag in terms of volume.

"LEAVE BLOOD TRAITOR! KREACHER! GET HIM FOR MISTRESS!" screamed the witch. At this moment a scrawny old house-elf attached itself to Stephen's leg and bit.

"OUCH! EXPELANNIX!" bellowed Stephen with his wand pointed at the house-elf. It shot off his leg like launched from a cannon, and with a sickening crunch hit its head against the mantelpiece over the fireplace and lay unconscious.

"STUPEFY!" This time he had pointed his wand at the portrait. Red light blasted into the frame but had no effect.

"HAHA! YOU CANT TOUCH ME!" she mocked. Stephen now, was really infuriated.

"Really! Lets see if your creator ever heard of this little spell," growled Stephen.

"Congelo Tempus!" A purple beam of magic shot from his wand and hit the portrait. The witch in the painting froze in mid-scream and did not utter a single sound ever again.

Stephen turned to pick up the box of potions and only now did he notice that he had an audience to his battle with the painting. Moody he recognized instantly. The other adult wizards he was hardly familiar with. Ron, Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger he recognized vaguely from school. Everyone was staring at him with wide eyes. But his eyes mostly rested on the youngest Weasley.

She was wearing a yellow short-sleeved blouse and tight jeans that showed the developing curve of her hips. Her soft face was sprinkled with freckles and was framed with hair that seemed of fire, and eyes of sapphire. A cough from Moody snapped him out of his trance.

"Oh...umm...yes, delivery?" He could feel his face flush with embarrassment as he levitated the box of potions into the air.

"Yes, I've been waiting for Severus to give me that," stated a tall dark man in what looked like Auror robes, only now Stephen recognized him as the Auror that confronted him for underage magic at the Manchester Massacre. The Auror grabbed the box and headed upstairs with it. It was then that Stephen recognized his third year Defense teacher, Professor Lupin coming to greet him. He was a tall man, with a tired face and tattered robes, with a single lock of white hair falling over his face, a precursor of his condition.

"Hello Stephen," greeted Lupin, "Albus told me to expect you, I daresay he did not tell me you were going to have a verbal and magical duel with old Mrs. Black there and Kreacher."

"Yeah, anybody who screams like that at me will get what's coming. She even set her house-elf on me," exclaimed an exasperated Stephen.

"Will that charm wear off? I've never heard of it," asked the Werewolf.

"No it will not wear off, unless I remove it. It's fairly obscure though so little chance of anyone else finding the counter-charm," grinned Stephen evilly.

"Ok, so lets introduce you to everyone that is here," declared Lupin as he guided Stephen to the kitchen. Seated around the table were various wizards and witches. Ginny, Ron and Hermione also came in interested to see who the young newcomer was.

"Everyone, this is Stephen Moon, just call him Stephen or he'll bash you with a telescope over the head," teased Lupin.

"Nymphadora Tonks," he gestured to a young witch who seemed in her early twenties with vibrant pink hair and yellow eyes, "call her Tonks."

"Hi there," Tonks greeted cheekily.

"Moody you know,"

"Good evening Sir," greeted Stephen. Moody only nodded at him and went back to his dinner.

"The Auror who you gave the potions to was Kingsley Shacklebolt, and there is Molly Weasley." A portly woman in a kitchen frock with a wand sticking out of one its pockets turned from the kitchen cabinet. She had the same fire red hair, but much more curly and a ready smile on her face, and it struck Stephen then that if there was one word to describe the woman, then it was...motherly. It oozed from her very being as a bright light in his magical sense.

He could not help but greeting her, by kissing her hand, "Mrs. Weasley," he reaffirmed. Stephen could not believe he just did that, as evidenced by his bright red face. Mrs. Weasley had a beaming smile on her face and looked thoroughly pleased.

"Right, do you know the students?" asked Lupin gesturing to the Hogwartians who still had to recover from Stephen's gallantry.

"I can match the names with the faces and the reputations, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Hermione always is just that tad above me in overall average marks in the year. Ron is the Quidditch Keeper who came into his own when it counted, finally ignoring that ridiculous rhyme that Malfoy dreamed up, and getting the cup for Gryffindor, Ginny right alongside him."

