The Phoenix and the Serpent

The Phoenixand the Serpent

The entire Harry Potter universe belongs to J. K. Rowling. Any original characters belong to the author and may not be used without permission.

"For the Aurors, the name Gallowbraid was an in-joke--it meant a non-existent person, a red herring. The phrase 'to chase a gallowbraid' meant to pursue a figment of one's imagination. This phrase originated from Alastor Moody's allegations that a Dark Wizard called 'Andros Gallowbraid' was the perpetrator of certain crimes during and after the first reign of the Dark Lord. Having no records of such a man or any proof of his existence, however, it was widely believed that the aging Auror was steadily going senile, that Gallowbraid was simply a concoction of some of the worst Dark Wizards he had sent to Azkaban, and a convenient villain to blame for the cases he could not solve.

Now, of course, we know better. Sadly, that knowledge came after the damage had been done."

-- Lionel W. Bishop, War Journals

Chapter XIII: Black Barrier

Harry stayed propped on his elbows on the bed, shifting his eyes from the wand pointed at him to the young man who held it. Daniel's voice was calm, but his cold stare spoke otherwise. Perhaps it was the look he used on those uncooperative wizards he had to interrogate. Perhaps even the last warning before he let his wand do the talking.

"I was planning on asking you why there happened to be a vampire guarding your family heirloom," Danny began, "but I thought, hey, give the poor bloke a break, he nearly died out there. Maybe I'd ask you later.

"But Death Eaters--they're bad juju. Worst collection of bastards I've ever tangled with. I know one thing about them, though: they don't show up without a good reason. So you better start talking, Robert, because for some reason a lot of people want you dead."

Harry's mind raced for an explanation. As he kept silent, Danny went on, "A friend of mine's downstairs right now lying on the kitchen floor. I don't know whether he's alive or dead. All I know is that happened to him because he didn't know what he'd gotten himself into."

Cedric's deathly pale face appeared in Harry's mind, and cold guilt stabbed at his gut.

"All right," replied Harry. "I'm sorry about this. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt."

"Noble sentiments don't save lives, kid. So, first off..." He prodded Harry's forehead with his wand. "Is your name really Robert Jerome Smith?"

"No."

"Bloody thought not. No self-respecting wizard would have name like that."

"There's a reason why I have to hide who I am. Actually, who I am's the reason."

"And you are?"

Harry looked him straight in the eye. "Harry James Potter."

Again came that crawling sensation, like an icy gust fanning out over his skin. Danny's wand dropped to the floor. As did his jaw.

"Look," Harry began, "I'm sorry I had to keep this a secret, but Dumbledore--hey!"

Danny yanked Harry off the bed by the collar and grabbed him by the head. He traced the lightning bold scar with a thumb, ensuring it was real, then let him drop. Harry's legs gave way and he flopped back down on the bed.

"This has to be some kind of trick!" cried Danny. "It can't be--you can't be Harry Potter!"

"Well, I am!" Harry shouted back. "What difference does it make?"

"What's going on here!" Moody burst into the room, wand pointing this way and that. Mr. Morrow, disheveled but very much alive, was clinging onto his shoulder.

"He's Harry Potter!" yelled Danny, jabbing a finger at Harry.

Moody gave Harry a hard stare. Harry just shrugged. "He made me tell him."

Danny stalked towards Moody. "I was guarding Harry Potter!"

"So what if he's Harry Potter?" came Moody's reply.

"Pardon me," said Mr. Morrow, looking dazedly about. "Who's Harry Potter?" But everyone ignored him.

"Look," Harry said to Danny, "I know I put you in danger! I'm sorry already!"

"Never mind about putting me in danger!" Danny fumed, still eyeing Moody. "I'm protecting the bloody Boy-Who-Lived for what? Peanuts! I could've easily charged Dumbledore a thousand Galleons for this job! Why didn't you tell me he was really Harry Potter?"

"You just answered your own question, pup," Moody replied. "Once you're done screaming like a girl in a Weird Sisters concert, we can get moving. Harry, you'd better put your disguise back on. We're not out of danger yet." Harry did as he was asked, muttering his alias under his breath. Moody left Danny to splutter awhile and got Mr. Morrow to sit down on the bed.

