Harry Potter and the Carnelian Key

Harry sat on his four-poster bed with his Divination notes open on his lap, fighting the urge to curl up under the covers and close his eyes.  It was late – 1:30 a.m. according to the large enchanted clock on the wall of the dorm room.  Dean, Seamus, and Neville were already asleep; they had crashed as soon as they’d gotten back from the Astronomy Tower, but Harry couldn’t give in to the lure of slumber just yet.  He was dying to know what had happened with Ron and Hermione after he’d left them alone thirty minutes ago, and he had every intention of grilling Ron for details the second he entered the room. 

He didn’t have to wait long.  Just as he was finishing up his homework (a summary of his future as “predicted” by the meteor shower), the door to the room clicked open very quietly, and Ron slipped carefully inside, closing the door gently against the torchlight following him in from the hallway.  He began to tiptoe over to his bed, not even noticing that Harry was still awake.  The room was dark, with Harry’s wand supplying only a touch of light, and Harry sharply shifted the aim of his wand from the page in front of him to Ron’s head. 

“Spill it.”

Ron jumped, and whirled around.  “Harry!  Bloody hell, you scared me!” He clutched his hand to his chest and took a deep breath.  “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“I noticed,” Harry replied. A sneaky grin spread across his face. “Distracted by thoughts of a lovely young witch, were you?”

Even in the dim light, Harry could see Ron’s face go a deep shade of red as he looked away, annoyance giving way to an uncontrollable grin of his own.

“Well?” Harry asked eagerly. “Did you do it?” 

Ron strode over to Harry’s bed, casually leaning up against one of the posters. He smugly folded his arms across his chest and said, “Yup, I did it.  I kissed her.”

Harry let out a soft whoop, and was quickly shushed by Ron, who glanced nervously at their sleeping roommates.  “If it’s just the same to you, I’d like to keep the entire universe from finding out just yet, thank you very much.”

Ron was grinning from ear to ear, and Harry couldn’t have been happier for him.  This moment had been far too long in coming. “Well it’s about time!” Harry proclaimed quietly.  “Congratulations, Ron. I knew you had it in you!”

“Well…” Ron began quietly, his grin relaxing into a sheepish smile as he moved to sit at the foot of Harry’s bed. “I didn’t exactly do it.”

“What?” Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “But you just said –“

“We kissed, yes,” Ron explained, “but only because Hermione got sick of waiting for me to do it and did it herself.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he stifled a loud laugh.  “Are you serious?”

“You don’t have to be so obviously amused, Harry,” Ron wryly pointed out, blushing even further.  “But yes, I’m serious.”

“Whoa.  Well, sit down! I need details!” 

Ron joined Harry on the bed and told him all about how he had babbled about the corners of the earth until Hermione had run off, and how he had chased her to the common room, then started to chicken out until Hermione had put them both out of their misery.  Harry couldn’t believe it; Hermione was the one who had finally been gutsy enough to do something about her feelings.  He realized with a mental slap that she was the one he should have been pushing all along, not Ron.  He should have known it was just like Hermione to take matters into her own hands. 

“But now…” Ron said when he was done repeating the evening’s tale, “what do I do now? Where do we go from here?”

They both paused, realizing they’d been so caught up with anticipating this moment, they didn’t really know how things were supposed to progress from this point.  What were Ron and Hermione supposed to do now?  Ron bit his lip, watching Harry expectantly, but Harry just wrinkled his nose and scratched his head.

“Um…you let Hermione figure that out?” was finally Harry’s suggestion.

Ron fell back onto the bed with a sigh. “Well, that’s okay with me.  If she figures out the rest of it as well as she figured out tonight…God, Harry, kissing her was amazing, it was just like…like…”

Ron waved his hand around in the air trying to find the right words, but Harry, trying not to sound too horrified, jumped in with, “You know, I don’t need all the details.  That’s fine, thanks.”  As thrilled as he was for Ron’s happiness, he was really didn’t want to have the evening’s events repeated for him in a play by play.  The two of them were like his brother and sister, after all.

“Right.  Well, anyway, it was wonderful.”  Ron’s face took on a dreamy glaze as he stared at the ceiling, and Harry didn’t attempt to interrupt his thoughts. Instead he left Ron in silence while he rolled up his parchment and organized his notes.  He slipped off the bed and over to his trunk to put his things away, and as he lifted the heavy lid, Ron lazily asked, “Harry, do you think if I keep repeating her name over and over in my head as I fall asleep, I’ll dream about her?”

Harry moved some things aside in his trunk to make room for his Divination stuff, and he opened his mouth to answer Ron, but stopped short with a gasp as he looked into his trunk.

“Blimey,” was the only word he could manage.

“What is it, Harry?” Ron asked distantly.

For a long moment, Harry sat frozen in surprise, staring into the trunk.  Then, too stunned to speak, he reached inside and withdrew the item that had left him wordless.  He held it up for Ron to see.

“The Marauders Map!” Ron breathed. He jumped off the bed and to Harry’s side to have a closer look while Harry studied the map in disbelief.  He hadn’t seen the map in almost exactly a year – not since he’d lent it to Barty Crouch Jr., who had used it in his evil quest to deliver Harry to Voldemort.  Along with his utter surprise at seeing it once again came a million and one questions about how the map had suddenly come to be in his trunk, and where it had been for the past twelve months.  And possibly even more shocking than the map’s presence was the fact that the layout of the castle was displayed on the parchment, and Harry hadn’t touched his own wand to it and said, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”  This could only mean one thing – whoever had left the map here had figured out how to use it.

“I don’t believe it!” Ron exclaimed softly.  “Where on earth did this come from?”

“I have no idea,” Harry said, turning the map over in his hands to examine it more closely. 

“I always assumed Crouch had gotten rid of it somehow,” Ron said.  “You know, eliminated the evidence.  Obviously not.”

“There’s no way Crouch could have left this here,” Harry pointed out.  “He wouldn’t be able to hold his own wand, let alone break out of Azkaban and sneak into a place like Hogwarts…” Harry’s eyes skimmed over the hundreds of dots on the parchment, searching for anyone who didn’t belong.  Someone who could have left the map in his trunk while they were all at the top of the Astronomy Tower, perhaps.  But no one seemed to be in the castle that didn’t rightfully belong there.

“But who could he have passed it off to?” Ron asked anxiously.  “And why would they leave it here?  Why would they want you to find it?”

Harry didn’t answer him. He really didn’t want to think about all the unsavory possibilities. He had no idea who Crouch had associated with between the time he had used the map to help bury his father and the end of June, when he had been caught.  He could have given the map to anyone, for any use.  A chill raced up Harry’s spine at the thought of some unknown and evil person scheming to leave such a calling card, and doing it within the castle walls.  Maybe Hogwarts wasn’t as secure as they all thought…maybe there was a weak link somewhere, someone working for Voldemort from within.  It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time. 

“What are you going to do with it?” Ron asked seriously. 

“I don’t know,” Harry replied.  He was still studying the map closely, searching for anything out of the ordinary whatsoever.  But all seemed to be still and peaceful. Harry did pause to note that Hermione was not in her dorm room but downstairs in front of the common room fire, but he had more pressing things on his mind than wondering what she was still doing down there.  With one last glance over the parchment, he touched his wand to it and declared, “Mischief managed.”  The words and lines on the page scattered into fuzzy incoherencies and then faded from view, leaving nothing but plain, slightly yellowed parchment in their place.

Harry placed the map back in his trunk, concealing it under some books.  He then climbed back onto his bed, followed by Ron, and they sat cross-legged across from one another, both pondering the map’s sudden reappearance.

“Any idea who may have left it there?” Ron asked uneasily, glancing over his shoulder at the trunk.

“No,” Harry said softly, his mind and heart racing.  “But whoever left it obviously knows how to use it…they might have had it for ages, watching everything for Merlin knows how long.  Maybe they have a plan and it’s already in motion, and they left the map for me as some kind of cryptic warning…”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Ron said uncomfortably.

“Neither do I, but we have to be realistic.  We know Voldemort’s up to something, but we have no idea what it is or who he has helping him.  If the past is any indicator, the only thing I can say for sure is that we know nothing for sure.”

A heavy silence filled the next few minutes as both boys tried not to let their thoughts spiral madly.  Harry chose to think critically instead, trying to come up with a list of possible suspects, but he just couldn’t think of anyone. He wondered what Ron was thinking. 

As if reading Harry’s mind, Ron spoke up.  “Harry?” 

“Hmmm?”

“What if the map wasn’t left by someone wanting to hurt you…” Ron said slowly and thoughtfully, “but someone wanting to help you?”

The wheels turning in Harry’s mind ground to a halt. “What?”

“I mean to say, it makes a lot more sense if that’s the case.  Maybe whoever left it thinks you need it, and left it for you as a gift…maybe they’re just returning something they know is rightfully yours.  Really, who would leave such a useful tool for you if they are trying to hurt you?  Why give it up themselves and be at a disadvantage, knowing you will be able to see things they won’t?”

“Precisely so that I will see something,” Harry replied seriously.  “To lure me into a trap.”

“Good point.”

They lapsed into silence again, the ticking of the clock growing louder and louder to Harry’s ears, until he started thinking how he could hex it into freezing.

“Maybe Dumbledore left it,” Ron finally said, shrugging uncertainly.

“Dumbledore?” Harry repeated. 

“Well, yeah, could be.  When you and Dumbledore found the real Moody, you had to go through seven locks to uncover him.  You said his trunk was full of all kinds of things.  Maybe Dumbledore’s gone through all of it, and maybe he found the map in there.  He would know what it is, because Crouch told him all about it when he explained how he’d killed and buried his father.  Maybe he left it here for you because he wants you to have it back, sort of like when he gave you the invisibility cloak.” Ron finished with another shrug.

It was like a light suddenly clicked on in Harry’s brain.  “The meeting!”  He exclaimed eagerly.  Things were beginning to make perfect sense.  But not to Ron, it seemed.  He was watching Harry with a questioning expression.

“The meeting!” Harry repeated eagerly. “The meeting that Hagrid accidentally told us about at the Three Broomsticks when we got back from Hermione’s house.  The meeting that Dumbledore is calling with all the experts and whatnot.  The meeting that I thought I wasn’t invited to…it’s tomorrow night, and I’ll bet Dumbledore wants me to go!  I’ll bet he did leave the map here, so that I can find where the meeting is and sneak in!”

Ron seemed to be turning things over in his mind.  “Okay. Okay, but why not just invite you to the meeting then? Why be so secretive?”

It was an excellent question.  Harry pondered it, and then thought of something. “Snape.”

Ron looked at Harry curiously.  “Okay, you’re losing me.”

“Snape never wants me to know anything,” Harry explained.  “I know he’s the reason Sirius and Lupin wouldn’t tell me anything about the night Snape was called.  And maybe it’s more than just Snape.  Maybe a lot of people in Dumbledore’s inner circle think it’s best to keep me in the dark, and Dumbledore disagrees.  Maybe he left the map so I could find the meeting on my own and sneak in.  Maybe there are things he wants me to know so that I can be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” Ron asked cautiously.

“For whatever,” Harry replied with a shrug.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, but why wouldn’t Dumbledore just tell you to come to the meeting?  No one would have to know you were there except him – he knows you have the invisibility cloak.”

Ron had a valid argument. “I don’t know,” Harry replied with a sigh.  “Maybe he wants me to figure it out on my own for some reason.”