"Come dear, have a seat and get something to eat," stated Mrs. Weasley with a smile and pulled a chair.

"Thanks Mrs. Weasley, but I just ate an hour ago, could I just have a cup of coffee?" he asked kindly taking a seat next to Tonks.

"Certainly dear,"

Stephen sat back and sighed heavily, drowsiness suddenly hit him again with a vengeance. He had not slept since he came back from Morocco; add to that the long distance Apparating and he was one pretty tired wizard. He sipped leisurely on the coffee, savoring the taste and wishing the caffeine would get to work faster. Stephen noticed then that Harry's friends were all still standing there looking at him intently. Ginny seemed to be gazing at him with vacant eyes, Ron with suspicion and Hermione with curiosity and puzzlement.

"Stephen Moon, Slytherin right?" asked Hermione. He sighed tiredly at her and nodded.

"How come you can do magic in summer?"

"Isn't it obvious? It is because I'm of age already," he explained.

"In sixth year already?" asked Ron accusingly.

"I was supposed to start in the '90'91 school year but for reasons beyond my control had to start with you guys a year later." This was a lie of course, but one that would serve to explain away his doing magic during summer.

"You've seen Professor Dumbledore and Snape recently?" asked Hermione eagerly. Stephen frowned, what were they getting at.

"What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?" asked Stephen addressing Lupin.

"It seems they are dying to know about Harry and his doings of late," stated the Werewolf.

"Sorry guys, I have seen the Headmaster and Professor Snape but I don't know where Potter is precisely or what he has been doing," answered Stephen. It was the truth, from a certain point of view, Stephen did not know where Harry was at that precise moment, he was in Hogwarts, yes, but was he in his common room, or the Great Hall.

"Oh, why doesn't he write or come and visit, we are sick with worry about him!" shrilled Hermione.

"Easy there dear, I'm sure Harry is alright." Mrs. Weasley moved around to comfort the now crying Hermione. Ron was looking angry; Ginny had a concerned look for her friend. Stephen knew all about deep friendship, but what Harry was doing here was a tad bit unforgivable, not even a letter to them? Pangs of guilt shot through Stephen's heart at the sight of Hermione. Coming to a decision he leaned over to Lupin.

"Is Harry initiated in the Order?" he whispered. Lupin nodded. Stephen rose from his chair and headed into the hallway and found a secluded corner of the living room that would give him some measure of privacy. He brandished his wand and touched it to his right forearm.

"Impertio Harry Potter."

Stephen waited for a while and suddenly felt as if he was not alone in his mind.

"Harry? Its Stephen."

"Hi there, welcome to the Order." Harry's thoughts boomed into his head.

"Thanks. Listen, I had to run an errand to Grimmauld Place. Hermione, Ron and Ginny are here. I'm worried about Hermione, she is in right state about you not writing at all or visiting at least."

"Can I not mourn in Peace?!"

"You have every right to mourn for your godfather Harry, as have I for my brothers. But you shouldn't shut out your best friends in such a time; you need them to lean on. Just write them a letter, you don't have to say a word of where you are or what you are doing."

"Oh...all right."

"Good night Harry."

"Good night."

Stephen broke the mental connection, opened his eyes and headed back to the kitchen and settled back down with his coffee. The look he was getting from Ron was beginning to worry Stephen. As a precaution he practiced some Consiliamancy towards the tall red headed boy. He did not like the results either. Anger, accusation and sadness filled him and it seemed a Slytherin was just the target for such an outburst of temper.

"Why are you here?" asked Ron angrily.

"I think it is perfectly obvious, that I merely had to deliver a box for Kingsley from Professor Snape," stated Stephen calmly.

"Where is Harry? I know you know!" he exclaimed.

"Ron," stated Mrs. Weasley in a dangerous tone. But Ron was not listening. He moved around the table and grabbed fistfuls of Stephen's collar.

"Tell me!"

It was his last mistake to shout this in Stephen's face. As a flash, Stephen linked his arms together through Ron's arms, stood from his chair and twisted. Ron lost balance and Stephen stepped through into him while maintaining an arm lock. The tall boy might have been intimidating in a fisticuffs but was hardly so to a trained martial artist. Ron was now lying flat on his belly, with his left arm behind his back in a lock and right arm extended outward. Stephen was kneeling next to him and holding him in place with no effort whatsoever. Ron struggled to break free but had no balance, no leverage, and could not get up.

