Harry Potter and the Dangerous Choice

Chapter Eleven:

The Death of Innocence

Thirty-seven. The number was staggering. Harry hoped he had not heard Professor McGonagall correctly.

"There were twenty-two students and fourteen visitors killed in the attack." She relayed sadly. "The death eater, who was caught by the centaurs, was killed as well. There are currently eleven critical cases in the hospital wing. Although Madam Pomfrey has not given up hope, several of those are in very bad condition. There were about one hundred and fifty others who reported injuries." McGonagall's voice cracked and she turned away for a moment. The Gryffindor common room was completely silent as she removed and cleaned her glasses, taking this opportunity to compose herself before going on.

"Because of the location of the attack, the student deaths were mostly from Hufflepuff house, along with a few Ravenclaws. There are a number of students in critical condition as a result of the rush to escape the stadium following the attack. The Slytherins had some minor injuries and none of them presented themselves at the hospital wing for treatment. Gryffindor also received only a few minor injuries, mostly owing to the fact that you lot all jumped down on to the field to help with the rescue, rather than trying to exit with the rest of the crowd." McGonagall paused and surveyed the faces solemnly watching her. She lowered the paper that she had been consulting. Harry noticed that many of the girls were silently sobbing.

"I am very proud of your actions today...proud and grateful. All of you showed courage and cool headedness in the face of sheer panic. I commend you." Her eyes rested on Harry. "I am most proud of the Quidditch team members who captured the culprits, nearly to a man. Very fine job, although you risked great injury or even death by doing so." McGonagall said this with a bit of a warning tone in her voice. Harry did not intend to feel any guilt for catching and sending that lot off to Azkaban, however dangerous it might have been. "By the way, I'm sure you are all wondering about Natalie MacDonald who was knocked off her broom in the explosion. She is recovering in the hospital." Harry glanced quickly at Ron who looked confused and turned to Ginny. She shrugged.

Harry spoke up. "Professor, we could all be helping outside."

"Thank you for the offer, Potter, but Professor Dumbledore wants all students safely secured in their common rooms. Lunch is, of course, long past, but something will be arranged for dinner," said McGonagall.

"Professor, please," said Lavender with a tear stained face, "Can you tell us who died?"

"I'm afraid, Miss Brown, that we will not be able to give out that information until all relatives have been notified." McGonagall looked extremely weary. "Now... I'll need to see you Mr. Weasley, Potter and... Miss Weasley, you as well. Please come with me. And, I hardly think I need to say, the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend as well as Quidditch is cancelled for the time being." Ron looked immediately devastated, and about to say something, but Hermione put a restraining hand on Ron's knee. He looked briefly at her and slumped back in his chair.

Harry rose to follow McGonagall. He felt very stiff. His side, where he had been hit by the death-eaters curse, still hurt him. He had not gone to see Madam Pomfrey, feeling that it was minor by comparison to the injuries others had suffered.

Ron and Ginny followed Harry and McGonagall through the portrait hole. Out in the hall, McGonagall steered them all a few yards down the corridor. It was then Harry noticed a wizard standing near the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Who's that?" Harry asked in a whisper.

"All the houses have a guard at the entrance, Potter. We don't want anyone out and about at this time."

Ron and Harry exchanged a look.

Before McGonagall could speak again, Ginny spoke up., "None of us knew Natalie was hurt. What happened to her?"

"As near as I could tell, she was close to the Ravenclaw sidelines at the moment of the blast and was thrown off her broom stick," McGonagall explained. "The smoke was so heavy that I couldn't see clearly."

Harry felt badly that they hadn't noticed this, even in all the confusion.

Ron cleared his throat. "Professor, the team will want to go see her," he said quite determinedly.

"Not possible Mr. Weasley...not today. I will convey your concern to Miss MacDonald, but I can not let you go to the hospital wing at this time."

Harry, Ron and Ginny looked at each other gloomily.

"Down to business then," said McGonagall, trying to adopt her normal teacher-ly air. "You three saw the most, both in terms of your positions above the crowd and your apprehension of the scum who attacked the spectators. The Ministry officials on site wish to hear your version of events. Please go directly down to the entrance hall, no deviations...understood? Remus Lupin is waiting there to escort you to the Quidditch field."

"Why do we need an escort?" asked Ron.

"Please, Weasley, use your head," McGonagall snapped. Then her voice softened somewhat, "We believe that not all those involved were caught. We are guessing that there were other death eaters in the crowd, enjoying the show. Until the grounds are cleared completely of outsiders, we are not going to risk any further harm to students. I thought that was clear." McGonagall pointed them toward the stairs and then swept off toward the hospital wing.

Harry felt that their footfalls echoed excessively in the all too silent corridors. They found Remus standing, talking to Snape near the front entrance. As they approached, Harry heard Remus say, "Yes, I'll come get my potion before leaving. Will I find you in the dungeon Severus?" Snape nodded. Harry guessed they were discussing Remus' werewolf potion.

"Ah, there you are," said Remus as they came nearer. .

"Well, Lupin, better make sure the heroes of the hour get safely back to their common room. We wouldn't want them to run into any more danger today. Would we." Snape hissed. Then he turned and headed toward the dungeon with his black robes swirling behind him.

"Harry, how's that cut on your head?" Remus asked.

"It's fine."

"Professor Lupin, I think he was hit by a hex or something," Ginny interjected. "He's been holding his side." Harry didn't know whether to be annoyed that she'd told or appreciative that she'd noticed.

"Show me where," demanded Remus.

Harry was forced to pull up his Quidditch robes so Remus could look at the spot on Harry's side where the curse had hit him. There was a large purple bruise, the size of his hand, just under his arm.

"Looks like a stunner," said Remus after careful examination. "It'll be sore for a day or so. Pomfrey can give you something for it. How about you two?" Remus asked. "Any injuries?" Ron said he had cut his arm but Ginny shook her head 'no'. Remus checked Ron's cut and pronounced it minor.

Remus led the way out of the castle and across the stone drive toward the Quidditch field. There were several professors outside the front door, helping students board thestral carriages that had been brought around. The students were accompanied by angry or worried looking parents. Were they being pulled out of school, Harry wondered? He wanted to go over to them and tell them it wasn't Dumbledore's fault or even his idea to allow in spectators who could then attack their children. Then his eyes fell upon the thestrals. He could not help staring at the strange reptilian horses hitched to the front of the carriages. The thestrals seemed to know he was watching them and they all turned and stared back at him.

Harry, Ron and Ginny approached the Quidditch pitch with mild trepidation. Remus was walking with his wand out, and Harry was tempted to withdraw his as well. The stadium looked worse than Harry remembered it. Perhaps the shock and excitement had caused him not to notice the full extent of the damage. Fully a third of the outside wall was blackened or demolished, excepting only, the area where the death eaters had written their message, 'All Enemies of the Dark Lord Will Perish'. Someone had tried to obliterate the obviously charmed message, but it still showed through.