A small part of Harry’s brain tried to tell him there was a strong possibility Dumbledore wasn’t the person who had left the map.  It just didn’t really add up.  But thoughts of being able to sneak into the secret meeting became too tempting to disregard.  He was dying to know something, anything, about what was going on, and here he had an opportunity to find out…and if he were to tell Dumbledore he had found the map and the Headmaster turned out not to be the person who had left it…he could kiss the map – and any chance of getting into the meeting – goodbye. 

“Well, I don’t know,” Ron said, “but would you mind terribly if we sleep on it and discuss it more in the morning?”  Ron looked longingly in the direction of his bed, and Harry noted that it was just after two in the morning.  They had to get up for classes in six hours.

“No, of course not,” Harry answered. “Go on to bed.”

“Okay.  Goodnight, Harry.”  Ron clapped Harry softly on the shoulder as he got off the bed, then crossed the room and climbed into his own.

“Night.”  Harry waited until Ron pulled his bed hangings shut, then extinguished his wand and drew his own curtains.  But he didn’t go to sleep, or even get under the covers.  He just sat thinking until long after he heard Ron begin snoring softly.  After a while he pulled one curtain aside and rose quietly, tiptoeing around to the foot of his bed.  He opened his trunk and found the map again, removing it and sitting back on his heels as he ran his hand over the rough parchment.  For some strange reason, he suddenly thought of his father, and wondered what he would do in this situation.  His father had made this map, after all…how would he want him to use it?  Would he think it risky and irresponsible to keep the map without seeking the advice of the Headmaster?  Or would he think it perceptive and wise?

Harry returned to his bed with the map and pulled out his wand, touching it to the parchment and whispering, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” followed quickly by “Lumos!”  He watched as lines and words spread across the page, then began studying the map once more.  Everything seemed still as his eyes scanned the parchment.  Then he saw something and frowned.  He had been sure he was the only person in the castle still awake (although he did watch Professor Sprout move from her sleeping quarters to her bathroom) but there Hermione was, still in the common room.  She seemed to be on the couch nearest the fireplace, and he wondered if she’d fallen asleep there.  He watched her map dot for a few minutes, and when it didn’t move, he decided to go down and wake her, and send her to bed.

Pulling on his robe and placing the map in his pocket, he silently padded out of the room and down the stairs.  The common room was dark except for the small fire still burning in the fireplace, and Hermione was there on the couch, as he’d expected.  Only, she wasn’t asleep, but rather sitting curled up under a quilt, staring into the flames. 

“Hermione?” he asked gently, not wanting to startle her.

She turned her head towards the sound of her own name, and smiled softly. “Hi, Harry.”

“What are you still doing awake?”

She just looked at him, still smiling, then patted the cushion next to her.  “Come, sit.”

Harry joined her on the couch, looking at her curiously.  “Are you okay?”  She seemed uncharacteristically serene, even bordering on melancholy.  This wasn’t the mood he would have expected from her given what had happened between her and Ron that evening.  She should have been upstairs, sleeping soundly and dreaming of beautiful things.

“Yes, I’m okay.” She smiled again, and then frowned suddenly. “What are you doing up?  Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I asked you first,” Harry retorted.

“I’m thinking.”

“Me too.”

“What are you thinking about?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Nuh-uh, you first.”  Hermione didn’t seem upset, Harry noted, but he was still slightly concerned.  In the shadowy firelight Harry couldn’t be sure, but he thought she blushed slightly as she looked down at her fingers as they played with a loose thread in the quilt. 

“Did Ron tell you what happened with us tonight?”

“What, that you got tired of him being such a git and finally kissed him yourself?”

Hermione chuckled despite herself. “Yes, that.  Obviously he did.”

“He did,” Harry confirmed. “I’m really happy for you, Hermione,” he said sincerely.  “I’m happy for you both.”

“Thank you.”

“But why aren’t you happy? Why are you sitting here looking so sad?”

“What?” she asked, slightly surprised.  “I’m not sad!  I’m just…thinking.” She shrugged.

“Thinking about what?”

“About the past…about the future…wondering if our friendship is gone forever and wondering what will replace it…”

“Hermione, your friendship with Ron could never be gone.  You will always be friends, first and foremost.  Nothing will change that.  Whatever is new between you can only make what you already have even better.”

Hermione’s smile widened.  “Thank you, Harry.  I think I needed to hear that.  And I’m sure you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.  Now have you been sitting down here all this time thinking about that?”

“Well, no,” Hermione admitted, and this time there was no mistaking the red in her face.  “Mostly I’ve been thinking about what it was like to be in his arms, kissing him, and –“

“Okay, okay, okay,” Harry interrupted, raising his hand in indication for her to stop.  “I’ve heard enough!”

Hermione laughed.  “You’re right, I’m sorry.”  She took a deep, refreshing breath, and let it out loudly.  “So, your turn.  What’s on your mind?”

Harry just looked at her for a moment, and watched her smile fade as she studied his face.  “What? What is it, what’s the matter?”

“This.” Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the map, handing it to Hermione. 

She took the parchment from him and gasped loudly when she realized what it was.  “Oh my goodness!  Harry, where did this come from?”

“My question exactly.” He leaned back into the couch and ran a hand through his hair. “I found it in my trunk tonight.  Ron and I were trying to figure out who put it there.”

“Harry, I hope you’re not planning on keeping this a secret,” Hermione declared. “You must tell Dumbledore about this immediately!  Not only has someone had the map all this time, but someone was in this tower…someone was in your room, Harry!  There’s no telling who’s been using the map to watch the castle.  It could be anyone!  The map might even be cursed now, or it could be a fake, or –“

“Hermione, calm down.  I think I know where it came from.”

She stopped short.  “Where?”

“I think Dumbledore found the map in Moody’s trunk and kept it.  I think he left it in my trunk so I can use it to sneak into the big meeting Dumbledore has called for tomorrow night.”

“What meeting?” Hermione demanded.

“Hagrid told me and Ron about it accidentally.  Dumbledore has invited a whole load of people here tomorrow night.  People who are on his side and working with him to figure out what to do about Voldemort.”

Hermione bit her lip like she always did when she was deep in thought, and finally said, “Well…that could be true, I suppose.” She looked down at the map in her hands.  “Did you find the map just like this?” she asked, obviously referring to the fact that the map was clearly displayed on the parchment. 

“Yes.”

“Are you sure Dumbledore knew how to use the map?” she asked shrewdly.  “Are you sure he could be the one to have activated it?”

“I’m sure he could figure it out,” Harry said.  If anyone could unlock a mystery, it was Dumbledore.  But then he realized something.  “Although,” he said, thinking.  “I never even told Moody – I mean, Crouch – how to use it. When I lent it to him, the map was displayed, and I didn’t tell him how to get rid of it.  It’s probably been like this ever since I lent it to him a year ago.”

“Hmmm, that’s true…” Hermione sighed.  “Well, it is possible, Harry.  But I really think you should tell Dumbledore about this.  We just can’t really be sure, and I don’t think any meeting is worth taking a risk.”

Harry just stared at her.  He knew she was probably right, but he had made up his mind.

“You aren’t going to tell Dumbledore, are you?”

“No.” He took the map back from her and rolled it up, returning it to his pocket.

Hermione sighed.  “Well, I guess I’m just going to have to go mad with worry then, aren’t I?”

“I suppose.”

“Be careful, Harry.”  Hermione’s voice was suddenly full of fear and concern, and Harry smiled at her reassuringly.

“I’m always careful.”

Hermione scowled.  “Sure.”

Harry didn’t want to discuss it anymore. “Come on, let’s go to bed.  We have class in the morning, and I’m going to need my rest if I’m going to stay up late for this meeting tomorrow night.”

“Do you know what time the meeting is?” Hermione asked as she rose and draped the quilt over the back of the couch. “Do you know where it is? Do you know who’s coming?”

“Actually, no, no, and no.  I’ll just have to watch the map closely, I reckon, and watch for a bunch of strangers beginning to gather in one place. I’m sure I’ll find it.”

“I’m sure you will too, Harry,” She said with a resigned sigh.  “Goodnight.”

He watched her walk towards the stairs, shaking her head and mumbling to herself.  “Goodnight!” he called after her.  She waved her hand exasperatedly in the air, and disappeared up the staircase.

********************

“Hurry up! We’re going to be late!” 

“I’m aware of this.  This is why we are running about the castle, isn’t it?”

Harry glared at Ron mentally, not wanting to waste the moment it would take to turn around and do it properly.  It was the morning of the 12^th, and they had both overslept.  They were both so tired from being awake so late the night before they hadn’t even heard the alarm bell.  They’d hurried out of bed and into their robes only ten minutes earlier, missing breakfast entirely and having to run at full speed down to the dungeons for 9 a.m. Potions.  They wouldn’t have worried so much about being late if it had been any other class, but Harry’s biggest fear at the moment was angering Snape into giving him detention that night.  He simply had to make it to that meeting.

They slipped into the classroom just in time; they had no sooner found their seats than Snape emerged from his office, ready to begin the class.  Harry and Ron exchanged a look of relief, panting as they settled in.  Hermione had managed to make it on time, as she always did, and shot them a disapproving look from her spot next to Harry.  But when she caught Ron’s eye, her face relaxed into a shy smile, and they both blushed, then looked away.

As the class copiously took notes from Snape’s lecture, Hermione and Ron grew more fidgety with every passing minute. It occurred to Harry that the two of them hadn’t had a chance to talk – or even see each other – since they had shared their first kiss the night before.  When class was over, Harry whispered to Ron that he would give them some privacy. He hurriedly gathered his things and slipped out the door with their classmates, leaving Ron and Hermione lingering behind. 

Their next class, Charms, didn’t start for another fifteen minutes, so Harry found he had a good seven minutes to spare before he had to get moving.  Usually he and his friends passed the time between classes chatting, but being alone with a few minutes to kill, he decided to duck into the nearby boys’ room to have a look at the Marauders Map.  Even though he guessed people probably wouldn’t start arriving for the meeting for at least another few hours, he didn’t want to risk missing anything. Thankfully, the bathroom was empty so Harry didn’t have to worry about prying eyes or looking suspicious.  His eyes scanned the parchment quickly but deliberately, but nothing meaningful caught his eye.  As he was just about to return the map to his bag, he suddenly heard Ron and Hermione speaking just outside.  He certainly didn’t want to eavesdrop, but he felt trapped there.  If he came out now, he would interrupt them, and he knew they needed this chance to talk.  So he tried not to listen, but couldn’t really help it.

“I sat up for a long time last night,” Hermione was saying.

“You did? Couldn’t you sleep?”

“I didn’t try.  I was too busy thinking about you…about us…” Hermione’s voice sounded slightly embarrassed, but Harry could hear the smile in Ron’s voice when he replied.

“You were thinking about us?”

“Of course.”

There was a slight pause. “Me too.”

“So, um…where do we stand?  What happens next?” Hermione asked this question almost fearfully, and there was a long silence before Ron answered.

“Um, I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.”

Nervous laughter from both of them.

“Well,” Hermione said softly, and Harry heard the rustling of robes, as if she had moved closer to Ron.  “Why don’t we start with this?”

Harry wondered if she was about to kiss him, and despite not really wanting to see it, he couldn’t resist his own curiosity.  He pushed the bathroom door open ever so slightly, and peeked out.  But Hermione didn’t kiss Ron; instead she slipped her hand into his and smiled up at him.  He grinned back at her widely, and she laughed. 

“Well this is easy enough,” Ron said, reaching out to take her other hand as well.  “I rather like this.  I like touching you.”