"Excuse me," protested Mr. Morrow, "will somebody just tell me what's happening? Are you people really from the government? Are you talking in some kind of secret code? And why are there hooded men lying on the floor? What in the world's going on?"

"What's going on," said Moody, "is you're about to go to sleep."

"I am?"

"Yes." Moody pointed his wand at him. "Hypnos."

Mr. Morrow jerked once, as if bitten by a snake, then he fell back onto the bed in a dead faint.

"All right, can we stop with the spells already?" seethed Danny. "The poor guy's survived enough jinxes to merit a Medal of Honor!"

Moody jerked his head to the unconscious Death Eaters. "You'd rather we explain this to him, then?"

"I just want to know why we got attacked in the first place," said Harry. "No one else's supposed to know where we are! How did Voldemort know to send Death Eaters here?"

"Good question!" cried Danny. "And while we're asking, WHAT THE HELL DOES THE DARK LORD HAVE TO DO WITH ALL THIS?"

"Shut up!" bellowed Moody. "We can't answer any of that now! Come on! We're getting out of--"

He was cut off by a sudden tapping sound from the window. In a heartbeat, Moody had his wand trained at it, even as Danny dived for his own. Harry looked, and was surprised to find Coven there, floating in the air with his broom.

"Looks like they got to you already," the Medi-Wizard said through the glass, eyeing the unconscious Death Eaters.

"Stay right where you are!" snarled Moody. "No sudden movements!"

"It's really me, Mr. Moody! I had to come back--it's an emergency!"

Moody edged forward, still threatening him with his wand. "And how do I know you hadn't been captured and put under the Imperius Curse?"

Coven rubbed his head. "Well, there's a poser. What does your Foe Glass say?"

Moody reached into his pocket and checked his device. He nodded to Danny and Harry. "All right, come on in."

Coven slid the window open and clambered inside. "Sorry to startle you like this, but I just had to warn you."

"Warn us?" asked Harry, struggling to sit up. "Warn us about what?"

"I was headed west towards to a safe route back to Birmingham. I was nearly outside of Hillsdale when I chanced to look down...and I saw some men, hiding in a copse of trees near the border. They were dressed just like these guys." He gestured at the Death Eaters.

Moody cursed under his breath. "How many?"

"I saw six. There may be more of them, though. I can't be sure."

"Great, just what we need," muttered Danny, "barbarians at the gate."

"Right." Moody looked about, catching everyone's eye. "We took out their entire advanced scout. If these fools don't report back soon, the rest of the troupe will be storming in here before you know it. Time to clear out. Danny, help our boy up. We're making a dash for our Portkey."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Danny retorted. He pointed at the unconscious innkeeper. "We owe this Muggle for helping us out, remember? We can't just leave him here!"

"Oh, all right," Moody said, grimacing. "Coven, do me a favor."

The young Medi-Wizard's face shone with excitement. "Ready for anything, sir!"

"I need you to take this Muggle to headquarters. Lyle will know what to do with him. You'll need to Disillusion yourselves, and you have to keep him knocked out the whole way there or there'll be--"

"Hell to pay--understood!" Coven fairly swooped down on the unconscious innkeeper. "Don't worry. Once I've gotten my Chameleon spells up, I'd be able to fly right up to the Death Eaters and thumb my nose at them."

"Don't act so cheerful, damn it! We're in terrible business here! Our lives are at stake!"

"Don't I know it," Coven replied, eyes gleaming. He dragged Mr. Morrow to his broom and started strapping him into the harness beneath it.

Meanwhile, Danny had slung Harry's arm across his shoulders and was hauling the younger boy to his feet. Harry noticed that he was avoiding looking him in the eye.

"Hey, take care of yourself, Robert," Coven called to Harry. "I sure wish I could go with you guys. Whatever it is you're up to, I bet it's something terribly exciting!"

"Don't I know it," groused Danny.

---

After Coven had gone, Harry and his two companions left the inn and hurried through the deserted streets of Hillsdale. Against Harry's protests, Danny slung him over the shoulder and carried him for most the way. They would often duck into alleys while Moody checked his Dark Detectors for a possible ambush. Thankfully, the way had been free of any nasty surprises. Half an hour later, Harry found himself in the outskirts of town, in the very meadow where they first arrived.