One of the goal rings near the explosion had been knocked down. The pitch, normally green and smooth was rutted and burnt, and there was something else in the grass. Harry looked a bit closer and saw it was blood. He tried not to think about it as he followed Lupin over to an unknown Ministry wizard.

The wizard was directing various activities and they waited until he was free. Remus stepped forward and whispered something to the man who looked over at them briefly, then pointed off toward the end of the field. Remus beckoned them forward, and soon they were facing Kingsley Shacklebolt and another unknown wizard in a dark red cloak.

"Are you three alright?" asked Kingsley as soon as he saw them.

They each nodded as they surveyed the damage to their pitch. Harry noticed a row of body sized shapes lying across the field from them, each covered with a silvery cloth.

"Yes, it's hard to say one is ok after something like this," muttered Kingsley. "Still, I need to have your statements of the events of the match, and the capture of the death eaters. We'll need them at trial. Are you up to that?"

They each indicated they were, and the red-cloaked wizard took up a sort of clipboard with pieces of parchment on top, and a quill. Kingsley asked them to recount the events, stopping them to ask for clarification at several points. The robed wizard copied the story at an amazing rate of speed, never pausing or looking up. Once Kingsley was satisfied, he thanked them again.

Remus started leading them out of the stadium when Kingsley called Harry back. He took Harry out of earshot of the others. "Harry," he said seriously, "I understand that you are interested in auror training once you are done at school. I'd be proud to be your sponsor if you decide to come on-board with us." Kingsley patted Harry on the back. "You have quite a talent for this Harry, an instinct really." Kingsley looked off toward the damage. "Dark days are ahead, and we could use someone with your abilities."

"Thanks, sir," said Harry courteously. He shook Kingsley's hand and walked back to the others, wondering if he'd live long enough to become an auror.

As Remus guided them back to the castle, a group of wizards caught Harry's attention. Daily Prophet reporters, with a wizard photographer in tow, were attempting to talk to Professor Dumbledore. Harry overheard one of them asking if the headmaster had seen the writing left on the outside of the stadium. Dumbledore looked dismissively at the man and simply turned and walked away. Harry kept his head down. He had had quite enough experience with reporters and didn't relish becoming a side bar piece in the Sunday Prophet.

It was nearly nine that evening before McGonagall stepped back through the portrait hole.

"Dinner has been prepared and is ready in the Great Hall. I will accompany you there now. Please eat quietly and return directly here. I will be checking on you in one hour." With that said, the Gryffindors moved silently down to dinner.

It seemed that not all the students had been called to dinner at the same time for only a handful of Ravenclaws were in the hall. No one was at the Hufflepuff table, or the Slytherin table. The Gryffindors returned to their house common room in a group. They did not speak aloud but whispered quietly to each other. Harry found he could not even remember what he just eaten as he swung between grief and anger over the violence.

Most of the Gryffindors went off to bed soon after returning from dinner. Professor McGonagall had taken a sort of roll call and then left them alone, although the guard remained on duty. The common room was nearly deserted by eleven except for he, Ron and Hermione, who had decided that homework might prove a good diversion. It was a familiar setting; sitting at a well-worn wooden table near a bright fire, books, parchment and quills strewn about. It was the same, but also somehow different. Death had come to Hogwarts. For all the strange, frightening, and magical events that Harry had experienced since he stepped foot into the wizarding world, there had never been deaths at Hogwarts School.

The idea of the slain students caught in his chest. He looked up at this friends and he could see that neither appeared to be focused upon homework but seemed lost in thought. Harry dropped his quill and closed his book. No use attempting to write a paper on the process of charming plants to be luminescent, when even now, dead bodies were probably being removed from the castle.

Harry slouched back in his chair. He sighed. "What do you think the death eaters are going to do next?"

His friends both peered up at him with looks of concern. "I dunno," said Ron. "I'd really like a chance to talk to my dad. I bet he'd know what You-Know....I mean what Voldemort is likely to do."

"What good is it doing him, I wonder?" asked Hermione. "I mean, he's scaring the wits out of people but he hasn't made any sort of statement, has he."

"What do you mean?" asked Ron dully.

"I mean, what does he want? Does he want control of the Ministry? Does he want all of us to bow down and take the dark mark? Does he want to enslave the muggle population?" Hermione asked in rapid succession.

"What does it matter what he wants? The main thing is to capture him and stop him somehow," stated Ron.

Harry was feeling the familiar and uncomfortable feeling of guilt, knowing that he was the only one who could kill Voldemort. Still, he could not bring himself to divulge this information to his friends. He didn't want to drag them into more danger by exposing them to the information.

Harry was brought back to the conversation as he realized they were looking at him for his opinion. He felt Ron had missed Hermione's point but did not feel like starting a fight. He merely shrugged.

Hermione said thoughtfully, "If we knew what Voldemort wanted, it might help the Ministry and the Order mount a better defense. For instance if Voldemort wants to get his people into the Ministry then maybe there should be some sort of screening process. Maybe give everyone Veritaserum or something," Hermione was explaining. "If he wants an all out magical battle, then when is the Ministry going to organize our side?"

"You think there might be an out and out battle someday?" Ron asked.

Harry spoke up, "Remus gave me that book for my birthday about magical battles. I've read a bit of it. Remember how I told you about Dumbledore and Grindelwald? Well, the book talks about a lot of battles, but most didn't involve loads of wizards fighting each other. They were more often battles against creatures, like dragons."

"If it did come to a battle with wands, then how would it go? Do you think we'd all meet out on a moor somewhere and battle away?" asked Hermione with a shiver.

"If I were Voldemort, I wouldn't do that," injected Ron. "First, he and his boys are bloody cowards, aren't they? He sent twelve of them to the Department of Mysteries just to get Harry. I reckon they prefer to do this terrorist stuff and just keep everyone on edge."

'Yeah, I wouldn't fancy a huge battle," said Harry slowly, "I mean, there'd be dementors and giants and who knows what. It would be a disaster. Think of the wizards who would die."

"Think of Grawp running amuck," said Ron.

They all smiled at that and then grew silent. The prospect of all out warfare was so hard to envision that Harry's brain became numb.

After awhile Hermione folded her hands on the table and leaned forward. She looked at each of them. "No matter what happens, I just want to say that this time at Hogwarts has been the best of my life. I just hope.....I mean to say....you two will always be my best friends in the world...no matter what happens."

Ron and then Harry agreed with Hermione and then they all fell silent. Harry couldn't help but wonder where they would each be in the future.

During the night, Harry awoke in a sweat with his scar tingling. At first, he thought the entire attack had simply been a bad dream. However as he reached up to touch his scar, he also felt the cut on his head that he had gotten when he fought the death eater. Harry tried to concentrate and soon was able to push Voldemort's unbidden emotions from his mind. He was sure Voldemort was angry over the outcome of the attack. Certainly, he hadn't thought his servants would be captured. Harry was very tired and relaxed back on to his pillow, falling back into a restless sleep.