Hermione’s grin faded into a gentle and slightly nervous expression, and she replied, “I like it too.”

After a moment of just standing across from one another, Ron leaned down and gently kissed Hermione on the lips.  It was a quick kiss, and when he pulled back, she grinned again, and Ron blushed.

“We’d better go, we’re going to be late.”

“Right,” Ron said.

They started off down the hall, holding hands, and Harry waited until they were out of sight before he slipped out of the bathroom and followed them.

********************

All day Harry continued sneaking quick peeks at the Marauders Map, but he didn’t see a single stranger in the castle. As the day wore on, so did Harry’s anxiety.  By the time dinner was over, he felt about ready to jump out of his skin.  The meeting could only be a few hours away and he still had no clue where he was supposed to go or whom he would be seeing.  Thankfully, it was the weekend; there was no way he would have been able to concentrate on homework that night.  Of course, Hermione was busy poring over books at a nearby table while Ron tried to keep Harry occupied with a game of chess.  They sat on the floor between the back of a couch and the wall of the tower in an effort to assure themselves as much privacy as possible. It was difficult to examine the map in a crowded common room full of Friday night energy.  As it was, Harry had to keep hiding the map underneath the couch, pulling it out only every few minutes for a quick look.

He was already set to go at a moment’s notice.  When it came time, he planned to pretend to go up to bed, feigning a headache.  Since he needed privacy in the dorm room to carry off his escape, he needed to head upstairs earlier than anyone else.  He had decided to make it 10:30 at the latest.  He knew none of his roommates would be going to bed any earlier than that on a Friday.  Once upstairs, he would change into his pajamas, retrieve the invisibility cloak from his trunk, then leave his clothes discarded on top of the trunk just like he did every night before bed.  Then he would slip into the cloak, pull his bed hangings closed so his roommates would think him asleep, and slip out of the room.  Downstairs, he would discreetly tap Hermione on the shoulder and she would announce that she was making a quick trip to the library.  She would lead the way out of the portrait hole, then send Harry on his way, running off to the library and returning with a book just in time for 11:00 curfew.   On the off chance that Harry still didn’t know where to go at that time, he would continue examining the map under cover of the invisibility cloak and with the aid of the wall torch at the end of the hall.  It was a simple plan, really, but would require intricate timing if pushed to the 10:30 mark. 

Ever so slowly, the hours passed, Ron beating Harry at chess until they both lost count of how many times they had played.  Hermione seemed to be hard at work, but Harry wondered how much she was really accomplishing, as she kept chancing nervous glances in his direction.  As 10:00 finally came and went, Harry became extremely agitated.  Staring at the map intently, he desperately searched for any unusual activity, but still found none.  At last it was 10:30 and he simply could not wait any longer. It was now or never. 

Heart pounding, Harry stood and announced, “I think I’m going to go on to bed.  I’ve got a bit of a headache.”  Harry said this loud enough so that anyone nearby would overhear, but thankfully no one seemed to be paying him any attention.  Ron gulped and nodded as Harry made his way to the stairs, and Harry could feel Hermione watching him go. 

Once in his room, Harry leapt into action, and he returned to the common room within minutes.  He tapped Hermione lightly on the shoulder and she froze, looking discreetly around her. 

“Harry?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“I’m going to run to the library,” she said loudly to Ron, who had joined Hermione at her table once Harry had left.  “I’ll be quick.”

“Okay.”

Hermione led the way to the portrait hole, and Harry followed close behind, slipping out behind her and muttering a “thank you” so she would know he’d made it out successfully. 

“Good luck, Harry!” Hermione whispered after him. “Be careful!”

They parted ways as Hermione hurried off to the library, and Harry moved down the corridor towards the torch that would aid him in examining the map.  He pulled the map out of his pocket and settled on the floor for what could prove to be a long wait.  He studied the map, still seeing no sign of any meeting, and was still waiting when Hermione came back from the library, red herring book in hand.  She glanced around as she told the Fat Lady the password, obviously wondering whether Harry was still there, but he chose not to speak to her, watching as the portrait swung shut behind her. 

It was now 11:00, and he suddenly felt very alone in the dark corridor, which of course, he was.  He sighed heavily, and refocused on the map before him.  Come on, he thought.  Show me something.  Anything to go on.

As if in answer to his prayers, right at that moment he caught sight of something that struck him as unusual.  A long line of house elves was ascending the stairs in the Entry Hall.  Harry frowned as he watched them, trying to figure out what they were doing.  They continued up past the first floor, then the second, and as they were in the middle of the staircase between the second and third floors, they suddenly stopped and turned left, walking one after another right through the wall!  Harry watched, stunned, as the house elves made their way through the walls of the castle, down what appeared to be a narrow corridor.  How there was space for such a corridor between the ceiling of the second floor and the floor of the third, Harry didn’t know, but he’d stopped being utterly dumbfounded at the many secrets of Hogwarts a long time ago. 

Harry lit his wand under cover of the invisibility cloak and began to move through the castle in the general direction of where the house elves were, for wont of any better leads.  As he moved, he watched the elves separate one by one into small chambers opening up off of the corridor they were traveling down.  They each lingered in their respective rooms only a moment before leaving and dispersing in various directions to attend to other tasks, it seemed.  Two elves lingered a while in the largest room, moving here and there around the room.  There was a fireplace in that room, Harry noted, and one elf went before it, to conjure up some flames, Harry assumed.  He wondered if this was the room where the meeting was to be held.  He walked faster.

As Harry moved about the castle, he kept a close eye on the map, careful to avoid any possible obstacles.  Thankfully, there weren’t any except for Mrs. Norris, who seemed to be in a rather exploratory mood that evening.  She kept darting to and fro, and at one point Harry had to backtrack up a staircase he had just descended, coming down another one twenty meters away in order to avoid crossing paths with her.  Halfway to the mysterious corridor between the second and third floors, Harry stopped, frowning as he watched the two house elves leave the large room and part ways.  All the house elves had gone elsewhere now, and the corridor and its rooms were now empty and still.  Perhaps the meeting wasn’t to be held there after all.  Harry stood outside an empty classroom on the fourth floor, waiting for any new activity that might tell him where to go.  At last, he noticed a small group of people with unfamiliar names gathering just outside the castle, along the west wall near the path that led from the grounds to Hogsmeade.  Harry watched curiously as the group grew to approximately ten people.  He skimmed the small crowd for any names he knew, eyes scanning over names like Alesia Finch, Jose Montez, and Tabitha Jones, but he didn’t recognize any of them.  Still, he knew this had to be the group he was looking for.  He quickly began darting his way through corridors and down staircases until he reached the ground floor, then made a beeline for the west side of the castle, hurrying down a wide hallway opposite the Great Hall.  Suddenly Harry heard distant voices behind him and he froze against the wall, listening intently and watching the map as Dumbledore and Snape rounded a corner from the Entry Hall and appeared in the corridor with him.  Heart pounding furiously with excitement, Harry finally put the map away, knowing he had hit the jackpot.  He would just follow Dumbledore and Professor Snape from here.

As Dumbledore and the Potions Master moved past Harry towards the end of the hall, he followed.  He noted fleetingly that he had never been down this corridor before, and wondered what was behind its walls, as there were no doors at all.  The walls were lined with coats of arms, but there was neither time nor light enough for him to read the names on them.  He supposed they were the coats of arms of old wizarding families, or maybe even of the professors that currently lived in the castle.   Either way, he didn’t waste a lot of time thinking about it, as he was more intent on being sure to keep close to Dumbledore and Snape, while concentrating on not making any noise. 

At last the three came to the end of the hall and stopped, as there was nowhere else to go.  Harry looked around in confusion, but then Dumbledore pulled out his wand and touched it to the wall, saying “Murus Abolesceri.”  The wall slowly melted away until there was no wall remaining at all, and the corridor simply opened up onto the grounds of Hogwarts.  The crowd was gathered here, and their soft chatter died away as they took note of the Headmaster.  Harry was pleased to see Professor Lupin and a large black dog now at the front of the crowd.

“Good evening,” Dumbledore greeted them.  “Thank you all for coming.  Would you kindly follow me, please?” 

Harry stayed pressed to the wall as witches and wizards filed inside and past him, following Dumbledore as asked.  The crowd had now grown to around thirty people, Harry estimated, of all ages and backgrounds, it seemed.  He watched as several people gazed at the castle around them, some in the recognizable awe that came with seeing the inside of Hogwarts for the first time. Others looked around as if finally home, and Harry guessed these were old students of Hogwarts.  He waited for everyone to move past, planning to follow at the end of the line.  He was quite surprised to note that some of the faces looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t quite place them.  But he was even more surprised to see the three people who brought up the end of the line.  Arthur Weasley stepped inside the castle, looking very serious, followed by his two oldest sons, Bill and Charlie.

Harry felt a rush of warmth seeing the familiar faces of his best friend’s father and brothers, but couldn’t help but wonder what Bill and Charlie were doing there.  Mr. Weasley’s presence wasn’t too surprising; Harry knew he had been working for Dumbledore within the Ministry.  But he couldn’t imagine what role Bill and Charlie would have to play.  Harry had to suppress an urge to call out to them in greeting, instead silently falling into line behind Charlie.  As they moved down the corridor, Harry glanced back over his shoulder at the hole in the wall, wondering who was supposed to have closed it, only to see solid brick back in place, as if it had been there all along.

They wound through corridors and up staircases, then down again, and in circles, it seemed.  Harry was trying to keep track of where they were going, so that he would be able to find the meeting place again sometime, if necessary, but more so that he would be able to find his way back to Gryffindor Tower at the end of the night.  But after fifteen minutes of wandering through the castle, he knew there was no way he would be able to recognize where he was.  Thank goodness he had the Marauders’ Map.

The meeting-goers were silent as they followed Dumbledore to their destination.  Harry sensed a definite mood of solemnity, and he grew a bit nervous wondering what was to be discussed.  Finally they came to a stop before a large door in the middle of a wide hallway.  Harry had no idea what floor they were on, or what wing they were in, but he definitely knew he had never been here before.  Dumbledore stepped aside, allowing Lupin and Sirius to enter the room first, and remaining at the door to greet each guest individually as they entered. 

Harry slipped inside and began staking out a place where he could lay low.  The room was enormous, with a high ceiling bedecked in elegant mosaic artwork and three huge candled chandeliers.  There were no windows, and the furnishings were scarce – aside from a large fireplace at the far end of the room, only a massive mahogany table filled the space.  People took seats at the table as they filed in, and Harry doubted that the group would fill it.  At the far end of the table, there were no chairs, and at the head of the table, just one, though it was wide enough to accommodate at least three, maybe four.

Harry chose to stand at the wall along the far side of the table, as there wasn’t anywhere for him to sit without giving himself away.  There were plenty of chairs in the room, but they were all pulled up to the table.  He waited patiently while the chairs were filled one by one, and at last Dumbledore entered the room, closing the door behind him and locking it with a quick spell.  The room was silent and still as every eye watched the Headmaster settle into the chair at the head of the table.  Harry’s eyes scanned the faces gathered there.   Lupin had seated himself in the chair to Dumbledore’s immediate right, with Sirius (still in dog form) standing on the floor next to him.  Snape was to Dumbledore’s left. 