"Ron are you going to calm down?" asked Stephen. Everyone else was flabbergasted; Mrs. Weasley recovered first and now seemed to resemble a tiger on a very bad day.

"Ronald Weasley! How dare you...I'm speechless..." she screamed.

"It's all right, Mrs. Weasley. He only attacked me out of misplaced anger, I'll forgive him for that." The winds left Ron's sails as he ceased his useless struggling.

"I'll say this though, your anger is understandable Ron, and I'll just remind you that Potter is the tip of the sword in this war. The fate of wizarding world hinges on a sixteen-year-old boy, do you think you would be able to handle that? I know I would not be able to. Sacrifices will have to be made, the enemy can have no inkling of what Potter is up to," insisted Stephen, who stood and released Ron.

"But he can at least write a letter saying so! And that he is all right!" exclaimed Hermione.

"Yes, and I think so too," agreed Stephen. Ron stood, looking down and rather ashamed.

"Sorry," the tall red head mumbled. Stephen smiled in understanding and placed a hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it Ron, despite being in Slytherin, know that I don't carry grudges very well. And how can I not be a casual friend to such a well-known enemy of Malfoy and Co?"

"What do you mean?" asked Ginny quizzically. Stephen turned to her, smiling evilly.

"Do you really think everyone in Slytherin likes Malfoy and his cohorts? They only go along with their antics because of his family's influence amongst the other pureblood families. But now that Daddy's been publicly exposed for what he is, I think you will find that the majority of Slytherins will no longer put up with him." Stephen chuckled.

"Mrs. Weasley is there a place I can sleep here? I really don't feel up to travel at this time of night."

"Oh dear, all the bedrooms are in use, you can use the couch, if you don't mind," she answered, having calmed down somewhat.

"That's fine Mrs. Weasley, thanks." Stephen went into the living room and found a comfortable soft couch that seemed long enough to fit him. It seemed that this being Headquarters they made provision for people sleeping here, since there were linens and blankets neatly folded on the floor next to the couch. It hit him then that he would have to sleep only in his boxers, since it was totally impractical to fall asleep in the wizard's robes he had on. With his wand he dimmed the lights in the room and folded his robes neatly and placed them on top of his shoes next to the couch on the floor and snuggled into his bed. He fell asleep before his head hit the pillow, certain he heard giggling.

*

Stephen grumpily awoke the next morning from having couple of very nice dreams; of course he could not remember details. He could only recall the emotions that went coupled with it, the main reason for his grumpiness in waking up, meant that it was over and he would have to face cold, hard reality. Urgghh.

He wearily rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and swung his legs to the floor from the couch, wrinkling the linens along the way.

"Morning, want some coffee?" asked a cheery female soprano voice from the hallway entrance. Ginny stood there carrying a tray filled with steaming mugs of coffee. She was clad in striped pajamas and her hair was unkempt going in all directions, she still looked pretty, even in this state.

"Yes please," he gestured for her to put the tray down on the table in the center of the room. As she put it down he caught her stealing odd looks at him. He grabbed a mug and settled back into the couch and started drinking in silence. Ginny sat down across from him and seemed as if she had a bee in her bonnet, she wringed her hands nervously.

"I don't bite, unless threatened, ask," stated Stephen with a warm smile. The sudden breaking of silence startled her, but her nervousness continued.

"Ummm...ahh..." she began.

"Oh dear, I think I know what the problem is," he stood and unfolded his robes with a wry smile and dressed, "I do that for my own benefit as much as yours, imagine the scandal if your mother was to walk in with you talking to me and I'm still half-naked in my boxers."

"Quite," she laughed into her hand and her face flushed as red as her hair.

"So...try again," instructed Stephen.

"What's it like to be in Slytherin?" she asked curiously.