Harry felt his heartbeat quicken as Danny clambered up the tree where he had hidden his hatchet. Now, now I'm going home.

He shut his eyes, could almost see the spires of Hogwarts glimmering in the sunset. He could almost see the look of relief on the faces of Ron and Hermione, almost hear Dumbledore congratulating him for a job well done. He imagined Ginny's face, her brown eyes warm and welcoming, and his heart hurt with anticipation. Imperceptibly his hand reached into his pocket and curled around the Crystal Cage that he'd fought so hard to attain. To go home at the end of it all was enough to make it worthwhile.

"Look out below!" shouted Danny, and the hatchet dropped onto the ground, blade-in-soil. Danny leaped down after it.

"It's touch-triggered now?" asked Moody, hobbling forward.

"Sure is," Danny said. "Takes three people to activate the exit method. Just grab on and we're out of here."

Moody grunted and crouched down to reach for the grip. Danny put his fingers on the axe head, then looked at Harry. "Want to do the honors, 'Robbie?'"

Harry barely noticed the sardonic tone Danny's voice. He reached for the end of the axe's handle, waiting for the sudden disorienting yank of magical force around his navel. He would welcome it this time. He would relish it.

His fingers curled around the handle's end.

A second passed.

Five seconds.

Nothing happened.

Harry blinked, looked up at Danny. The elder boy was frowning down at the Portkey. "Er...can we try it again?" he said. "Just let go then hold it again."

They did. This was followed by third try, a fourth. Worry grew in Harry's heart, pounded loudly against his ribcage. "What's going on? Why isn't it working?" he asked, trying to keep his face straight as he looked from one man to another.

Moody's face was slowly darkening as he stared Danny down. "Well?"

Danny's face only registered complete surprise. "I...I don't understand," he muttered, rapping the axehead. "It should work. It has to work."

He drew out his wand and tapped the axe twice. It emitted a blue glow, registering magic, but it still would not activate. His face burned a mortified red. "I don't understand..."

"What's to understand?" growled Moody. "Your Portkey's defective!"

Danny's face turned even redder. "I know how to set up a Portkey, Moody! This was working fine before we left. I tested it! I'm damned sure of it!"

"The results aren't very encouraging, are they?"

Harry tried to fight down his panic. "Can you fix it, Danny?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" he snapped. He waved his wand again. The blue glow of the axe flared once, then died.

Moody uttered something so foul that Danny leaped to his feet. "This isn't my fault!" he shouted.

"This was your responsibility!" Moody got up as well, his eyes bulging at the sockets. "You were supposed to ensure safe passage in and out of Hillsdale! That's what you were contracted to do!"

"I KNOW that! I was READY to do that!"

"All YOU were ready for was to slack around and get drunk, you sot! I should've expected something like this! Now we're stranded here, because of you!"

Danny's hands balled into fists. "Why you stuck-up, moldering old mountain goat! I'm not going to take that from you! I did as I was told! It's you and Dumbledore who didn't play fair by not telling me who the hell I was really guarding!"

"It's called PROTECTIVE SECRECY! Try to comprehend the concept, even if you can't spell the words, bourbon-brain!"

"It's called CHEATING, you pus-eating, senile baboon! I knew you've stooped to a lot of lows just to lick Dumbledore's boots, but this has gone too far!"

Harry stared at the malfunctioning Portkey, hardly believing this was happening. It had only begun to sink in: they were stranded. Here, hunted by an unknown number of Death Eaters who for some reason knew where to find them. Part of him was angry--rightfully so. Another part of him just wanted to block out the rest of the world, starting with the two men in front of him, shouting at the top of their lungs.

"Don't you ever say that to me, you miserable pile of cow dung!" Moody was bellowing. "You've caused nothing but trouble from the beginning of this whole mission! If I had gotten someone more competent I wouldn't be in this mess!"

Danny's face was contorted in rage, but abruptly calmed at those last words. "You know what?" he said, "That's a great idea. You go ahead and get Dumbledore to send you the people you need. I'm sure THAT would satisfy you." He turned and started walking away.

Moody gaped at him. "What the--what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Danny called from over his shoulder. "I'm walking home."