“As you are all aware, we have much to discuss,” the Headmaster began.  “Again, I want to thank you all for making the journey here and for being willing to share your knowledge and expertise with us all.  We all have a common goal, ladies and gentlemen.  We all wish to see Voldemort prevented from rising to power again.  I have confidence in each one of you sitting here tonight, and I believe that together, we can overcome the threat that is upon us.  But we face many obstacles, and it will not be easy.  I thank you in advance for your efforts, your determination, your trust, and your faith.  We will not be successful without those things.  So I humbly ask you all, at this moment, for your commitment.  If any one of you here is not completely dedicated to the task at hand, speak now.  If you have any doubts concerning your own involvement, and wish to walk away, please. Now is the time.  You will not be judged, nor ridiculed.  I believe each one of us here would rather know that everyone in this room is committed to our goal without reservation.”

Dumbledore stopped, and everyone seemed to be holding their breath, discreetly looking at the faces around them.  No one spoke, nor moved.  After a few moments, Dumbledore smiled. 

“Well then, let us proceed with the introductions.”

Harry exhaled.

“All of you know who I am already, although for several of you this is the first time we have come face to face.  So allow me to introduce myself properly.  I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Chief of this Council.”

Dumbledore left it at that, choosing not to list his own accolades.  Harry was sure they needed no enumeration.  Dumbledore indicated that Lupin should go next.

“Remus Lupin, previous Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts here at Hogwarts, and ex-special agent in this Council, on which I proudly served from 1978 to 1981.  I am honored that Dumbledore has made me second-in-command of this Council, and thank you once again, on behalf of both Dumbledore and myself, for your attendance here tonight.  I look forward to working with each of you, and am confident that we will meet with success in the months or years to come.”

No one seemed to bat an eyelash at Lupin’s insinuation that the fight against Voldemort would not be over quickly.  Rather, they all seemed resigned to the fact that they were all really just gearing up for a long and intense battle.  Harry wondered what exactly Lupin had done as a special agent, and was intrigued to have a slight glimpse into the past of one of his father’s best friends.  He wondered if his parents had once served on this Council as well.

His thoughts were interrupted by a slightly startled gasp that fluttered through the room when the large dog next to Lupin suddenly became a man.  “Sirius Black,” Harry’s godfather began with trepidation.  He said only his name, then stopped, as if waiting for some sort of feverish backlash.  Harry held his breath, but then slowly let it out as he realized the gasp had only been a reaction to Sirius’ sudden transfiguration, and not his identity.  Sirius looked to the Headmaster, who nodded for Sirius to continue.  “I am aware that Dumbledore has informed each of you of my situation, and of my innocence.  He tells me that your agreement to keep silent was critical before he would allow you to join the Council.  I’m sure that you can all understand my hesitation and uncertainty.  But I served on this council alongside Remus many years ago, and am honored to return.  Dumbledore’s trust in each of you is enough for me.”  Sirius moved around to Lupin’s right and sat down in the vacant chair there. 

“Your position, Sirius?” Dumbledore reminded him.

“Oh, yes,” Sirius said. “I am a tracker.  Because of my ability to travel incognito, it was, and now is again, my job to follow and observe suspected or known Death Eaters, and to gather as much information as I can.”

“Thank you, Sirius.”

Harry’s head went a little numb with this information.  He had just learned what his godfather had done for a living all those years ago, when his parents had still been alive.  He had worked for Dumbledore, and it had been dangerous work at that.  He always knew that Sirius had done something important, something secretive, but he now found himself looking at his godfather in a new light, and seeing him with a newfound respect, not as his godfather, but as a wizard.  And suddenly Harry had a brief bout with panic.  Up to this moment, he had assumed Dumbledore knew – or at least, hoped – that he had made it into the meeting with them.  But he had sincere doubts that Dumbledore would want him hearing all of this privileged information – information that he had wondered many times but had never been told.  Every time Harry had asked Dumbledore outright for any information about his parents’ past, or the pasts of their friends, he had been promptly shot down.  But Harry had a distinct feeling that he would be learning a lot tonight, at last.  Did Dumbledore really intend for him to be hearing all of this?

The next person in line introduced himself. “Julius Borgin.”  Harry knew he recognized this man, but could not figure out where he knew him from.  He cast his memory back over all the places he’d been in the wizarding world, and all the people he had met, but he just couldn’t place him.  “I am the owner of Borgin and Burkes, a Dark Arts supply shop in Knockturn Alley.” Several people around the table looked perplexed, wondering what anyone who admitted to frequenting Knockturn Alley – a Dark Arts enthusiast’s paradise – would be doing at this meeting.  But Harry suddenly remembered where he knew Mr. Borgin from.  He had accidentally found himself in Borgin and Burkes after an unfortunate floo powder incident before he had started his second year.  He had hidden in a cupboard while Mr. Borgin had discussed business with Lucius Malfoy, and Borgin had struck Harry as a slimy, sneaky man.  But he also remembered how Borgin had dropped that demeanor the minute the Malfoys had left his shop.  Harry had wondered about it then, but it all made sense when Borgin continued with, “I am a spy.  I am not and have never been an official Death Eater, nor have I ever pretended to be, but I am a notable member of the less than desirable community that resides in Knockturn Alley.  I observe.  I listen, I watch, and I report.  That was my job when this Council began, and I am honored to be taking up the task in an official capacity once again.”

Harry already felt overwhelmed with information, and the introductions had barely progressed around the table.  They continued.

“Obadiah Kretz.  I am an Auror.  I was recruited for this Council by Arthur Weasley, and I am honored to be included in this circle.  I look forward to contributing to Voldemort’s defeat.”  Judging from Kretz’s appearance, Harry guessed he couldn’t wait to contribute to someone’s defeat.  The man was enormous and frankly, a little frightening.  He looked as though he could kill someone with one hand, let alone a wand.

“Mundungus Fletcher.”  Harry saw Arthur Weasley shift uncomfortably in his chair, and shoot a glance at Bill, who was sitting next to him. They both rolled their eyes a little bit, and Harry tried not to chuckle. He recognized the name at once.  Mr. Weasley had mentioned Fletcher a few times, and never very kindly.  Harry got the idea that the old man was quite crotchety and unpleasant.  He had once tried to curse Mr. Weasley behind his back, just because he was trying to do his job.  “I’m a consultant,” Fletcher said.  Everyone seemed to be waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t, so the next person finally spoke.

“Andie Gelsomino.”  This young woman was a complete stranger to Harry.  She had an American accent, which was the first thing he noticed about her, and somehow she seemed to emit warm and friendly vibes just by saying her name.  “I’m from Chicago.  I’ve been sent by the North American Joint Committees of the Ministries of Magic, and my role is to bring reports to this group of any suspicious or noteworthy dark activities reported in North America.  Since Voldemort recruited Death Eaters from around the globe the last time he was in power, we are trying to keep a close eye on known dark communities, to see if we can gather any useful information whatsoever.  We’re also trying to pre-empt any recruitment or other dark activities by staying as alert as possible.”

Next was, “Alesia Finch.”  She was an attractive woman, in her mid-thirties, Harry estimated.  “I am originally from Hogsmeade, actually, but I have lived in Little Whinging, Surrey, for the past 14 years.”

Harry felt his stomach drop all the way to his toes.  Little Whinging?  That’s where the Dursleys lived, and where he had grown up!  Who was this woman?

“My job for the past 14 years has been solely to keep Harry Potter safe.”

Harry’s jaw went slack, and he nearly sank to the floor.

“Since Harry has been at Hogwarts, our job has become somewhat easier, in one regard.  We don’t have to worry about him as much when he’s here at school.  But when he’s at home, we have to worry about him even more, with times being what they are.”

Harry was positively befuddled.  Our job?  Did he have more than one bodyguard running around that he didn’t know about? And this was their job?  To worry about him? And why would they have to worry about him so much at home, he wondered?  He was protected whenever he was with the Dursleys.  Dumbledore had told him that himself.

“Dumbledore has asked us to join the Council as Harry’s voice, and also so that we will know the most up to date and inside information at all times.  That’s critical for keeping Harry safe.”

It sounded strange to hear this woman talking about him this way – as if he was her life’s work.  He could hear in her voice that she genuinely cared about him, and yet he wouldn’t have known her if he had tripped over her in the street. 

“Devin Faramond.”  The person on Alesia Finch’s right was now introducing himself.  “I also live in Little Whinging, alongside Alesia, and my job is the same as hers.  Harry’s safety is our number one priority.” 

If possible, Harry’s jaw dropped even further.  Who were these people?  Harry studied Faramond’s face, trying to figure out if he had ever seen this man before in his life.  Obviously he had kept a close eye on him growing up – he had to have been nearby all the time.  He studied the sandy hair, and the blue eyes.  The lightly lined face that made Harry guess the man was around the same age as Alesia Finch.  He didn’t recognize him at all.

“Antonio Mezzana,” said the robust man next to Devin Faramond.  Harry would have guessed he was Italian even without hearing the name or noting the hint of an accent.  He had dark, thick hair that fell in tufts around his face, and a big, bushy mustache.  He looked older than the previous three Council members.  Harry pegged him at fifty years old.  “I’m Devin and Alesia’s third.  I too have lived in Little Whinging for the past 14 years, keeping an eye on Mr. Potter.”

Harry could not believe his ears.  He had three bodyguards? 

But as shocked as he was by this news, nothing could have prepared him for what the next person at the table was about to say.

“I’m Arabella Figg.”

Harry stared.  Arabella Figg?  That was impossible.  He knew an Arabella Figg, but this woman certainly wasn’t her.  The Arabella Figg he knew was an old wrinkled lady with lots of cats and a house that smelled of cabbage.  She lived in the Dursleys’ neighborhood, and used to mind him whenever the Dursleys had to go somewhere and didn’t want Harry tagging along.  But this woman was at least thirty years younger, and looked nothing like the Arabella Figg he knew. 

“I was a part of this Council in a different capacity many years ago, but now I am in charge of Harry Potter’s protection.  I command the entire operation, and I answer directly to Dumbledore.  Alesia, Devin, and Antonio are my team, and I deploy them as necessary to see to Harry’s safety.  We all live together near the Dursleys’ home, which is where Harry grew up, and where he stays during the summers.”

This made no sense.  This woman couldn’t be Arabella Figg.  It simply wasn’t possible.  And where did they all live?  Harry knew who all the neighbors were in Privet Drive, and he had certainly never seen any of these people before, nor ever heard the names Alesia Finch, Devin Faramond, or Antonio Mezzana.  It simply couldn’t be. 

Arabella continued.  “When Harry is here at school, we sometimes relocate to Hogsmeade to be near him, and to keep in closer contact with Dumbledore regarding Harry’s well-being.  Alesia, Devin, and Antonio are able to travel very discreetly, as they are all three animagi.”

And suddenly it clicked.  Harry would never wonder again why Mrs. Figg had so many cats.

“As for myself, I keep my identity hidden with the use of polyjuice potion.”

Mrs. Figg’s house always smelled like cabbage…polyjuice potion smells like cabbage…

Harry found himself face to face with the task of reevaluating his entire childhood, and what everything around him had ever meant.  Sadly, it was a task that would have to wait.  The introductions were moving on.

“Giles Hunter.  I work for the Ministry of Magic, under Cornelius Fudge, officially.  But only because I haven’t much choice.  I am here to aid Dumbledore in whatever way I can.  I can’t really share any more detail than that.  I am an Unspeakable.”

Everyone nodded in understanding, knowing that the work of Ministry Unspeakables was top secret.

“Tobias McAllister.  I am a tracker alongside Mr. Black.  Like many of you here tonight, I too was a part of this Council when it first began, and consider it my duty and honor to remain a part of it today.”