"Honestly, its very lonely, all my true friends are at the orphanage in Manchester. I mostly ignore everyone in there and just get on with schoolwork and my hobbies. I attend the Quidditch games but watch from the public stands. I mean with a Seeker like Malfoy, Gryffindor could have Potter with both of his arms broken and still catch the Snitch. I'm not much of a fanatic about Quidditch though. I would rather read a good novel or learn a new spell just for the fun of it."

"You sound like a male version of Hermione," she opinioned. Stephen had to laugh at that.

"I don't know enough about Hermione to know whether that was a compliment or an insult," he retorted.

"Oh trust me, it's a compliment," she smiled infectiously, "oh, and what was that you did to my brother? He's pretty strong, but you handled him like he wasn't even there."

"It's an advanced form of martial art or muggle dueling, handy for when you are too close to a person and where a wand is impractical. You simply redirect the attackers energy to your own use and you can subdue him or her without injury," he explained.

"So in other words you could have really hurt my brother if you wanted to?" she asked frowning. He studied her for a moment before answering.

"If Ron had attacked me with the intention of really hurting me physically, he would be in St. Mungo's recovering right now," he stated confidently, "as such he was merely venting pent up anger at a handy target, the closest thing associated in his mind to the origin of his anger."

"He did not mean it, I know," Ginny stated softly.

"That's why I forgave him for it so fast. Voldemort is the reason for so many ails in our world; I was from the House that gave rise to Voldemort and many others of his followers, it is actually the reason I'm sometimes ashamed to be associated with Slytherin House." Stephen stood and stretched the knots out of his muscles.

"Is Voldemort the reason you are in an orphanage?" asked Ginny timidly. Stephen considered for a moment whether or not to answer that question, it was reasonably personal but then again, how many other orphans are there in the world thanks to Voldemort, Harry being the most famous one of course. And he would like to have a friend in Ginny, for some reason he could not fathom.

"Yes," he answered with a pained smile.

"So that's why you are in the Order?" she asked triumphantly as if she figured something out.

"What makes you say that? All I did was deliver a box to a house," he answered cheekily.

Ginny and Stephen chatted on for almost an hour, occasionally even jibing the other with a sneaky good-natured insult. He also skillfully evaded any question as to his relationship with the Order. It was then that they were called down for a hearty breakfast. Eggs benedict, French toast, sausages, and toast were on the menu. Stephen had never had such wholesome food, not even at Hogwarts. He made sure to compliment Mrs. Weasley on her cooking.

"I'm just doing my bit dear," she responded.

"I bit more than that I'd say. Hermione must know the saying 'An army marches on its stomach,'" he pointed a fork at the bushy haired know-it-all.

"Napoleon," murmured Hermione affirmatively.

It was then that a Snowy owl glided through the open kitchen window and landed on top of the stove.

"Hedwig!" cried Ron in amazement, and jumped from his seat to relieve Harry's owl of its burden. Harry's three friends clamored to read it as if drinking from an oasis in a desert.

Tonks, Moody and Kingsley came in to eat as well and got seated. Moody cleared his throat and looked meaningfully at Mrs. Weasley.

"Children, please go read the letter in the living room," instructed Mrs. Weasley. It seemed the three of them were used to getting kicked out of the kitchen. They sighed and headed out, Stephen for a moment rose to join them holding a piece of unfinished toast in his mouth.

"Stay, Stephen," ordered Moody gruffly.

"Sorry Sir, not used to it," mumbled Stephen after he swallowed his toast. The kitchen door closed and Mrs. Weasley cast a Silencing charm on the door.

"Well, let's get down to it," stated Kingsley, "simply put, muggles are being Kissed by Dementors."

"Well that's to be expected since their rebellion from Azkaban," stated Tonks.

"Yes, but you're not getting my point, they're only attacking muggles. Not a single wizard or witch, muggle-born or pureblood has been attacked by Dementors," emphasized Kingsley.

"Yeah, its mighty odd that, all the attacks since the Ministry acknowledged his return, have been on muggle places," affirmed Moody. This was news to Stephen; then again he did not pay much attention to the muggle news in the summer.

"So what does that say?" asked Tonks.

"He hates muggles obviously, so do all of them," answered Kingsley. Stephen thought for a moment and considered, why? Why?