On Sunday morning, the sky was grey and bleak, as rain washed the castle. The Gryffindors went down to breakfast as a group. The Hufflepuff table was nearly vacant and the Ravenclaws were a sparse lot as well. Slytherin, however, was still well represented. Draco Malfoy looked to be enjoying the entire thing. Harry eyed him across the room, cutting up with his friends and laughing loudly. Professor McGonagall turned a sharp eye on the rowdy Slytherin students and then got up and spoke to Snape, who got a very sour look on his face.

Just then, a plethora of owls soared into the hall. Letters rained down in a torrent upon the students. Ginny received a worried letter from Mrs. Weasley, who had not attended the Quidditch match. She told Ginny that, although they would not call either of their children home from school, Ron and she could come home any time they wished.

Hermione received her copy of the Sunday Prophet and began scanning it. The attack was, of course, front-page news. As she read, Hermione said "Oh No!" quite loudly and pushed the paper across the table. Ron took it and was soon making a face. He began reading aloud, a newspaper article, which quoted Ludo Bagman, "I must admit to being surprised and disappointed that the Ministry could not manage to provide security for the Hogwarts School Quidditch match. So much death, injury and suffering. Minister Fudge must look to his priorities. This incident was simply appalling. Innocent spectators were struck down without warning."

"That old fraud," shouted Ron. "It was Bagman who organized the thing!"

"I told you, Bagman is going for the job of Minister," said Hermione with displeasure. Harry knew that Hermione had been suspicious of Ludo Bagman since they found out he had consorted with death eaters in his younger days.

Buried in the paper, were several smaller articles, not as spectacular, which mentioned possible wizard attacks on muggles. One that was particularly grizzly talked about four muggle vacationers who appeared to have been killed by the Cruciatus Curse. It made Harry shudder. Voldemort was indeed making his presence known.

Dumbledore did not appear at breakfast and the rest of the professors kept a tight rein on the students, insisting they all remain within their various house common rooms except for meals.

Not even rumors were available to help pass the long hours on Sunday, as the Gryffindors waited for word about their schoolmates. Once, Colin Creevey had opened the portrait hole to look out into the hall, and was immediately sent back in by their guard, who said he'd stun the next student to try leaving.

On Monday morning, McGonagall entered the common room as the Gryffindors were all speculating whether they were going to be released to get breakfast or not. "The grounds have been swept thoroughly and all non-essential Ministry personnel have left," she announced. "There are still healers here, tending to the patients in hospital. The North Tower is temporarily off limits as it is holding the overflow of patients. The four aurors who have been guarding the dormitories will be assigned to positions out on the grounds for extra protection while the Ministry decides on a more suitable arrangement." She looked at them. "Any questions?" There were none, so she released them to go to breakfast and to their classes.

Speculation about the deaths was rampant. Any missing student, particularly if they were a Hufflepuff, was being considered dead. It was causing a bit of a stir, too. Harry watched a Ravenclaw boy who was obviously reporting a list of dead students to a group of girls, leave red-faced when one of the girls, a Hufflepuff, shouted at him, "I am NOT dead!" Harry thought an announcement of some kind would certainly be better than this.

He got his wish that evening before dinner. A large burnished gold plaque had been place on the wall in the first floor hall across from the four hourglasses that kept track of house points. The plaque contained the names of the students killed in the attack. Magical candles hovered near it illuminating the names. Students were crowded around the plaque, some with tears in their eyes.

The Great Hall was draped in black and twenty-two candles hung in mid-air, in front of the head table, one for each dead Hogwarts student. Dumbledore, dressed in black robes, swept into the room once they were all seated. He waved his hands and the twenty-two candle flames burned a bright blue.

"It has been a dark few days for Hogwarts School." He began. "We have lost friends who brightened our lives. It is impossible to put into words how I feel about the events of Saturday. So I will not. I ask instead that everyone stand in silence while I read the names of the fallen."

All the students rose and stood silently as Dumbledore read the role of the dead. "Elenor Branstone....Owen Cauldwell....Michael Corner...." As he read each name, a blue-flamed candle would die back down to yellow. "Laura Madley....Amie Stunpike...Alec Summers..." It gave Harry a chill that he could not shake. Finally, Dumbledore read "Kevin Whitby," and all the flames extinguished.

No one seemed to be very hungry that night. Harry could not remember when more food had gone uneaten. Ginny and Hermione were trying to work out how many students had simply gone home. In the end they estimated that fully one hundred students had left the school. The only good news was Natalie MacDonald's return to Gryffindor tower after dinner. She was greeted with cheers, and made to re-count her version of the explosion and her fall, several times.

Classes were slow and plodding the next week. No one could shake the feeling of deepest depression that hung over the castle, and the charred walls of the Quidditch field. Going out on the lawn, an activity that normally was accompanied by a sense of freedom was now a reminder of the calamity.

Potions was now the best part of Harry's day. It was quiet and unhurried, making it the one class in which he could put aside the recent tragedy. Mac would give him an assignment and then let him alone, unless he had a question. On Thursday, during his potions lesson, Harry struggled to dice a Runespoor egg. Mac looked over his shoulder. "Working quite hard at that, aren't you boy?"

"Uhh...sorry, should I start over?" asked Harry. He knew he was making a bit of a mess out of it, because he wasn't concentrating.

"Boy, can you tell me when the exact dicing of potions ingredients matters?" queried Mac.

"Ummm, sorry no. I mean I thought it was all the time. At least Snape was very particular about how we chopped things up."

"Oh, I'm sure he was," said Mac. "Nice even chopping makes for easier measuring, but it doesn't normally change the efficacy of the potion. Therefore, don't worry about it," instructed Mac. "Think of it this way, young Potter. If a potion requires a toad liver and you have two toad livers, one slightly larger than the other, which should you use?"

Harry thought this was a trick question, having spent so many unsatisfying hours learning potions from Snape. "It....doesn't matter?" he replied tentatively.

"Right you are," said Mac enthusiastically. "All this worry over exact fussy chopping and grinding is just so much balderdash. If the recipe says 'exactly', then measure that way. If not, chop as you like; just get it done and in the cauldron. It's much more important to add the correct ingredients, in the correct order, the rest is theatre." Mac walked back to his desk and sat down. "I'll be showing you something, in a few weeks that will make this all moot anyway," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "You'll like it."

Mac turned back to book he was consulting and left Harry to finish. A few moments later, he spun in his chair, "By the way, Harry, my invitation to dinner still stands. How does this Saturday night suit you? I'll get permission from McGonagall for you to be away from your common room, in case there is still some sort of curfew."

"That's great," replied Harry brightening. His mind now turned to a whole load of questions he might have answered.

When Harry related the invitation to Hermione and Ron, they proposed that they come to dinner with him, but under the invisibility cloak. They were keen to hear, first hand, what MacNessa might tell Harry. Although it sounded exciting, he did not want to trick Mac in that way, and refused to agree. He promised to report fully when he returned.

On Saturday night, Harry arrived five minutes before the appointed time, at the Defense Against The Dark Arts classroom, and climbed the stairs to the apartment where Mac lived. He knocked expectantly on the door.