Next up was a beautiful young witch with shining eyes and flowing strawberry blonde hair.  Harry tried not to stare.  “Tabitha Jones.  I am from the Ministry, and was recruited by Arthur Weasley.  I’m not sure why I’m here, to be honest.  I work as a liaison in legal issues with the Muggle Relations department.  I’m happy to be here though, and am willing to contribute wherever I can.”

The introductions had reached the end of that side of the table, and they moved across to the other side, starting with “Jose Montez.  I am from Havana, Cuba.” Mr. Montez spoke with a rich and rolling accent. “I am a representative much like Miss Gelsomino, but from Central America.  I am here as your eyes and ears in my part of the world.” 

“Love Gordon.”  Harry had quietly moved around to the other side of the table so he could get a look at everyone’s faces, and he was startled by Miss Gordon’s presence.  She couldn’t have been any older than he was.  “I am from Florida, and I guess I’m what you would call a child prodigy.  I graduated from the East Coast’s own version of Hogwarts two years ago, at age 13.  I’m fluent in every known language in the world, and am now employed in the profession of code breaking.  I’m humbled to be included here, so I thank you.”

Harry was flabbergasted.  She had graduated at 13 and she knew every language in the world?

The next man was quick and to the point.  “Felix Croaker.  Ministry Unspeakable.”

“Doris Crockford.”  The moment this woman said her name, Harry recognized her.  She had been one of the first people he had met in the wizarding world, and actually, probably the first witch he had ever knowingly come into contact with.  He remembered when she had introduced herself to him at the Leaky Cauldron when he was still so new to the wizarding world he had been there in a set of Dudley’s old baggy clothes.  She had shook his hand at least a dozen times, and couldn’t seem to believe she was face to face with Harry Potter.

“I am pleased and privileged to be returning to this Council after all these years.  I would just like to say how wonderful it is to see some of the old faces here, and how thrilled I am to be working alongside each of you.  If this Council is anything like the old one, I am sure we will all be quite a force to be reckoned with indeed.”

She went on to describe her role in the Council. “I am an expert in hexes and curses, and my prior role in this Council was as a curse and hex detector and breaker.  It is my understanding that I am here in the same capacity once again, as a consultant, as well as in the field as needed.”

“Debbie Plumer,” said the witch next to Doris.  “I am originally from the United States, but have been living in New Zealand for the past ten years, with my husband.  Our public job is owning and running an orphanage for the children that were left parentless in the civil war that ripped through the country’s magical community in 1985.  But we also are employed privately as special agents in the New Zealand Ministry of Magic, where we track and report on dark magic.  My role is similar to Miss Gelsomino’s and Mr. Montez’s.  I will be reporting on the status of things in the Pacific region.”

“Bharat Khosla,” said the next person, a man with a heavy Indian accent.  “I am from New Delhi, and am here representing Asia, the same as Mrs. Plumer and the others.”

“Nabhani Saeed, of Tanzania.  Providing your dark magic reports from Africa.”

“Lissanne Radcliffe,” announced the witch to Saeed’s right.  Harry was surprised to see Sirius’ head snap to attention when she said her name.  Miss Radcliffe noticed it too, and seemed a little thrown for a moment.  Did they know each other, Harry wondered?  Miss Radcliffe looked at Sirius carefully, as if she was trying to answer that same question herself.  It couldn’t be likely that they knew each other, Harry thought.  Miss Radcliffe spoke with an undeniable Australian accent, and he doubted Sirius had been to the other side of the world recently.  Miss Radcliffe regained her focus quickly, and continued with, “I’m a Potions expert.”  Harry instinctually looked to Snape, who was scowling resentfully in Miss Radcliffe’s direction. “To be perfectly truthful, I’m not at all sure why I was asked to join this Council.  I’m under the impression that I was called here for some very specific consulting, and that I may or may not become a permanent member of this Council.  Either way, I’m very pleased to meet you all, and wish you all the best of luck in whatever is to come.” 

Sirius averted his eyes from Miss Radcliffe, but still had a somewhat shocked expression on his face.  Harry made a mental note to ponder this further later.

A large and deep voiced man sat next to Lissanne Radcliffe, and the moment he opened his mouth, Harry knew the two of them had come together.  There was no mistaking his Aussie-ness.  “Dexter Whipple, Australian Minister of Magic.”

Whoa. Harry was impressed. Dumbledore certainly did have a way of going straight to the top. 

“Dumbledore has asked me to join this Council as an advisor, as well as a representative from my country. I will be reporting on the activities of some specific dark arts circles within Australia that we feel may be targeted by Voldemort for recruitment.”

Finally the round of introductions had made its way to the Weasleys.

“I’m Arthur Weasley, and I work for the Ministry, in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department.  As some of you know, I was asked by Dumbledore to work on gathering support within the Ministry.  While I have not managed to secure as many people as I may have hoped, I am very confident in the four Ministry representatives we have here tonight, and I am grateful to them for their support of this endeavor.  I consider myself fully at the disposal of this Council, and will step in wherever Dumbledore asks me to.”

“Bill Weasley, currently working on location in Egypt for Gringotts Bank as a curse breaker.  However, I’ll be leaving all of the curse breaking to Mrs. Crockford within the Council, unless needed. My official role here is the same as many of you here tonight.  I’m keeping my eyes and ears open for any signs of unusual dark activities in the Middle East, and reporting accordingly.”

“Charlie Weasley,” said the last redhead at the table, rubbing his hands absently like he often did.  Harry had seen his hands before and knew that he often had burns on them from the work he did with dragons in Romania.  “My official employment is in Romania, at a dragon colony, but I’m here in the same role as my brother, but representing Europe.  I’m honored that Dumbledore has asked me to be a part of this operation.”

Now only two people remained to be introduced.  The second to last was a young witch who had been hungrily eyeing Charlie since before they had even sat down.  Harry guessed she hadn’t chosen her seat next to him by accident.

“Karei Cadmus,” was the girl’s name.  “I graduated out of Slytherin house four years ago, and live in Argentina, where I’m a political activist for Argentine witches.  I’ve seen a lot in my short time there, and I know things.  I know people.  I know how to find things out, and that’s why I’m here.  I’m representing South America, and I’m here to report on anything and everything I learn about the dark communities that are running rampant on that continent these days.  I hope my knowledge can be beneficial.”

Finally, the last person at the table spoke. “Severus Snape,” came the Potion Master’s trademark silky tone.  “Hogwarts Potions Master, and head of Slytherin House.  I was once a Death Eater, and am now a spy.  I do not work behind the scenes – I am in them.”

Snape left his introduction at that, and at last, Dumbledore had the floor once more.

Harry took a deep breath, trying desperately to wrap his head around all of the information he had just learned.  It was a lot to hear in the span of fifteen minutes.  He wanted to remember every name and face and title and role, but knew there was no way he’d be able to.  He was still reeling too much from everything he’d just seen and heard.  All the new faces, along with so many familiar yet unexpected ones…his godfather’s identity revelation to perfect strangers, the knowledge of what Sirius and Lupin had done with their lives between Hogwarts and Halloween 1981, and the revelation of Mrs. Figg and her “team”.  It was simply too much to process.  And the night had only just begun.

“Once again, I welcome each of you to Hogwarts and to this Council.  You have my sincere appreciation for taking up this task.  And with that, I believe we should begin.”  Dumbledore motioned for Lupin to take things from there.

“We have many items on our agenda tonight,” the ex-Professor began, “and I’d like to start with a general briefing.”  Chairs creaked as people got comfortable around the table, settling in for a long evening. Harry himself was getting tired of standing, and of pacing quietly back and forth around the table.  He had no idea how long this meeting would last, and he wanted to have a good and comfortable vantage point. As every eye in the room focused on Lupin intently, Harry tiptoed very quietly to the far end of the table.

“At this point we know very, very little.  We know that Voldemort has returned to his body, with all of his powers returned.  This is fact.  We know that he has met with many of his former Death Eaters, communally on at least one occasion, which occurred the night Harry Potter won the Triwizard Tournament with Cedric Diggory last June.  And we also are quite certain he has met with them each individually, and in smaller collective groups, on many occasions since.”

Very, very carefully, Harry approached a vacant chair, the last chair on the side of the table to Dumbledore’s left.  The chairs were armless, and the few vacant chairs in the room weren’t pushed all the way under the table.  Being especially careful not to let any part of himself peek out from under the invisibility cloak, Harry slipped ever so quietly into the chair, and settled back comfortably to watch. 

“Severus himself has been called three times,” Lupin said, indicating the man across from him. “Each time, he met Voldemort by Apparating directly to his whereabouts, as is customary and expected for Death Eaters, and had no way of knowing where he and Voldemort were.”

Snape interrupted Lupin harshly.  “I believe I can speak for myself, Lupin, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Lupin regarded Snape coolly, then smiled artificially.  “Of course, Severus.”

“Each time I have been called, I met with Voldemort alone.  Each time the Apparition took only a few moments, but I knew that I was not in the same place each time.  Based on the Apparition time and limited side effects, I would say each location was within 300 kilometers of here.  He is not far away, but he has not set up any sort of headquarters, at least not that I am aware of.  But he was also very clever with the locations.  There was nothing whatsoever to give me any inkling of an idea where we might have been.  The first location seemed to be underground somewhere, in a natural earth formation.  A cavern of some sort.  The second and third were both in man-made structures – stone rooms with no windows.  Different rooms however, with different auras altogether.  I do not suspect that the two locations were within the same building.”

At this moment, Harry absolutely could not believe his luck.  All the information he had wanted to know for so long was being dropped right into his lap.  It almost seemed to good to be true, and he had to consciously push aside a wave of guilt that washed over him.  This entire experience gave “eavesdropping” new meaning.

“Each time, our meeting was brief.  The first time we met, I learned nothing.  It was simply a test of my loyalty.  He first wanted to see whether I would come, and then was concerned with nothing more than my punishment for defecting.  I assured him I had simply been biding my time, but he would hear nothing of it.” For the first time in all the years Harry had known Professor Snape, he saw him falter.  “I can confidently attest that Voldemort’s powers are indeed as intact as they ever were.”

A ripple of discomfort passed around the table.  Harry himself recalled with a shiver the way Snape had limped into the Great Hall the morning after his first meeting with Voldemort.

“The second time, he wanted information.  He wanted to hear anything I might have to tell him about Harry Potter or Dumbledore, or anyone else that might pose a threat.”

Voldemort saw him as a threat?  Harry sat up a little straighter.

“I managed to avoid revealing too much, saying just enough to pacify him for the time being, and to gain some trust.  I informed him of the dates of Potter’s Quidditch matches this year, as well as some of the meaningless precautions Dumbledore has put into place here at the castle.  The clabberts that are now on the grounds for example, and numerous other red herrings that Dumbledore put in place not for their usefulness, but so that I would have something truthful to reveal to Voldemort were I ever to get the chance.”

Harry raised an invisible eyebrow.  So the clabberts weren’t really there to help protect the castle?  He should have guessed that, Harry told himself.  A few clabberts would be a drop in the hat compared to some of the protections Dumbledore could surely cook up. In hindsight, the small animals with flashing red pustules on their foreheads seemed laughable as a precaution against the most evil wizard ever known to wizardkind.   

“The third time, he had a request.”  The mood in the room stiffened noticeably.  “He wants me to prepare a potion.” 

Lissanne Radcliffe, the Australian potions expert, leaned forward across the table to regard Snape with interest. 