"Voldemort wants a wizarding world to rule over, not a muggle one," stated Stephen deep in his thoughts, "he will only attack those wizarding establishments which is necessary to be removed for him to take over, and not necessarily an overt attack on it. But he will still engage in random terror attacks on the wizarding community, just to affirm that he's really back. He won't kill randomly and butcher, you have to be alive to feel terror and his influence."

Stephen looked up into three astonished faces.

"My word, now that you mention it, its so bloody obvious," exclaimed Kingsley.

"He'll still kill anybody who opposes him, wizard or not," stated Moody.

"True," murmured Tonks, "he has Dementors..." She never finished, because at that moment the Phoenix call resounded in Stephen's mind. Stephen stared intently at those around the table, all were sharing significant looks, and he opened his mind.

"This is Dumbledore, all uncommitted Order members are to Apparate into Diagon Alley immediately, it is under attack. Do whatever is necessary to stop the Death Eaters. God speed."

"Why did I have to be right?" asked Stephen to the heavens.

"Come lad, you're flying under my wing, you know the alcove behind Madam Malkins?" asked Moody. Stephen nodded, suddenly terrified of what he was going to be doing. But stood and drew his wand.

"Good, Apparate there, its got good cover and take any of them bastards you can," the others stood and drew their wands as well.

Stephen then remembered that he had to conceal his identity. He could not be recognized, if he had to spy on Death Eaters. He concentrated and rapped his wand on his head.

"Antifallax!" Stephen felt the odd feeling flow over his body as the spell disillusioned him. He examined himself and made sure the spell was effective.

"Lets go." Stephen concentrated and felt the tingling of Apparition wash over him and with a Crack he disappeared.

*

Stephen appeared exactly where he intended, but it seemed he was not alone in the alcove. A student in a Hogwarts cloak was taking cover in it as well, and with a jolt Stephen recognized it was Neville Longbottom. He had his wand out and was occasionally firing a curse down the alley. The noise of the spell war going on in the alley had masked his Apparation sound and Neville was none the wiser. Harry had told him of Neville being a DA member so Stephen felt pretty confident in being here. Stephen peered around the corner and found the most unreal sight he had ever seen. A group of twenty dark robed Death Eaters had a third of Diagon Alley behind them and was slowly dueling their way up, advancing slowly behind any convenient cover the shops on either side had to offer. Aurors, the Order and civilian wizards and witches who stayed to fight were doing the same but coming from the other direction. There were quite a few bodies lying in between the warring parties, Stephen could not tell whether they were dead or incapacitated in some other way. He opened his magical sense and got a deluge of energies that nearly overwhelmed him, like when you opened your eyes into the sun. He closed it hurriedly; no sense could be made of anything magical in a place like Diagon Alley with a spell war going on in it.

Stephen had to pull his head back as a nasty pink colored curse shot through the air exactly where his head had been. They could have apparated into flanking positions behind the Death Eaters, but Stephen knew that apparition took a lot of energy and very few had the power to duel and Apparate at the same time.

He knew he was fresh enough to Apparate behind the Death Eaters, and was disillusioned but what spell could turn the tide in their favor. He really wished Dumbledore were there now, he would know of a spell to do the trick. Stephen noticed that the Death Eaters had already passed the store with the Public Floo Fireplaces...fire...elements...

He thought back to the spells he had learned of in the Phoenix library. It could work he hoped it would work.

Stephen concentrated and apparated himself into the Public Floo Store, he could now see the backs of the Death Eaters and they viciously incanted curses up the alley to those opposing them. The Public Floo consisted of over ten different fireplaces, each catered to various dispositions of people, and he noted with humor a fireplace for 'Hunchbacks and old fogies'. With flicks of his wand he ignited each fireplace. Stephen had in his elemental magic practice with Harry never handled more than a handful of fire at a time, but this would be an interesting test of his control.

He forced his mind to calm down, despite the fierce beating of his heart. Slowly, he started moving his wand in sinuous pattern, gently willing the flames to congregate at a single spot. In wisps, the flames leapt out of the fireplace to the beckon call of his magic and forged into a ball of flame that was steadily growing larger. Sweat started forming on his brow as the effort to keep the flames together increased. Soon he had a ball of fire about a meter in diameter glowing in front of him.