"Come in, young Harry," said Mac. "And, please, sit down."

Harry looked around the room. It had several large comfortable chairs, a desk that was clean, except for a neat pile of papers stacked on one side, a roaring fire, and a small table filled with a platter of turkey, a bowl of peas with butter and some winter squash. There were plates and silverware arranged for two. Harry took a seat. It was a cozy room, with some pictures in old frames on one wall and a bookcase full of battered, but neatly arranged books on another wall.

"Harry, my boy, so good you could come. I have wanted to have a more informal talk with you since the first day we met." Mac was busy at the sideboard. "Do you like butterbeer, boy?" Mac asked.

"Yes sir," responded Harry.

"Now, Harry, none of that 'sir' business with me, remember?"

Harry smiled, and nodded. He had a difficult time referring to a teacher in another way, no matter how hard he tried.

Mac handed Harry a cold butterbeer, and Harry swigged down a bit of it, rather unsure how to begin a more 'informal' conversation.

"How are your fellow Gryffindors taking this latest attack?" asked Mac.

"Oh, I dunno," said Harry. "Everyone is pretty upset about it. I'm worried about what Voldemort is likely to do next."

"Seems a fair concern," observed Mac, settling himself in a chair next to Harry, with a glass of, what looked liked, fire whiskey. "Tell me about the relatives you live with, your aunt and uncle, I take it?"

Harry told Mac about living with the Dursleys. He tried to avoid seeming judgmental, but Mac could clearly read between the lines, for he said, "Sounds a sorry lot to me. I'm surprised that Albus put you there. Even though your relatives were all gone, I am sure some other wizarding family would have been glad to take you in," said Mac as he poured himself another drink from the bottle.

He sighed heavily. "As I said, I knew some of your family." Mac paused, starring into the fire. "I knew your grandfather quite well. We had occasion to work together on some.... projects. Your grandfather was a fine man. He was honest and trustworthy. I liked him very much. He used to come to Ireland some times, and we'd go for a drink at the pub. Oh, how we'd laugh and talk....Fine man," concluded Mac.

"I'd like to know what job he had and where he lived," said Harry.

"You have been told absolutely nothing then, boy?" asked Mac incredulously. "I don't understand it." Mac shifted in his chair. "No one has told me it was a secret, so... why not. Harold Potter, your grandfather and namesake, was an auror for the Ministry of Magic, and a first class one at that. He practically invented the concept. Before he joined the Ministry as a young man, the dark arts were simply ignored. Only when a really bad case erupted, where Muggles were involved, or people were killed, did the Ministry try to act. That just resulted in more injuries and deaths, because the responders were not trained to disarm a dark wizard. Your grandfather and five other wizards decided to form a team to track down dark wizards and to train others in defensive arts. The Ministry was only too glad to sanction it, as it got them out of the line of fire, so to speak. Your grand dad did a lot of good over the years."

"I met him first when I came to the Ministry for training. Your grandfather wasn't too much older than I but what talent! Wizards came from all over to see his techniques. He was a magnificent dueler. I remember he had an invisibility cloak that he used with great effect. They are quite rare, you know."

Harry nodded and tried not to smile. His cloak must be that very cloak.

"He died, I believe, about the time you were born. I don't know the details, as it was hushed up. There was a lot of fear in the wizarding community at that time. Voldemort was the latest fiend on the rampage. Your grandfather had retired by then, but he was still helping out occasionally. Knowing him as I did, I'm sure he made a spectacular end of it." Mac laughed and drained his drink.

"We ought to eat this before it gets cold," said Mac. With that, he drew the table between them and loaded Harry's plate with some of everything then filled his plate too. Between mouthfuls he said, "I met your dad, James, a few times when he was a boy. The last time I saw him was when he was about eleven, just coming to Hogwarts. All excited he was. Wanted to play Quidditch on a house team very badly. He was a handsome boy, but he had your same unruly hair," quipped Mac, reaching over and slapping Harry's arm. "You know that he became an auror too. Could have just sat back, because your family was quite wealthy, but he did his part, I hear."

Harry was content to sit and listen to anything Mac could tell him. It was better than Christmas or his birthday. Mac regaled him with several stories about his grandfather, fighting banshees and vampires. His grandfather always seemed to be on the brink of being killed or cornered when he would escape in some fantastic way. Most of the stories seemed embellished, but Harry didn't care. He sat listening with rapt attention.

Then Mac sighed. "The story that I can never forget is the story of the ambush by Grindelwald of the aurors who had gone to capture him." This was the story Harry had read about in the book from Remus. "Yes, boy, that was the end, as far as I was concerned, although I didn't quite realize it at the time. We were surprised that night, we were. Thirty of the Ministry's finest. Wished we would have had Albus on hand too, but we didn't. Grindelwald had got wind of our plans and it was my fault. I got a bit drunk one night in a tavern and I told a fellow auror about the coming raid. Turned out he was a traitor. He tipped off Grindelwald. I led the raid in which twenty good wizards died. I did what I could, I fought my best, but it wasn't enough. Your grand dad was injured pretty badly that night. I managed to pull him out. He forgave my blunder and even spoke in my defense when I was hauled in front of the Wizengamot." Mac sighed and stared into space. "He was fond of the quote 'Great deeds are usually wrought at great risk' I'm in his debt to this day.... but I couldn't go on. Couldn't risk my own flaws putting others in danger."

Harry didn't know what to say, "Mac, sir, anyone could be taken in like that...by an enemy that is."

Mac looked at him appraisingly, but with a bit of bemusement. "Harry, the day you see a comrade killed due to your error, you will be able to judge what the proper response is. I hope it never happens to you. For me, I kept second-guessing myself. There was a point where I could not go on with it. I had lost all confidence and I knew I might be a liability in a fight rather than an asset. I went off on my own, taking jobs that suited me, working alone, endangering no one but myself. My friends said I was reckless. That may be. I felt decidedly guilty for the massacre. Those were dark years. Albus wanted me back in the Ministry when that slime Riddle started making noise and spreading dark magic again. So I went back. I worked in the department but not as a field operative. Then the Prewitt boys were killed by death eater scum. It brought it all back, all back.... We pulled their father out of that cursed necromancers hell the night of the ambush. He was barely alive. Now his boys were dead. I just couldn't do it any more. I couldn't be responsible to send someone to their death. I could go myself, but I couldn't lead others. So I left again."

Harry suddenly felt a lump in his throat. He, Harry, was responsible for a death. Sirius' death that was due to his error.

By the time they got to the treacle tart, Mac had finished most of a bottle of fire whiskey and was losing his place during his stories. Harry tried gently keeping him on track. Finally, Mac leaned closer and raised a finger in the air. "I must warn you of something Harry. Albus has something in mind for you, and you in particular. Albus is the smartest and most powerful wizard of the age, and he's got you tagged for something important. I'm sure it has to do with your connection to Voldemort." He paused, looked briefly at Harry's scar, and took another drink. "And as far as this Voldemort is concerned, he's a low, good for nothing, criminal. Voldemort, what a name, where did he get that name," mused Mac.