“He did not tell me the name of the potion, nor its use. He simply provided me with a list of ingredients and instructions.  I am quite familiar with most of the ingredients, though they seem an odd combination.   A single jobberknoll feather, which would lend suspicion to a truth serum or memory potion.  However, the potion also calls for essence of ballythorn, which is a memory suppressant.  The combination of ingredients would effectively cancel each other out.”

“Not necessarily,” interjected Miss Radcliffe.

Snape’s gaze shot in her direction, emitting a harsh stare at being interrupted.  She didn’t even bristle, just leveled her own gaze with his, and started to continue, but Snape was quicker and spoke first.

“Other ingredients include a trace of claritonic, the stem of a willowwhistle, and powdered graphorn horn,” Snape continued icily.  “All three of these ingredients have several different effects, and we are left with the question of deciphering how all of these ingredients are to work together, and what the desired outcome would be.”

“If you would kindly allow me, Mr. Snape, I believe –“

“Professor Snape,” the Potions Master shot back, eyes shooting daggers at Miss Radcliffe.  “And what precisely is your title?” he asked scathingly, challenging her to a battle of credentials. 

The Aussie witch turned to Dumbledore.  “You’ll have to pardon me, sir, I was under the impression that I was asked here to share my expertise.  If the kind Professor wishes to remain hopelessly clueless regarding this mysterious potion, by all means, simply ask me to shut up, and I will gladly oblige.”

Harry snickered silently, and he saw several people at the table – including Bill Weasley – look down at their laps to hide their own smirks.  Sirius seemed impressed with the Aussie witch’s forward nature, and visibly repressed a cocky grin.

“Miss Radcliffe, you were indeed called here for collaboration,” Dumbledore said warmly, “and we do wish to hear what you have to say.  Please.” Dumbledore motioned for her to speak, and Snape was left with no choice but to snarl to himself.  The Headmaster had spoken.

“Thank you, sir.”  Miss Radcliffe did not look at Snape, but chose to address Dumbledore and the rest of the table as she spoke.  “I myself have never heard of a potion with this combination of ingredients.  It is very unusual, and must be something of Voldemort’s invention.  But I think the implications of this potion are quite clear.”

She said this boldly and with confidence, and Snape glared at her as if running down a list of hexes in his mind that he could use to incapacitate her and her opinion.

“The potion will be volatile and dangerous, with unsavory side effects being a certainty.  This is an intense variety of a truth potion.  The jobberknoll feather and essence of ballythorn will not cancel each other out.” This was said pointedly, with a look shot in Snape’s direction.  “They will, in effect, interact to create a powerfully irresistible truth potion that will make the most intense Veritaserum look like something created out of a toddler’s toy potions kit.  The jobberknoll feather will act as the truth element, and the ballythorn will indeed act as a memory suppressant – it will suppress any memories that do not directly relate to the incident or thoughts Voldemort is wishing to learn the truth about.  The remaining memories – the ones Voldemort is interested in – will be intensely clarified by the claritonic, to such a startling degree that the person under the influence of the serum will reveal things he or she may not have even known they knew.  If Voldemort asks the individual to reveal the details of a conversation, for example, the person will remember it with such clarity, they will even be able to tell Voldemort how many times the other person blinked during the exchange.  He or she will be able to repeat the conversation verbatim, and finish up by telling Voldemort how many buttons the person had on their robe, the temperature in the room, and precisely the number of centimeters away from one another they stood.”

The room was so still, they could have heard a snitch’s wings flapping.

At last Dumbledore spoke. “Miss Radcliffe, what are these side effects you speak of?”

“The suppressed memories will remain suppressed forever.  The only thing the person will ever be able to remember for the rest of his or her life will be whatever Voldemort asked about.  Insanity is certain.”

Several people around the table took deep, labored breaths.  Dumbledore sat back in his chair, hands folded in front of him, and did not speak for several lengthy minutes.  No one else dared speak either, and every eye was on the Headmaster.

Finally Dumbledore looked to Snape.  “You will prepare the potion.” 

Snape nodded resolutely, while several other members of the Council gasped in disbelief. 

No one dared challenge him, but his reasoning was clearly lost on many in the room. 

He must have sensed this, because he began to explain.

“If Snape does not prepare the potion, Voldemort will undoubtedly get someone else to do it,” Dumbledore said simply. “He could even do it himself.  None of these ingredients are difficult to come by for someone who can afford the costly graphorn horn, or who has other means of obtaining it.  Nor is the preparation exceedingly difficult. The potion will be made, whether our Professor makes it or not, thus the end result will be the same.  Some unfortunate soul will be subjected to the effects of this terrible potion.  If Professor Snape is the one to prepare it, at least he will be demonstrating loyalty.  Perhaps he will gain additional trust, which is necessary if his privileged position is to become at all useful to us.  I suspect Voldemort did not ask our Professor to prepare this potion because he feels he is the best wizard for the job, even if that is the truth.  That is secondary.  He wishes to test his dedication, and here we have an opportunity to demonstrate it.  We shall give Voldemort what he wants this time.”

“Very well, Headmaster,” Snape agreed.

“If I may ask,” came a female voice from the other side of the table.  It was Andie Gelsomino, the American witch.  “Did Voldemort give you any idea why he wanted this potion or who he wanted to use it on?”  She was speaking to Snape.

“No,” he answered. “He did not.”

“Well, with all due respect…what if it’s for use on you, Professor?” 

Snape just stared at her, expression stoic.

“It could be possible, couldn’t it?” she asked, eyeing Dumbledore nervously.  He was simply watching her with interest.  “He could want the potion to use on you, and he could find out all kinds of privileged information. He could find out about this Council, for example.  And then you would be left insane, which is bad enough, but then obviously your use as a spy will be gone.  It will have only backfired, and made things worse.”

Harry thought she had a very valid point, and so did others in the room, it seemed, as several people began whispering to their neighbors. 

“We can avoid that easily,” Miss Radcliffe offered.  All eyes turned to her once again.  “We simply give Snape an antidote before he delivers the potion to Voldemort. Negaverita potion blocks the effects of the truth element of the potion, and Antimemora will prevent the ballythorn from taking effect.”  She paused to think. “As far as I know, the two can be combined at full functionality with no damaging side effects.”

“Excellent, Miss Radcliffe,” Dumbledore said resolutely. “That’s excellent, thank you.  That will be our plan.”

“I’m sorry,” someone new spoke up.  It was Bharat Khosla, the wizard from India. “But wouldn’t Voldemort then know that he’d been duped?  He would recognize at once that the potion was not working.  There is no telling what he would then do to the Professor.”

“That is a chance I will take,” Snape said with finality.  “The plan is set.  I will set to work immediately.”

As much as Harry disliked Snape, he admired him at this moment for his resolution and bravery.  Every good Gryffindor could appreciate bravery.

“Very good, Professor,” Dumbledore said with approval.  “I am confident that you are more than up to the task.”

Snape nodded, and Lupin took this as his cue to continue down the agenda.

“We need to discuss our overall course of operation,” Lupin said.  “Currently we are all sort of working individually, and reporting to Dumbledore as necessary.  And for some of you, you’ve not even been given any assignments yet.  At this stage of the operation, our primary goal is to listen and learn.  Anything that we can learn at all about Voldemort’s whereabouts, plan, state of mind, or state of body is critical.  If we can continue tracking his most loyal Death Eaters, as Sirius and Tobias have been doing so well, any information we can learn from observing them is critical as well.  Any suspicious dark activity worldwide needs to be reported immediately.  And any help in compiling, analyzing, and evaluating this information will be the most important contributions any of you can make at this time.  Unfortunately, that’s the extent of the plan for now.  We simply cannot do anything to defeat Voldemort until we have some leverage against him.  We need more details about him and his plan, and that’s the goal at this stage.”

“Well said, Remus,” Dumbledore concluded for him.  “With that said, does anyone here have any reports or concerns or anything to be discussed?”

“I have,” Mr. Borgin spoke up, straightening in his chair.  “I have a concern that Professor Snape’s cover is insecure already.”

“How’s that, Julius?” Dumbledore asked, looking concerned, as did Snape.

“Lucius Malfoy was in my shop last week.  I hoped he would reveal something about his relationship with Voldemort, but he did not.  What we did talk about was his son Draco, who is a fifth year student here at Hogwarts.  He lauded all his son’s fine points, and I asked him if Draco had been named a Prefect.  He suddenly got very tightlipped out of embarrassment, I think, and confessed that he hadn’t.  He was not at all happy about it.  He mentioned that he had expected more string pulling from certain individuals.  He did not mention names, but I assume he was referring to Professor Snape.  He said that Draco not being named a Prefect had taught him a lesson in who believed in loyalty and who didn’t.  He said that he would not invest his hope and trust foolishly again, and was certain that others more important than himself – obviously meaning Voldemort, I’m sure – would not do so either.  I’m afraid that Severus’ cover is tentative at best.”

“Severus,” Dumbledore addressed the Potions Master, “do you wish to explain your stance on Draco Malfoy?”

“Dumbledore and I discussed this when the Prefects were being selected,” Snape began.  “Draco has many fine qualifications. He is an excellent student, and a dedicated Slytherin.  However, he is quite enveloped in the Malfoy mindset without fully understanding it.  He does not have values nor opinions of his own, and he does not understand leadership, maturity, or discretion.  Of course,” Snape said scathingly with a pointed look at Arthur Weasley, “neither do certain other students who were named Prefects this year.”

Mr. Weasley was unruffled by Snape’s disdain for his youngest son. 

“However,” Snape continued, “As Head of Slytherin House, Dumbledore left the final choice of nominations from my house to my own discretion.  I chose not to recommend Draco Malfoy for consideration because I am hoping that he will come to his senses before he leaves Hogwarts, and realize that he does not wish to follow in his father’s footsteps.  I am trying my best to be a subtle mentor to the boy, as I do not wish to see any more Death Eaters made of Slytherin graduates.  However, I do not yet trust him, and I was in no way ready to grant him a taste of power without being confident in how he would acclimate himself to it. I did not feel he was ready to take on such a task without becoming blindly infatuated by it, and realizing how fulfilling power can be.  He is not ready for that, not if we wish to keep him from turning to the dark side.”

“That is all well and good, Professor, and for the record, I fully agree with you.  But I would just recommend that you be extra careful now in maintaining appearances.  You are already under suspicion.”

“Thank you for the information, Julius,” Snape said. “I will continue to be cautious.”

Mr. Borgin nodded.

“Thank you, Julius,” Dumbledore echoed.  “Who else?”

“As always, I am concerned for Harry’s safety,” Sirius spoke up, and Harry’s ears perked up.

“As are we all, Sirius,” Dumbledore said sincerely.

Sirius nodded and swallowed, then looked down the table.  “Dumbledore filled me in awhile ago on your role, Arabella, and I regret that I’ve not had the opportunity before now to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all you’ve done to ensure his safety.  That goes for the rest of you as well, Alesia, Devin, Antonio.  I cannot thank you enough.”

Harry thought Sirius’ voice hitched there for a moment, and he felt his chest swell a bit with a surge of emotion towards his godfather.  Sometimes it was still hard to believe that another human being cared for him as much as Sirius did.  He wished he could reach out to his godfather at that moment, but of course, he couldn’t.  He had to remain hidden.

“Harry’s protection is more than just a job to me, Sirius,” Arabella said with feeling.  “You know that.”

“Yes,” he said, “I do.  There is no way I would have agreed to let him return to the Dursleys’ last summer if it hadn’t been for you.  Knowing you were nearby made it okay, somehow.  I knew it would be a hard summer for him, but I also felt confident that no harm would come to him with you and your team around.”