'Anyone for a serving of roast Death Eater' He thought savagely. With all the concentration he could muster he guided the pulsating fireball out into the alley behind the Death Eaters. Hopefully they would be too much in the tunnel vision of battle to notice a great flaming ball behind them.

Stephen concentrated and subconsciously 'asked' the flames to spread out into a wall of roaring fire. The fire obeyed and it was a truly terrifying sight to behold. Stephen walked out behind the wall of fire and started moving slowly forward, as did the wall. He did not appreciate the sight of the firewall as much as the Aurors, wizards and Order members. To them it looked like a portal of hell had opened and was slowly moving to engulf them all. The flames were leaping from the alley floor high into the sky.

It was then that the rearmost Death Eater started to feel the heat and he turned to regard the scene with horror. He stumbled and fell from his cover in fear, only to be hit with a stunning spell by an Auror. Moody saw the flames still advancing and hurriedly threw a Freeze Flame Charm over the unconscious Death Eater. The rearmost group of dark wizards had now recognized the danger and was throwing jets of conjured water at the wall, it made poking holes in the wall, but the fire was sustained by Stephen's magic and just grew to fill the gaps.

A rational wizard would throw Freeze Flame charms on himself and not be bothered, but the sight of the fire, inspired a fear and terror in the dark wizards hearts, combined with the fact that they would be defenseless for a few precious moments to cast the charms on themselves, was enough to make them stop fighting and Apparate away. Not before a last one had fired the Dark Mark into the sky, over the alley.

The instant the last Death Eater was gone; Stephen let go of the flames. With no more magic to sustain it, the flames withered and disappeared in a wink. Stephen fell to his hands and knees in weakness and exhaustion, tears ran down his face and he felt like he had run forever at the exertion. He noticed his hands were visible now; the disillusionment must have been cancelled due to the sheer drain of magic required. His hood fell over his head luckily as he heard the clanking of Moody running to him and other footsteps. He felt strong hands grasp him under his arms, lifting him and giving him support.

"Blimey, my boy, you all right?" asked Moody in deep concern.

"Fine," mumbled Stephen, "just very tired."

"Did you do that?" he heard Tonks voice ask as he was being led. He could not see much through the hood of his robes but could feel they were heading up the alley.

"Sneaky Slytherin, had stop them somehow, so I encouraged them to stop it themselves," Stephen heard himself reply as if he was miles away from his body.

"We need to get him to Hogwarts, and fast," exclaimed Kingsley.

"Make way, make way, get out of it!" shouted Moody. Stephen vaguely felt as if he was being bustled by a lot of people. It was taking a lot of effort to stay awake now and his soul welcomed the escape, all went dark.

*

Ginny had just finished reading Harry's letter for a second time. It had satisfied her at least that he was all right. Ron and Hermione however were hardly satisfied. They wanted to know what their friend was doing, period. It seemed they knew now how Harry felt the summer before her fourth year, when he was isolated at the Dursley's by Dumbledore. She approached the kitchen and tested the door to see whether it was locked, it was not.

Ginny entered the kitchen to find a worrying sight. All the Order members were gone including Stephen and her mother was dabbing her eye with a hanky. Her hand was fumbling with a wizarding wireless receiver. Ron and Hermione entered behind her and stopped their incessant arguing for a moment as well.

"Mom?" asked Ginny quizzically. But her mother gestured for her to remain silent and listen.

"It is confirmed, this morning as of nine 'o clock, a group of twenty followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked Diagon alley. The Ministry responded with Aurors to apprehend them and with the help of civilian wizards the attack was curtailed in twenty-five minutes, but not after serious damage to the Alley and minor loss of life. The Dark Mark is now floating above it.

All witches and wizards in the British Isles are cautioned not to try and Apparate to Diagon Alley. Wards are in place until the Ministry has secured the area once again."

Hermione's face was a mask of horror. Ron looked grim. Ginny felt decidedly odd.

"This is it, it's begun," murmured Hermione fearfully.

"Mum, did the Order?" asked Ginny softly, not meeting her mother's eyes.

"Yes, they were summoned, they were most definitely there," answered her Mum, staring with old pain in her eyes out the window.