"There's always another one, boy. Always another bully, always a new war. I'll tell you young Harry; I'll not fight any more wars. I'm too old and I don't care to be involved. I'd do anything for Albus, anything but that. He knows it. When he asked me to come and teach you, he said I'd be helping the cause. Although, I've yet to figure out how training one boy will help very much," said Mac. "Even one like you.

"Why you boy, I've asked myself. Still, if Albus wanted me to know he'd tell me. That scar of yours is the key..."

Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that Mac had guessed part of the answer, but wasn't going to ask. Mac splashed some more fire whiskey into his glass and downed it. He eyed Harry up. Then with his glass raised, he aimed an unsteady finger in Harry's direction. "Boy, you're good, you know that. You have the kind of talents that made your grandfather a mighty force in the wizard world. I watched you during that Quidditch match and you can really fly. You're not a great one for the books, but you have intuition, and you have a feel for magic. It comes natural to you," Mac tipped back his glass again. "It's a dangerous gift, young Harry Potter! Mark me now, if you're not careful, it will be the death of you." The last words were quite slurred. Mac sagged back in his chair, closed his eyes, and was soon snoring loudly.

Harry got up quietly and left. It had been an interesting evening. As he walked along the cold stone corridors, he was deep in thought and almost walked past the portrait hole. "Billywig," Harry said, and the Fat Lady bid him enter.

Harry found Ron and Hermione seated by the fire. Hermione staring at an open book with Crookshanks curled on her lap. "How did your dinner go?" she asked cheerily. Ron was playing with his wizard chess set, but kept glancing at Hermione.

Harry told them all he had heard. Hermione sat up and shooed Crookshanks off as he spoke. "Harry, that's very interesting, isn't it," she asked. "I wonder what he meant about not fighting anymore. I'd think he, of all people, would have a grudge against wizards like Voldemort." Harry didn't have an answer.

After a bit, Hermione said good night and climbed the staircase to the dormitory. Harry sat down across from Ron and set up the black chess pieces. Ron smiled, taking the hint, and set up the white ones then made his first move.

"Ron, are you doing anything about... well, about Hermione?"

"What?...Oh...Ummmm...I can't seem to come up with the right words, or something." He said blushing. "I mean, we sat here all night and all I could do was to talk about her cat. It was easier talking to her before I decided I liked her."

Harry sniggered and that made Ron smile. "Prepare to be slaughtered!" Harry said as he moved his pawn.

It was very late when Harry and Ron finally went up to the dormitory. Harry changed into pajamas and crawled into bed. Soon Harry was dreaming. He was flying very fast and low over the ground on his Firebolt. He turned around and his grandfather was on the broom with him. His grandfather whispered, "Great deeds are usually wrought at great risk, Harry." Then Harry faced forward and felt the wind in his face. He smiled dreamily and rolled over.

Monday classes began as usual. The professors seemed be giving less homework than they might normally have. In Care of Magical Creatures, Theodore Nott stood by himself, head down. Harry gestured to Ron and Hermione to stay where they were and he moved over closer to Nott. As Hagrid was hauling a very reluctant mooncalf out into the paddock, Harry whispered to Theodore. "You gave me the wrong location."

"I think they were going for the station, then thought the match was more spectacular or something. After the match, I overheard Malfoy talking and I think the Quidditch team had been warned to stay away from the Hufflepuff section. They didn't include me so they may suspect me," said Theodore flatly. Harry saw a vague fear in Nott's eyes.

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing I can do. Just hope they don't curse me in my sleep, I guess."

Harry was worried about Nott's safety. He had tried to help, after all, and if the Slytherins had known about the attack, they would certainly not hesitate to hurt Nott if they decided he had passed on information. "Maybe you should leave school for awhile," suggested Harry, "Fake an illness or something."

"What, and go home to more of the same? No thank you, I'll take my chances here. Now back off if you don't mind, I'm in enough trouble as it is."

At the end of class, Harry recapped the conversation with Theodore for Hermione and Ron.

Ron asked, "Wonder if anyone has ever changed houses while at school. I mean there's plenty of room in Hufflepuff. He could go there."

Ron went off to Divination class and Harry headed for the Room of Requirements for his potions lesson. Two periods of potions a day was getting to be rather monotonous. Mac attempted to make the lessons interesting, but to Harry, it was just cauldron after cauldron of murky liquids. Some were very fascinating and would certainly be helpful, but mostly, they were just poured away in the end, once they had been tested. It was a lot of work for nothing.

"Boy, what's troubling you?" asked Mac as he looked over Harry's shoulder into his cauldron.

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Harry.

"For starters, I don't know what you're making there, but it certainly is not vanishing draught."

Harry looked down into the bubbling sludge in front of him and he sank down onto his stool. "Evanesco" he said absently and the cauldron was once again empty. "Sorry, sir. I guess I'm not concentrating."

Mac released a heavy sigh. "Well, young Potter, if Potions is not the thing today, then it's not the thing. No sense wasting time on it if you're not up to it."

Harry began to protest that he could try again. He began to feel terrible that he was wasting Mac's time. Mac raised a hand to stop him. "Harry, one must not waste valuable time on a worthless endeavor. You have done very well with the potions work we have tried thus far. If today isn't a Potions making day for you, then let's do something else, shall we?"

Harry perked up at this suggestion. He had no idea what sort of day it was, but he was glad to be let off cooking up more sludge. "What say we take a bit of a walk?"

"Ok," said Harry.

Mac threw on his cloak and told Harry to leave his bag. Then they set off out the front entrance. As they came to the edge of the lawn, one of the Ministry guards approached them. Mac pointed out toward the edge of the forest to where they intended to go. Mac seemed to have little trouble getting him to allow them to continue. Harry was reasonably sure that Dumbledore would not want him walking out here, but he was with Mac, and they were not going very far. Mac scanned the area and headed off northeast toward a rocky area. It was a fine day for a walk and Mac made small talk as they tramped along. When they reached the edge of the woods near the bottom of the rocky hill. Mac halted and plopped down on a fallen log for a breather. Harry joined him.

"Harry, I want to apologize for being a bad host at our dinner. I'm afraid I imbibed a bit too much; it's a fault of mine."

"It's ok sir."

"I hate to bring this up as I believe you are under orders to keep certain things to yourself, but I sense in you the attitude of one who has a heavy burden...a burden you are not prepared for. Please don't answer." He said raising his palm. "I don't wish to know. I am sure Dumbledore has his reasons and plans. I simply want to be able to help you if I can. I see the potential for greatness in you, boy. I had intended to speak to you about this last evening."

"I will say it like this, and I hope my point will be clear, then I'll not offer again. If at any time, you have any question for me, please feel free to ask it. I will not take it for more than that. I will not ask why you want the information, and I will do my best to provide you with what you seek. The danger will be that you must judge the information you receive in light of what you need." As Mac talked, he avoided looking at Harry and instead gazed off at the green rolling hills.