Harry wondered how exactly the two of them knew each other.  He realized that they had both served on this same Council years ago, but it seemed deeper than that. 

“And Sirius, allow me to take this opportunity to tell you how wonderful it is to be working alongside you again after all these years, and how relieved I was to learn of your innocence.  I have to admit that I believed you to be guilty.  The evidence seemed impenetrable at the time.  But I never, ever could believe it in my heart.  It just didn’t compute, not with the Sirius Black I had grown up with, and watched with Lily and James for all those years.  Looking back, it seems like a betrayal to their memory that I ever could have believed you to have been guilty.”

Now Arabella’s voice hitched, and Sirius looked pained. “Arabella, don’t do that to yourself.  You had every reason to believe I was guilty.”

“Well, I know the truth now.  We all do.  And I am sincerely sorry for ever having doubted you.”

“This is all very touching,” Snape coldly observed.  “But we have more important things to discuss.  Can we move on, please?”

Lupin and Arabella, and several other people at the table, shot angry looks in Snape’s direction.

“Well,” Arabella said shortly, continuing on with the matter at hand, “as I’ve already explained, I take Harry’s safety very seriously.  I owe it to Lily and James, and to Harry himself.  After all, it’s because of me that Voldemort is after Harry in the first place, and –“

This time it was Dumbledore who interjected, and quite emphatically.  Harry, meanwhile, couldn’t believe his ears.  His heart was thumping madly.  After all these years of wondering why Voldemort wanted him dead, and people refusing to tell him, was he finally about to find out?

”Arabella,” Dumbledore said, “we will hear none of that.  It is certainly not your fault that Voldemort is after Harry.  That is Voldemort’s fault, and his alone.  Perhaps Peter Pettigrew should share some of the blame –“

“Perhaps?” Sirius snorted. Dumbledore ignored him.

“But it is most definitely not your fault.  If it was not for you, we would not understand the necessity of keeping Harry safe.”

“If it wasn’t for me, there would be no necessity,” she countered.

Harry’s head was spinning.  What were they talking about?  He willed them to continue.  He wanted nothing more in the world than answers, and he was on the verge of getting them.  It all seemed surreal and too good to be true.

“Oh bloody hell,” Mundungus Fletcher interrupted gruffly.  “We aren’t on about that old useless prophecy are we?”

Harry’s tumbling thoughts froze instantly. Prophecy?

“I’m sorry, but can someone please explain what we’re talking about?”  Debbie Plumer put in.  Judging from the faces around the table, she wasn’t the only one who was lost, but her request fell on deaf ears. Fletcher’s words seemed to have hit a sore spot with others at the table.

 “Mundungus, we have discussed this many times,” Dumbledore said curtly, “and we are well aware of your stance on the matter.”

“Well, I’m not,” Karei Cadmus, the young representative from Argentina, interrupted boldly.  “What the heck are we talking about?”  She seemed annoyed, and even more so when no one answered her.

“Dumbledore is right, Mundungus,” Arthur Weasley said forcefully. “And whether you are right or wrong is irrelevant.  Keeping Harry safe is important, regardless of whether the prophecy has already been fulfilled or not.  All that really matters is what Voldemort thinks, because he is still after Harry, is he not?  Harry deserves our protection.”

At that moment, it took every single ounce of Harry’s self resolve to not pull off the invisibility cloak and demand to know what was going on.  What prophecy were they talking about? He’d never heard anything about a prophecy before, and certainly not one that had anything to do with him and Voldemort.  He prayed that his questions were about to be answered. 

“Oh come off it, Weasley!” Fletcher said scornfully, rising from his chair and waving a hand in Mr. Weasley’s direction.  “You don’t fool anyone here any more than they’re all fooling themselves.  I don’t know why I’m even here, none of you can see reason!”  He looked around wildly at the faces around the table, many of which wore expressions of discomfort at this man’s sudden outburst.  Dumbledore rose from his chair, placing his hands on the table in front of him, and asking Fletcher to calm down.

“Please, Mundungus,” he said.  “This isn’t helping.  Please take your seat.”

Dumbledore’s words were unheeded.  “I’m bloody sick and tired of hearing about the damned Night of the Prophecies!” Fletcher continued.  Harry was taken aback by his outburst just like everyone else was, and he heard Arabella Figg let out a quiet sob at Fletcher’s words.  “The prophecy is meaningless now! Why can’t anyone see that?  It has already been fulfilled!”

“Voldemort disagrees, Mundungus,” Mr. Weasley said angrily, rising from his seat as well, which was directly across from Fletcher’s.  “And that’s all that matters.  We’ve been arguing about this for years, why can’t you just accept what needs accepting?”

“Why can’t you?” The other man shouted back.  “Why can’t any of you?”

“Gentleman!” Dumbledore was losing his patience.  But the words kept flying.

“You’re all just too bloody frightened to admit there’s a possibility the world is not yet to be saved!” Fletcher exclaimed.  “You’re putting all your galleons in one vault, and I’m telling you – you mark my words.  You’re going to be disappointed.”

“Even if you’re right, which you’re not,” Mr. Weasley continued, “it makes no difference.  Why can’t you see that?  As long as Voldemort is after Harry, Harry needs protecting.”

Fletcher scowled, and waved his hand at Ron’s father.  “Oh, Weasley, you’re not fooling anyone, you know that?  You’re just like everyone else. You only care about Harry because of some damn prediction.”

Everything seemed to slam to a standstill in the room.  For a split second, everything seemed frozen, except for the way Fletcher’s words stung Harry’s heart.  He knew they weren’t true.  He knew Mr. Weasley genuinely cared about him, as did others in the room.  Sirius, Lupin, Dumbledore, Bill, and Charlie, and even Arabella Figg, it seemed.  But still…what if there was a touch of truth in that?  What if no one really cared about him for him, but because of some stupid prophecy that he didn’t even understand?

In the second it took for Harry to contemplate Fletcher’s words, Mr. Weasley had been pushed too far.   He suddenly lunged across the table in Fletcher’s direction, trying to get his hands on him.  Chairs were flung aside as people around them jumped to their feet, trying to keep the two men apart.  Harry watched in disbelief as the two grown wizards met across the table, throwing punches, and shaking off the hands that tried to pull them away.

“Gentlemen!” Dumbledore bellowed, but the mayhem continued.

“Dad!” Charlie called, pulling at his father’s robes while Bill reached across the table and grabbed their father by the shoulders. 

But Mr. Weasley could not be deterred.  “You bastard, Fletcher,” he gasped.  “How dare you say that-”

“Arthur!”  Sirius’ voice finally broke through the commotion.  “Arthur, come on now.”  Sirius was on his knees on the table, as was Mr. Weasley, who was panting with rage.  Obadiah Kretz had finally succeeded in restraining Fletcher, with the help of Devin Faramond and Alesia Finch.  Mr. Borgin, who had been sitting near Fletcher, was rubbing his right arm above the elbow.  He’d apparently been caught in the fray somehow as well. 

“Arthur, just calm down,” Sirius said, holding Mr. Weasley by the shoulders.  “Calm down.”

“Sirius,” Mr. Weasley said, sounding heartbroken.  “You know that’s not true.  You have to know it’s not true.  I care about Harry, and not because of the prophecy.  I care about him…” his voice trailed off as he ran out of breath.

“I know, Arthur,” Sirius said reassuringly, “I know you do.” 

“Harry is important, Sirius, to our whole family,” Mr. Weasley continued.  “Even if he wasn’t who he is, we would still care about Harry.”

“I know, Arthur,” Sirius repeated. “It’s okay. Sit down, okay?”

Mr. Weasley climbed off the table, half pulled by his sons, and sank back into his chair.  Mundungus Fletcher was attempting to wrestle out of Kretz’s grip, which was not happening.  He gave in after a minute and just stood there, with Kretz holding him by the arms.

“Now,” Dumbledore said, finally being heard.  “We simply cannot have this type of behavior in this Council.”

The room was ringing from the sudden quiet, and every face around the table reflected the sobering mood.

“We have got to stay united.”

“I apologize, Dumbledore,” Mr. Weasley said breathlessly.  “I am sorry.”

“Just try to stay in control next time, Arthur, will you?” the Headmaster replied.

“Of course.”

Fletcher remained silent. 

“Take your seat, Mundungus,” Dumbledore ordered.  He did so, as did Kretz and the few other people who were still standing.

Harry himself needed a moment to regain some composure.  The sudden fight had taken him by complete surprise, and Harry realized that Mr. Weasley had always been right about Mundungus Fletcher; he was a bit nutters.

“All we need to know where Harry Potter is concerned,” Dumbledore began, “is that Voldemort sees him as a threat, and he wants him dead.  We all have seen that Voldemort will go to any length to get to Harry, and will show no restraint in attempting to kill him.  For this alone, if for no other reason, Harry needs protection, and he shall have it.  Regardless of anything that may or may not be preordained, Harry deserves peace of mind, just as anyone else does, and you all should consider it your duty to do whatever you can to ensure it.  Just as you should do for anyone else who needs it.”

Finally Dumbledore returned to his own seat.  “Now, can we please move on?”

Many people in the room still seemed completely lost, but no one dared speak up now to demand an explanation.

Lupin took a deep breath. “Does anyone else have anything to say?”

Harry wished he could say everything that was on his mind at that moment.  He felt like a freight train was moving through his body.  His head was pounding, and his stomach kept flipping over.  What on earth was this prophecy?  And how did it involve him and Voldemort and Arabella Figg? And was there more than just the one prophecy?  Fletcher had said something about “The Night of the Prophecies”.  What did that mean?

“May I just say one thing before we move on?” Arabella Figg asked. 

“Of course,” Dumbledore allowed. 

“Prophecies are a delicate thing.  Some of us have learned this the hard way.”  Harry saw her eyes fill with tears, and Sirius glanced at Lupin, who had looked down at the table. 

“My best friend and her husband died when a prophecy was misinterpreted.  I do not wish to go down that same road again.  Their son deserves better.  He deserves a better chance, and that is what I have worked to give him all these years.”

Was she talking about him, Harry wondered? Had his parents died because of some prophecy? And had Arabella been his mother’s best friend?  At that moment his brain was officially pushed to overload. 

“So please, I beg of all of you.  Keep your heads about you when referring to any prophecy, or attempting to analyze it.  All that matters is the reality that Harry is in danger, and we should protect him.”

“I fully concur, Arabella,” Dumbledore said. 

The room was silent for a moment, and then Lupin spoke again.  “Who else has something to report?”

“I do,” said Charlie Weasley.  “Actually, Alastor Moody and I do,” he clarified.

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore said knowingly.  “Alastor has informed me of your concern. But please, share it with all of us.”

Moody? How did Alastor Moody fit into the Council, Harry wondered?  He wasn’t present, Harry noted with relief.  His cover would have been blown right out of the water if Moody had been there; Moody’s magical eye could see right through invisibility cloaks.

“I’m sorry, who is this Moody?” asked Nabhani Saeed.

“Moody is also a member of this Council,” Charlie explained, “but he couldn’t make it here tonight.  He is a tracker, like Sirius and Tobias, and he’s out in the field at the moment, working.  Moody contacted me about a month ago because he was trying to track Igor Karkaroff, once a Death Eater, and previous Headmaster at Durmstrang Institute.  He had received a tip that Karkaroff had been spotted hiding out in Romania, in the Transylvanian Alps. Knowing I worked there, Moody contacted me for help.  Together, we tracked Karkaroff down, and were observing him for several days.  When we caught up with him, he was living in a cave, and surviving by hunting wild game.  He didn’t know we had found him.  We watched him for a few days, trying to figure out what his plan was.  Moody was concerned about his safety, since Voldemort will surely punish Karkaroff for defecting if he ever finds him.  We just wanted to make sure he wasn’t up to any unsavory activities, and to make sure he was safe.  He seemed to be fine, just surviving on his own, and after a few days, we left him be.