"Damn him! Now the rest of my children have to grow up with his fear as well!" she shrieked, her face flushing. Ron seemed shocked speechless by her mother's uncharacteristic outburst.

"Mom, did Stephen go as well?" For some reason she really wanted to know.

"Yes, he left with Moody and the others," she had an intense frown of disapproval.

Ginny turned and walked out of the kitchen and sat down heavily on the couch.

*

Stephen woke up to the familiar sight of the Hospital wing. A look on his watch told him it was Saturday morning. He rubbed his eyes wearily and looked again, yes, it was Saturday morning. He spied Madam Pomfrey in her office going through parchments and making occasional notes on it with her quill. He sat up in his bed and puffed the pillows against the headboard.

"Hello there, Stephen, been busy I see," she stated stiffly as she filled a goblet with a potion that she handed to him to drink.

"I've been out for a day?" he asked incredulously.

"You magically overexerted yourself, dangerous thing that," she reprimanded him as if it was a stupid thing anybody would do.

"Yeah, it was," he conceded, "but it was the only idea I could come up with."

"A fine idea it was."

Stephen turned to see Dumbledore and Harry walk into the hospital wing.

"Nice to see I'm not the only one things like this happen to," joked Harry, playfully punching Stephen in the shoulder.

"Hey, cut it out," complained Stephen half-heartedly.

"A remarkable feat of elemental magic it was, and you did not use it offensively, saving many lives in the process, on both sides," complimented Dumbledore, "makes me think I should watch more closely what you and Harry study in your off-time," his eyes twinkled in mirth.

"Yeah, you must teach me how to do a fire wall, minus the fainting part at the end though," grinned Harry. Stephen rolled his eyes.

"How many Death Eaters were captured?"

"About four, one of which is in hospital recovering from the hexes he received," answered Dumbledore.

"Was I recognized?" asked Stephen gravely.

"Alistair has put his memories of the event in my Pensieve and I have reviewed it. He worked assiduously to keep your identity hidden in the throng of people, and I must conclude he was successful."

"Good," he murmured, "oh yes, what happened to Lara?"

Dumbledore smiled broadly and Harry groaned tiredly.

"Miss Croft is exploring the castle, but as she is a muggle, she needs a guide most of the time to get around, Harry was the only one with enough free time to do it," Dumbledore grinned at The Boy Who Lived.

"I'm very glad you are awake now Stephen, so we can get on with our training, the woman is a nightmare. She runs around examining everything, I can barely keep up," exclaimed Harry, "then she has a run in with Snape in potions dungeon, punched his lights out for him."

"That is a story I want hear in full Harry," stated Stephen with glee.

"So delighted at the misfortune of your teacher Stephen, tut tut, I'm disappointed," teased Dumbledore.

"Can I go Madam Pomfrey?" asked Stephen eagerly.

"You seem fine to me, yes you can go. I'd be careful for a while doing magic though, this experience will have undoubtedly made you more powerful, much sooner than is normal, you might experience control problems," she advised.

"Oh," he murmured thoughtfully as he got out of bed. He had never considered that would be the result.

*

Stephen found out as much when he, Harry and Dumbledore apparated to the Phoenix library later that morning. The Headmaster had felt like watching a learning session of the duo and giving them some of his personal tutelage regarding dueling. Personally, Stephen felt Dumbledore came along just to keep an eye on him, in case Madam Pomfrey's concerns showed themselves.

The first time he threw a curse at Harry during the dueling session he almost dropped his wand in surprise. He had thrown a rather nasty curse that made you feel the pain and physical effects of somebody kicking you in the gut. The difference was apparent, whereas the curse was not visible before, now it shot out of his wand as a solid single streamer of magic; he even felt some recoil from his wand. It made him get goose bumps on his arms and the air crackled with ambient magic.

Harry was forced to conjure an Impregnable Charm, an obscure shield charm about three times as powerful as the standard shield charm, which Moody had learned with them from the books of the Phoenix library. The shield sprang up as a dull green cocoon around Harry and with a resounding GONG! Rebounded off the shield. It's physical force still pushed Harry back about a meter.

"Ah, fuck, shit, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," stammered Stephen.