Harry had many questions and unlike most of the adults he knew, Mac had never treated him as a child. He thought he'd try the question most pressing on his mind, but one that no one else had allowed him to ask. It was the killing curse. He felt someone should be showing him how to perform it, as he knew of no other way to kill someone. Even though he knew he couldn't duel with Voldemort, still somehow, he guessed he'd have to know it. Voldemort was certainly going to try to kill him.

"Sir, there is one thing," began Harry. "Uhmmm...I've seen the Unforgivable Curses demonstrated but I've never been shown how to do them. Particularly, Avada Kedavra. I mean, how does a person learn to do a curse like that?" Harry reddened having said it, and immediately wished he hadn't. Why had he asked that? It must have been because Mac was so easy to talk to. He wished he could pull back his words.

Mac turned toward Harry appraisingly. "So you'd like to kill something living, would you now?"

"Well, when you put it that way, it sounds all wrong." He was sure Mac was angry about his request and he felt he should have explained himself better. "Well... like in the war...if someone is going to kill you and you have to kill them.... to stop them killing you, I mean..." Harry trailed off. "Seriously, just forget I asked."

"So the question is, if you must kill, if you are forced to kill, how do you do it?"

"Yes sir," said Harry uncomfortably.

"Do you realize that it is illegal to use an Unspeakable Curse?"

"Yes sir."

"I'm guessing you have your reasons for asking to learn this, Harry. I am heartened that you are not asking how to torture or to manipulate others. Also, you are asking how to kill in self-defense. What you must come to grips with is that knowing how to kill, allows you to kill, in self-defense or not. Once you kill young Harry, whatever the motivation, it will change you."

Harry stood silently, considering his shoes.

"So, boy, what type animal do you feel you could kill?" asked Mac. Harry looked at him, thinking Mac was toying with him. "I'm not being facetious. A dog?... a sparrow?... a hinky punk?"

"I don't...really...Can you teach me without us actually killing anything?"

"No, boy, it's unlikely that you would be able to perform this particular curse successfully without a few goes at it. In addition, you cannot perform this curse without a live target. Lack of practical training...it's what keeps the murder rate down."

Harry sighed angrily, "All right, spiders then. I could kill a spider." Harry hadn't realized this would be so difficult.

Mac still did not look at Harry. "I will arrange something suitable."

"Do you think badly of me Prof...I mean Mac, for asking you this, that is?"

"No young Harry. I feel badly that for some reason, a person such as yourself feels that they need to learn this skill at your age."

In the ensuing silence, Harry stared off in the distance toward a rocky hill crowned with a heavy growth of briars. Mac stared off toward it too and then turned toward Harry, changing the subject. "Have you ever been up on that hill, boy?" he asked pointing.

"Ummm...no" said Harry.

"I don't know if you realize it, but Grindelwald is imprisoned in a large standing stone that is surrounded by those briar bushes. That's the very spot Dumbledore had the final battle with him."

Harry looked from Mac the distant hill, with his mouth open. "Just there?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Yes, it's quite an oddity, really. In the light of a full moon it is said to pulse."

~ ~ ~

"When is the next full moon," Harry asked Hermione when they were back from dinner and seated around a study table in the library.

"Let's see, the next is in about two weeks, I think."

"We have to go out past the north side of the castle and see this stone thing, up in the hills. Grindelwald is there," said Harry. He opened a bookmarked page in his Magical Battles book and shoved it over toward Hermione and Ron. Then he explained what Mac had told him. "I'd really like to see that stone, what do you say."

Hermione's reaction was that they had been told to stay close to the school. Ron was ready to go that moment. In the end, Hermione said she'd look up the date of the full moon and agreed to go along with them.

Harry did not mention the Avada lesson he had asked for. Once, he nearly divulged it as they were talking, but Harry quickly realized that Ron and Hermione would not take the same attitude toward it that Mac had, and would insist on knowing what Harry had in his head, learning an Unforgivable. He would have to tell them why, and he still did not want to. Anyway, he thought, no one needs to know.

When they left the library an hour later, they headed toward the owlry. Ron had written a note to his mum, who was insisting on regular letters to check on his general well-being. Ron's notes were very short and Harry doubted that Mrs. Weasley could get much comfort from 'I'm fine, send more mince pies'. Rounding a corner on the fifth floor, they heard the voices of McGonagall, Sprout and Snape, echoing in the silent corridor. Hermione put out an arm, shunting them back and motioning them to wait and listen.

"...he'd never leave Hogwarts even if the Ministry asked," McGonagall was saying. "He didn't agree to it last time and I'm certain he wouldn't now."

"But, he'd be the best candidate and he'd have popular support," replied Sprout. "Well, don't look like that Minerva! What do you say Severus?"

"Of, course the headmaster would be well accepted, but I think he has other, more pressing concerns tied to the school. I don't think 'duty' would allow him to leave at this time. I think Bagman more likely," concluded Snape. McGonagall and Sprout gave out sounds of disgust, but Snape said pompously, "Forgive me, but I have work to do."

Hermione, Ron and Harry attempted to adopt an air of nonchalance so that, as Snape appeared around the corner, they would seem to have been just walking along and not eavesdropping. Snape scowled at them as he passed, paying particular attention to Harry, who did not need to avoid making eye contact.

Pigwidgeon was fluttering and hooting madly at the prospect of taking Ron's letter. He rested on Ron's shoulder and proudly presented his leg so Ron could attach the parchment scroll. Once they finished sending Pigwidgeon off, and Harry had offered Hedwig some owl treats, they trooped back to Gryffindor tower to resume studying.

McGonagall had announced a test for Monday and even though they had all weekend to study, Hermione insisted on quizzing them for it as they did their other homework. Around midnight, Harry felt his brain was full near to exploding and decided to stop and take a break. "Does anyone fancy a snack?" he asked.

"Sure" said Ron, "Are you going down to the kitchen then?"

"Thought I would."

"Well see if they have some of those mince pies, mate," said Ron. Harry noted that Ron seemed to have a one-track mind when it came to food.

"You're not supposed to be out of our dormitory, though Harry," said Hermione.

"I'll get the invisibility cloak...it'll be all right," said Harry as he bounded up the stairs.

Harry took off for the kitchen being careful to avoid any prowling teachers, or Mr. Filch. Soon he was tickling the pear in the picture that hung in front of the door to the kitchen. He was greeted by loads of smiling elves all dressed in neat Hogwarts tea towels.

"Can we helps you, Mr. Potter?" asked the elf in front.

"Ya, could I get some of those great mince pies and some pumpkin juice?"

"Certainly," squeaked the elf enthusiastically. A dozen house elves scurried off and returned with a load of sweets, meat pies and juice. He thanked them and juggled the load of treats under his cloak as he carefully walked back up to Gryffindor tower. He thought he saw the swishing tail of Mrs. Norris, Filches cat, chasing something in the third floor corridor, and took the long way around so as to avoid running into her.