“Moody left Romania, and several days later, a disturbance was reported up in the mountains.  There had been an avalanche and cave-in, and I went up to investigate it myself.  It was the cave where Karkaroff had been staying.  It was completely caved in, and I really couldn’t tell if it was a completely natural disaster or not.  I suspect it could have been, but there is also a possibility that magic was involved somehow.  It’s just a bit too much of a coincidence for comfort if you ask me.

“Anyway, Karkaroff has not been seen since, as far as I know. Moody is still in Romania now, trying to locate him.  We feel that there is a strong possibility he is dead.”

“I have told Alastor to stay on the task,” Dumbledore told Charlie, “and I would like for you to keep yourself alert as well. This goes for all of you.  If you hear or see anything of Igor Karkaroff, report it to me at once.  For now, I think that is all we can do.”

“Yes, sir,” Charlie agreed.

“Have you anything else to report?” Dumbledore asked him.

“No, that’s all.”

“Next order of business?” Lupin asked.  No one spoke, and Harry wondered if the meeting was about to come to a close.  He looked at his watch, which read 1:30 a.m.  He would certainly sleep well that night. 

“I have a question,” a small but confident voice spoke up.  It was Love Gordon, the child prodigy. 

“Yes, Miss Gordon?” Dumbledore replied.

“What is our current plan for moving forward?  It can’t simply be to wait and watch and report.”

“At the moment, Miss Gordon, there is not much more we can do until we gather more intelligence.  That is why I am asking each of you to be alert in your respective areas and occupations.  I think that right now, our most important and immediate task is to get inside information, quickly and accurately.  This is what I am hoping Sirius and Tobias and Alastor can provide us by tracking people we know to be Death Eaters.  If we can get any evidence on any of these people, they can be prosecuted and removed as a piece of Voldemort’s support network.  They can then be interrogated, and we will see what we can learn.  Miss Jones?” Dumbledore addressed Tabitha Jones, the expert in legal issues with the Ministry.  She jumped slightly at hearing her own name.

“Yes?”

“This is your area,” he told her.  “With your permission, I would like to bring any evidence we gather on the Death Eaters to you for your evaluation.  I would not want to report any of these people to the Ministry until we are one hundred percent confident we have enough evidence for a worthwhile prosecution.  Once we have any of these people caught, I absolutely do not want any of them to walk away.  I will be counting on your expertise.”

“Certainly, sir,” she said. “I will do my very best.”

“Thank you.  Is there anything else?” Dumbledore asked the group. 

No one spoke, so Dumbledore continued.  “Once again, I thank you all very much for attending tonight.  Some of you have traveled quite a distance to be here, and that shows great dedication to the task at hand.  I realize that some of you may still not be clear about your role here, and I assure you that all will settle into place in the coming months.  I also realize that you all probably came here expecting to be informed of a great and intricate plan, but the truth is that we are simply not at that point yet.  We all must work diligently together to get there.  And I have nothing but the utmost confidence in each of you.

“This meeting was just the beginning.  An orientation of sorts, if you will.  Trust me when I tell you that you will all be hearing from me again in the near future.

“And now, if you will follow me, I will see you to your quarters for the night.  You will find that your belongings have already been delivered to your rooms.”

So that’s what the house elves had been doing.

“You will also find a midnight snack laid out for your perusal in the common room of the guest quarters,” Dumbledore said, rising from his chair.  Everyone else took the cue and rose as well.  “Might I recommend the buffalo chicken wings,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “They are most delicious.”

People began file out of the room after Dumbledore.  Harry intended to slip out at the end of the line, and carefully rose from his chair, noticing with curiosity that Sirius was lingering behind.  Sirius bade farewell to several people as they passed, then stepped forward as Lissanne Radcliffe was about to exit the room. 

“Miss Radcliffe,” he said, “may I have a word?”

She was clearly startled by this request and exchanged a glance with Dexter Whipple, the Australian Minister of Magic, who was in the line just behind her. 

“Don’t worry,” Sirius assured them both.  “I know where the guest quarters are.  I will escort you there safely, Miss Radcliffe.”

Whipple looked hesitant to leave her there alone with a stranger in a strange castle, but she motioned for him to go.  “I’ll be fine,” she told him with a smile.  “Go on. I’ll meet up with you over buffalo chicken wings.”

“Very well.”

At last the room emptied, and only Sirius, Lissanne Radcliffe, and Harry remained. 

“Do you know me?” Lissanne inquired curiously.  “You’ve been staring at me all night.”

Sirius chuckled. “I know, I’m sorry.  I just couldn’t believe you were here.  Do you want to sit?”  Sirius asked, motioning back towards the table. 

“Sure,” she said, regarding him suspiciously.  She walked back to the table, but instead of taking a seat in a chair, she hopped up onto the table, sitting with her legs dangling off.  Sirius settled himself next to her.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Sirius asked.

“I’m sorry, I don’t.  Although…you do look very vaguely familiar.  I’m sorry, I just can’t place you.”

“It’s okay, I wouldn’t really expect you to.  It’s been nearly sixteen years since we’ve crossed paths.”

He just looked at her, and she studied his face carefully.  At last, a slowly growing sense of recognition passed over her features, and she lifted her hand slowly to her mouth.

“You can’t be,” she said softly, eyes filling with tears.  “You’re…you’re him?”

Sirius smiled.  Harry was very confused.

“Yes.”

“You…you saved my life?”  Her breath caught in her throat, and she let out a soft cry of disbelief.  “You did.  You’re the one.”  She turned her body to face him, a hundred varying emotions in her eyes. 

“Sirius Black,” he said, extending his hand to her.  She shook it numbly.  “It’s a pleasure seeing you again, Lissanne.”

“I can’t believe it.”

Harry’s head was screaming for one of them to explain. 

“I can’t either,” Sirius laughed.  “I remember the name of every person I ever intervened for, just in the hopes of a moment like this.  Of course, you’re the first one I’ve ever seen again.”

“Your job was to save lives?  To get to people and rescue them before Voldemort could find them?”

Harry’s mouth fell open.

“Yes and no,” Sirius explained.  “That was my partner’s job.  Technically, I was a tracker.  I just partnered with him on the side.”

“Why would you do that?” she demanded, confused.  “Why would you put your life on the line like that if it wasn’t your job?”

“Because I couldn’t let him go it alone.”

The young woman was lost for words.  She reached up and wiped away a single tear that had spilled over.

“I remember it so clearly,” she began slowly.  “I was eleven years old, and I was sitting in the lounge room of our house in Sydney.  It was February, and it was bloody hot. I looked out the window and I saw two men Apparate into the yard and start approaching the house.  I thought it was so strange, because they were all bundled up in winter clothing, and it had to be over thirty degrees outside.  They were running up the walkway, and I was afraid, so I got up and hurried into the foyer to lock the front door.  I didn’t realize they were coming to help.”

At this point, a sob escaped her throat, and Sirius reached out to take her hand.

“They started pounding on the door, telling me to let them in, and I was so scared.  I called for my mother and father, but the next thing I knew, I was being thrown across the room.  I never even heard the explosion.  I just felt it, and I remember seeing everything around me go up in a fireball.  I thought I was going to die, and I think I must have blacked out, because the next thing I remember, I was being dragged across the ground.  And that was you.”

She choked back another sob so that she could continue.  “And all of my life since then, I have told myself that if only I had let you in when you were pounding on the door, my family might have made it.  They might have lived.  You and your partner knew Voldemort was after us, and you came to save us, but I didn’t let you…”

“Hey, stop it,” Sirius said.  “It wasn’t your fault.  You didn’t know at the time that your family was in danger.  We should have been able to get there sooner.  We knew Voldemort was after your father.”

“What did you know about my family?” she wanted to know.

“We knew that your father came from a long line of dark wizards and that he was one of the first people Voldemort had tried to recruit as a Death Eater.  When he resisted, Voldemort was not happy, and your father took you and your mother and your brother and fled to Australia.  You all changed your names, and started a new life.  You must have been so scared then.  You were so little, and had no way of knowing what was going on.”

“I do remember that.  I was six years old.  And no, I had no idea why we had to leave home so suddenly and move so far away.  I learned years later that Voldemort had vowed to find us and kill us all, and he succeeded.  Both of my parents and my brother died in that explosion…Did you know my mother was pregnant then?” Lissanne asked. 

“Yes,” Sirius said gently, “I did.”

“I was going to have a sister in two months.”  Another tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away.  “I remember the next day in the hospital, your partner came into my room.  He was in a wheelchair, recovering from his own injuries.”

Harry was intrigued by this story, and by this glimpse into his godfather’s past.  He wondered who this unnamed partner was…he had a growing suspicion…

“He held my hand, and told me that he was sorry he hadn’t been able to save my family.  I told him that my mother had been pregnant, and he started to cry.”

Lissanne’s voice sounded very far away, as if her words were coming from a place long locked away in the back of her memory.

“He told me that he was expecting a baby at home in a few months.  He said that his wife was pregnant too, and he was so sorry that I would never have my sister…even at that age, I understood how afraid he must have been for his wife and unborn child.  Doing what he did for a living – rescuing people from Voldemort’s clutches…that was such a brave thing for him to do.  For you both to do.”

Lissanne looked up into Sirius’s eyes, which were filled with tears as well, Harry noted.

“I never even knew his name.  What ever happened to him?”

Sirius cleared his throat, and then spoke hoarsely. “He…he was killed. About a year and a half later.”

“Oh!” Lissanne gasped, her hand going to her mouth once more.  “I’m so sorry.  That’s just awful. Who was he?”

Sirius just smiled sadly.  “Can’t you guess?  We’ve been talking about his son all night.”

Harry’s heart froze. 

“Oh my goodness…James Potter.”

“That’s right.  He remembered you for a long time, you know.  He felt so terrible that we hadn’t been able to save your family.  He would have wanted you to know that he was sorry.”

Harry’s mind was whirling.  His father had saved lives for a living.  He had worked for Dumbledore, alongside Sirius, and he had worked to save people from Voldemort.  His chest swelled with pride, knowing what an honorable thing his father had done.

Lissanne just nodded, tears finally spilling over, and Sirius reached out and pulled her into his arms. 

Harry felt uncomfortable standing there watching them, and decided to slip out of the room and head back to Gryffindor Tower.  He had so much to mull over, and his brain felt like it was going to explode with everything he had learned that night.  As he made his way through the castle with the aid of the Marauder’s Map, he replayed all the evening’s revelations in his mind, growing more and more bewildered with each passing moment.  It took him a long time to find his way back to the Gryffindor common room, and by the time he gave the Fat Lady the password and climbed through the portrait hole, he felt like he could just collapse right then and there with exhaustion.  The common room clock told him it was after two in the morning, and as he walked towards the stairs to his dorm, he saw Ron and Hermione curled up together on one of the couches.  They had obviously tried to wait up for him, but had fallen asleep, Hermione with her head in Ron’s lap.  He smiled faintly at them, and decided to let them sleep peacefully.  He didn’t have the energy to wake them, and he knew they’d immediately want to know everything that had happened.

It would have to wait until tomorrow.