"Easy there, Stephen. That is your first curse cast since your recovery. You should be getting more of a grip on your growth as you continue. Harry, that is a very impressive shield and it takes a lot to stop a curse entirely," commented Dumbledore, "continue."

It took most of the morning for Stephen to get a grip on his jump in power. Dumbledore summoned some lunch for them to eat at a side table as they chatted, on the coming school year.

"Have you found a new Defense teacher, Headmaster?" asked Harry. Stephen was listening with interest while munching into his deliciously tender rump steak.

"Indeed I have, though I rather imagine it would be a bit boring for you and Stephen to attend," answered Dumbledore, his moustache twitching in mirth.

"Why?"

"You could probably show any teacher who came in a thing or two," he chuckled.

"One never stops learning," stated Stephen.

"True," conceded Dumbledore, "I was thinking though that you would rather use the time to learn things at your level, rather than those of your peers, who are at the moment below you in terms of experience and knowledge. I can confidently say with the display of your progress I witnessed here this morning, you would pass the Defense NEWT with flying colors."

Both looked rather abashed at this statement.

"We're not that good," complained Harry, the sentiment was echoed by Stephen. Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head.

"Give some thought to it, you could during Defense go to the Room of Requirement and study some Tertiary level Defense on your own. You would of course still be reviewed by the Professor." Both students nodded.

"Who is the new Professor?" asked Harry curiously.

"Ah, you'll see. That is my little secret for the moment," grinned Dumbledore mischievously.

Dumbledore now started Stephen on Occlumency after lunch. While Harry was pretty good now at it, he stated he would like to go through the process again. Stephen found it arduous going. Blanking his mind of all emotion was easier said than done, but then he remembered that a meditation trance was almost the exact same thing.

Legillimancy, Stephen discovered relied on emotional feeling in the victim to penetrate the mental defenses of a mind. Therefore, while being hit one had to go into a semi-trance like state of aloofness, nothing around you could affect you emotionally. Once the intruder is resisted and stopped the mind will actually naturally throw him out, just like the body would naturally remove waste products from its system.

It was the blanking your mind of emotion part that was difficult. Despite Stephen being a naturally relaxed person, who did not go around screaming in panic at every little thing that went wrong, he was still a moody teenager, and as such found Occlumency extremely difficult. He hardly made any progress by the end of the afternoon, when Dumbledore provided them a Portkey back to Hogwarts. (They were too tired to Apparate.)

Stephen slid into his bed that evening, exhausted. He was surprised though to find a letter addressed in smooth flowing loopy cursive on his bed stand. He tore it open and fished out a letter. It was from Ginny Weasley.

Dear Stephen

(This parchment is charmed only to be legible to you.)

I heard you were called to Diagon Alley attack. To say I was surprised was putting it mildly. I also heard on the wireless that there was loss of life; I sincerely hope Pigwidgeon does not come back with this letter undelivered.

(There seemed to be a lot of corrections further on in her letter.)

My mom is keeping quiet about what she knows. Which is just as well, since The Daily Prophet has not even released the names of the casualties.

Everything is pretty strained, staying at Headquarters. I can see it in the eyes of all who pass through here. But on a hopefully lighter note.

I'd like to ask if you would ride the train with me to school on September first. I liked our chat and look forward to many more. And if there are any formal dances this year, consider yourself booked with me for all of them. (Pheww.) I've never been so assertive in my life.

I'll end this letter now, because my hands are just shaking writing it, I'll probably not get the guts to mail it either, but in the case that I do...

Thanks

Ginny

Stephen smiled as he read the letter. It so seemed to project what little of her personality he knew. It was obvious she was worried of his reaction to her requests. He actually felt his heart lift in his chest as he considered it. He hurriedly jumped out of bed and got his writing materials together. Twenty minutes later, he had finished the letter and had it sealed. He jumped in bed and fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Dear Ginny

I am alive and well. You know I can't say much in a letter. But I was there, and I did help along with a bunch of other wizards and witches off the street.

As for your requests, I would be more than happy to comply with both of them. I'll find you on the train.

Why are you shaking? I told you I don't bite, unless threatened.

Hoping to see you soon.

Stephen