Harry finally entered the portrait hole, still under the invisibility cloak, loaded with the cakes and juice, from the kitchen. In the common room all the candles were extinguished and the room was lit by fire light. Ron and Hermione were standing together near the window in the far corner of the room and he was sure, had not heard him come in. Before he could speak and announce his presence, he noticed something different about their stance or mood that made him pause. As he watched, he noted they were talking very quietly and looking down at their feet. Ron was looking rather flushed. Then Ron reached over and took Hermione's hand. Now Hermione flushed. Harry got the uncomfortable feeling that he should either announce himself, or leave, but he couldn't seem to pull himself away from the scene.

Then came a moment that seemed inevitable. Ron put his arm around Hermione's waist and pulled her toward him. As they kissed, Harry felt the bittersweet sensation of elation that they had finally got on with it, and the sense of loss that he was somehow left out. He decided he'd be happy for them. They were his best friends, and they had certainly been moving toward this moment for a long time.

Harry decided to give them a few more minutes and silently went back out into the hallway. He set his bounty down on the floor and went to lean on the stone windowsill. Looking out into the night, he saw the pinpoint of yellow light from Hagrid's cabin. Hagrid was out there, alone, just as he was here. It wasn't so bad, being alone, when you were always used to it. He decided that before he became melancholy again, he'd burst in on the lovers. After all, he was just feeling sorry for himself. Picking up the treats, he announced the password loudly and bustled into the common room as noisily as he could. Ron and Hermione turned smiling and embarrassed faces on him, as they greeted his return.

The next day was Defense Against The Dark Arts. Mac gave a lecture about various beings that were commonly considered 'dark' by the Ministry or by wizards in general. He said they would be discussing the facts about vampires, werewolves, merpeople and banshees. At the noon break, Harry and Ron strolled out on to the lawn and plopped down on a bench in the sunlight. It was a clear, bright day, unusual for this time of year. Many students were taking advantage of the nice weather to be out-of-doors.

Ron looked as though he had something to tell Harry. He was shifting nervously on the bench. "Uh...if I tell you something, you've got to promise not to say anything."

"Go on then," encouraged Harry, holding in a grin.

"I kissed Hermione in the common room last night," said Ron proudly.

"You and Hermione...I never thought you'd get around to it! Remember some of the things you said about her our first year?"

"Ya, well, she grows on you," Ron said philosophically.

Harry shushed him as Hermione, Neville and Ginny approached.

"Anyway, well done," he whispered. Ron was all smiles.

The Christmas holiday was approaching quickly. There was a lack of snow outdoors with the air remaining unusually dry. The castle, however was getting its normal festive trimming, with beautiful trees and swags of balsam and berries everywhere. Flitwick had enchanted the entrance hall to give the appearance of falling snow.

A letter had come from Remus to make sure Harry was planning to come there for Christmas. Remus said he would be picking Harry up at the train station in London. Harry had asked Ron if he wanted to come along to Grimmauld Place but Ron was avoiding the question. The Weasley's were off for a brief visit with Charlie, so Harry couldn't understand why Ron was reluctant to make a decision. Hermione was going home to visit her parents over the break. She was worried over their safety given the recent attacks.

Knowing Ginny would be left at Hogwarts until her parents returned near Christmas, Harry asked her to Grimmauld Place as well. "I can't get a straight answer out of Ron, though," said Harry.

"I'd love to come," said Ginny. Then she whispered to Harry that she thought Ron was hoping to be asked to visit Hermione over the holiday.

"Oh!" said Harry. Well, of course they would want to spend time together he thought. They wouldn't want to spend all their time with him. He'd be spending the holiday with a werewolf, a house elf and a hippogriff. Then he chided himself for this thought. After all, he really liked Lupin, Dobby and Buckbeak and couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.

During his last Potions lesson before the holiday vacation, Mac told Harry to put on his cloak and come along with him. They left the castle and headed across the cold windy lawn toward the forest. Mac had a sort of determined look on his face and did not speak. Harry kept his questions to himself. Mac followed a path toward a clearing that Hagrid had sometimes used to show them magical creatures. The woods was silent except for the snapping twigs and crackling, dry leaves under their feet. Within the open area, and tied to an old stump was a great wild boar. It snorted and stomped about as they approached. The boar's beady black eyes surveyed them suspiciously, as it tossed its curled horns.

"Harry, we are here to see if you can succeed with the Avada Kedavra curse.

Harry felt a lump form in his throat. He had forgotten about his request to learn the Avada curse, and now he was, apparently, on the verge of performing it.

"In order to make sure you can succeed, we needed a reasonable sized subject. This animal was intended for the dinner table tonight. Once we are finished here I'll return it to the kitchen garden where I got it, whether it is dead or alive."

Harry felt somewhat better that what he was about to do would have been done anyway. With a tiny feeling of relief, he focused on what Mac was saying. "A wand is a conduit to concentrate and focus a wizard's power. To succeed in the Unforgivable curses," Mac explained, "one has to summon up a really strong emotion, such as hatred or anger, or possibly fear. Some wizards are so evil, they exude those emotions and they are always primed, so to speak, to give these curses. The average wizard is not."

"You, who have never done a thing like this, will have to imagine someone or some situation that inspires a great deal of hate or anger in you, and then channel that emotion through your wand, as you say the words, Avada Kedavra. You literally have to pronounce the victim dead, as a result of your anger."

"In a battle situation, it is easier to do. You are in a fight for your life. You have an enemy attacking you. You have just cause and feel justifiable anger. In a wizard, calling out such a strong emotion without a target can be dangerous."

Harry nodded.

"Please take a moment to think of an incident, a person, or situation that makes you angry enough to want to kill. It can be imaginary, such as...if someone tortured your best friend. Most wizards can't manage this curse without a real memory, but for someone your age, Harry, it might be hard to find such a real memory."

For Harry, it seemed there was a lot from which to choose. His aunt and uncle, Dudley and Aunt Marge, for instance, had regularly made his young life a misery. Draco Malfoy's continual harassment was another. However, the freshest, and most raw memory, was that of Bellatrix Lestrange killing Sirius, and then taunting him. That should do it.

"Mac, I'm ready."

Mac looked somewhat surprised. "Uhhh...alright then, so soon, ehh?" Mac said raising his eyebrows. "Well then, bring up your feelings of anger, and let the power of it fill you up. Then direct it at the victim and speak the words."

Harry took several long deep, hard breaths as he brought the feelings from that night in the Ministry Atrium. He hated Lestrange. He pictured her face then he pointed his wand and shouted, "Avada Kedavra." The boar simply strained against the rope and then turned sideways with a snort.

"Harry, if you do not produce the flash of light, you have not produced the spell. It is all or nothing, there is no in between. Try again."

Mac stepped back, then added. "Imagine every detail of your original anger then release it through your wand."

Harry tried again. Nothing happened.

Unlike the Patronus charm, he was not feeling drained from attempting the spell, but after about six serious attempts he was despairing of learning it.

"Harry, some wizards are simply not up to killing. They are not able to summon the hate that is required to execute this curse. You should not feel badly if you are unable to do it. After all, aurors are not even required to perform this curse in order to pass their certification tests. The practice is, understandably, frowned upon."

Mac was trying to make him feel better, but of all the things he had learned this year, he was sure in his heart that this was the most important. He decided to try again. Harry put his hands over his face and tried to block out every other thought except the memory of that night in the Ministry. He tried to recall in detail his godfather charging down the stairs into the room with the veil. He relived the moment that the jet of light had sent Sirius through the veil and beyond his grasp. His chest heaved as he remembered pursuing the fleeing Bellatrix, and her cruel voice laughing at him. Harry felt the rage overcome him and he spun toward the fidgeting boar. He trained his wand upon the animal and shouted "Avada Kedavra!" This time he could feel the rush of emotion flow out of him and through his wand. The green jet of light instantly pierced the clearing and the boar dropped motionless to the ground.

Harry felt spent and bent forward, hands on his knees. Then he felt very ill. He stumbled toward the trees and retched. In a few moments, he felt somewhat better and he walked back toward the dead boar.

Mac looked as though he had not moved since he last spoke. He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest with a look of resignation on his face. He took a deep breath and then spoke. "Success then," he said flatly. "Are you satisfied that you understand how to work this spell?" Harry could not take his eyes off the dead boar. He nodded his head slightly. "Very well then, let's go back, shall we?" Mac took Harry by the shoulders and steered him out of the clearing.

Once out on the lawn, Harry stopped. "Mac, why did I get sick?"

"Boy, summoning that much hate takes its toll. It's a very evil witch or wizard who can speak that curse and not feel the impact of it," replied Mac. "You'll recover. The question is, who could you face and feel enough hatred to kill?"

Harry answered without thinking, "Bellatrix Lestrange." Harry could have said Voldemort, but he didn't want to discuss his reasons and so resisted naming him.

Mac said nothing for a while and they walked in silence.

"Why her?" he asked finally.

"She killed my godfather and she tortured Neville's mum and dad. She..." he was about to tell Mac about the battle in the Department of Mysteries, but bringing it up might present too many questions about the prophesy.

"Harry, my boy, you aren't planning on going looking for her, are you?"

"Oh, uh...no," said Harry. Then another question sprang into his head. "What I'd like to know is, does it work the same on people as animals? I mean would it be harder to do to a person?"

"It would work exactly the same. Except...the second time will be easier," he muttered.

By dinner, Harry was no longer feeling ill from performing the curse. He had an odd feeling of being somehow different now, knowing he could kill. It gave him a heavy dismal feeling that he fought to shake off. He joined Ron and Hermione at the table. Unfortunately, wild boar casserole was on the menu and Harry found he had lost his appetite.

Ron was telling how Professor Trelawney had failed to show up for divination class. It was a long hike to Trelawney's classroom and Ron thought it rude that they had climbed all the way there for nothing. On the other hand, he said he spent most of the class period catching up on his Transfiguration essay. "Didn't she show up at all?" asked Hermione who seemed slightly shocked at such irresponsibility in a teacher.

"No, never did," replied Ron as he dished up some potatoes. "Maybe the tea leaves told her to stay in bed."

On the last day of class before the holiday, The Daily Prophet contained an unexpected story. The headline was printed in huge letters that covered fully half the front page. MINISTER OF MAGIC MISSING. Copies of the Prophet were spread out at intervals at every table and the room was buzzing with conversation. The article included a recent picture of Fudge looking nervously at the camera, hardly his old effluent self. Besides the picture and the headline, the details seemed very sketchy indeed. Hermione read the article and shook her head, passing the paper to Harry who passed it on to Ron. Ron immediately spilled milk on it, which did nothing to help it divulge additional information. Harry looked down the table and caught Ginny's eye. She had seen the article too and shrugged.

Harry re-read it:

It seems that Minister Cornelius Fudge had last been seen at the office a week ago. He had stayed for less than 10 minutes and had talked to virtually no one. He had locked himself in his office, alone, for the whole of his visit and then left the building. Ministry workers who had encountered him, described him as very nervous. Since then, all attempts to find and talk to the Minister have failed. His house elves report that he has not been at home since Monday last. Arthur Weasley, one of the more senior staff members at the Ministry had this comment: "Well, of course the Minister has been under a huge strain of late, what with the public announcement that Lord Voldemort had returned, and the attacks." Sources report that Mr. Arthur Weasley has been called upon to manage a number of recent emergencies at the Ministry of Magic. He has been described by fellow managers and staff as, very cool under pressure.

"It's great to see your dad get some recognition in the paper, Ron," said Hermione.

"Ya, Dad has really been working hard lately. Mum hardly sees him," said Ron.

Harry noticed Hermione looking slowly around the room, and then he noticed it too. It reminded him of the Sorting Hat's song, about how the Hogwarts houses were created to group similar individuals, but that it also divided them when they could use the others help. The Hufflepuff table, a very small group now, seemed anxious and confused. The Ravenclaws were deep in political debate about how the Ministry should handle a missing head. The Gryffindors seemed most concerned to catch the culprit and clear the air, while the Slytherins seemed to find the entire thing quite funny, and were doing bad impressions of Fudge.

Professor Dumbledore came into the Great Hall with a copy of the newspaper crushed in one hand and a look of steely determination set upon his face. He strode to the front of the room and called for quiet. In the silence that followed, he began to speak. "I can see that most of you have read the morning news concerning our Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. First, it is important to remember that although the Minister is missing, the Ministry of Magic continues to function as normal. Therefore, there is no reason for alarm. In a situation such as this, it may become necessary for the Wizengamot to appoint a temporary Minister. Should that be the case, we have many fine individuals who would serve quite admirably. Therefore, I would ask that you refrain from speculating, and certainly from worrying over this issue. The Ministry is in capable hands." Dumbledore turned toward the teachers table and signaled them to follow him. He led them out into the entrance hall, where a low murmur of voices could be heard. Heads were shaking and nodding. Then Dumbledore slung on his cape and left the castle.

"Suppose Dumbledore is going to London?" asked Ron.

"Looks that way," said Harry, returning to his breakfast. Fudge was far from the best Minister of Magic, in Harry's opinion. Fudge had tried hard to get Harry thrown out of school last year just for reporting that Lord Voldemort had returned. Harry thought someone who favored the views of The Order would be more appropriate.

It was supposed to be Professor Dumbledore's day to instruct the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class. The students had been looking forward to it because of Dumbledore's reputation as the greatest wizard of the age. Harry wondered what he had been planning to show them. He doubted that Dumbledore would have shared the type of difficult spells that Harry had witnessed that night in the Ministry, but still he would have been most interesting. It didn't seem as though Dumbledore would be their instructor today.

Once breakfast had been cleared, the house tables were levitated to the center of the room. Soon they were outfitted for a dueling demonstration. Harry looked around and saw Professor Snape striding into the room and sporting an arrogant smile. It was going to be a long day.