Moody remained wordless for all of five seconds before shouting, "You can't do that! You've got a job to do! You have to--"

"I don't have to do anything. I agreed to help out Dumbledore for a certain sum he'd agreed to pay. Unfortunately, three hundred Galleons isn't worth risking my life over. Even a doddering old git like you can comprehend that. Get some other lackey to kick around. I'm gone."

"Get back here, you idiot! You can't just walk out like this!"

"Watch me." Danny had reached the edge of the meadow.

Moody's snarled at his back. "Your father would never leave a task unfinished! I swear, if Julian ever found out his son turned out to be a--"

Moody froze, as if he realized he'd gone too far. Danny spun around, wand suddenly in hand and pointing straight at his godfather.

"DON'T YOU EVER MENTION THAT BASTARD'S NAME TO ME!" screamed Danny. "DON'T YOU EVER TALK ABOUT HIM! YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT WHAT KIND OF MAN HE WAS! NOTHING!"

Two men stared each other down, desperate situation already forgotten. Watching them, Harry suddenly realized he'd ceased to breathe the moment Danny drew his wand.

After what seemed an eternity, Danny put his dawn down, turned, and stalked off.

Moody's chest still was heaving, but he tried to bring himself under control. "Fine then," he said, turning to Harry. "We can go on without him."

Harry did not look at him. He watched Danny's back receding into the shadows of the trees. "Will he be all right?"

Moody did not answer.

"So, what do we do now?" Harry asked. "We can't just walk to Hogwarts."

Moody sighed and sat down. He opened his chest and retrieved his magic gas lamp. "Dumbledore'll figure it out, lad. Just leave it to him. We've been in worse scrapes than this, and he's always..."

There was a pregnant pause, then the lamp fell from Moody's hand and tumbled onto the grass. "No, it can't be..."

Harry turned at the odd tone of his voice. "What? What can't be?"

When Moody didn't answer, Harry followed the old man's gaze up to the sky. He noticed nothing out of the ordinary at first, until he shaded his eyes against the sun's glare.

Something was wrong with the sky.

It was as if someone had divided it with a gently curving line. Outside of the curve it was the same bright midday azure, but inside, the color had turned a shade deeper, as if evening was drawing near. Even the clouds had turned into a pale, winter gray. As they watched, this area slowly spread to the rim of the sun, and where it encroached the golden light dulled to a sunset orange. It was as if someone was putting a darkened glass over the face of the world.

For many minutes, the two of them silently watched the unearthly display. Harry found he could only look at it for a few minutes; if he looked too long, he though he might just go mad. But when he turned his eyes away, he saw a shadow, still in that perfectly curved line, falling over Hillsdale.

"What is that?" he managed to whisper.

"The last time I laid eyes on it, we were neck-deep in the war against Grindelwald," Moody said beside him. Harry tore his gaze from the shadow to look at the old Auror. Moody's eyes held only horrified recognition.

"A Black Barrier."

---

Some hours before Harry woke up in his dingy little room in the Everglade, Minister Cornelius Fudge was hurrying through the marble hallway to his office. He did not usually come to work early, but today was an exception. At eight o'clock he had a meeting with the Amanda Bones, Head of Magical Law Enforcement to sort out the investigation on Southampton and Portsmouth. Ten would see a meeting with his advisers in preparation for a press conference at noon. And there he had to present whatever they had to the public and somehow reassure everyone that the situation was under control.

It was only seven in the morning, and already the Minister of Magic knew the day ahead was not going to be kind to him. Whatever he had to say to the press had better be damned good.

He turned left at the end of the hallway and passed through the ivory archway into the main offices of the Ministry. Most of the wood and glass cubicles here were still empty; it would be an hour yet before the room would buzz anew with administrative life. As he crossed the carpeted floor to his area, he nodded to his secretary, Ms. Donegal, who raised her head at his approach.

"Minister, Lord Pudgewith called a few minutes ago," she said. "He wants to know if you're still on for a trip to the races this afternoon..."

"Please give him my deepest apologies," the Minister said quickly. "Urgent matters are at hand, I'm afraid. Ask if we could reschedule for two days from now." He doubted Lord Pudgewith kept up with current events, or even cared for that matter. Well, he could be ignored for now.

He strode past his secretary's desk, unlocked the door with his key and entered his office. As he hung his hat and green bowler coat on a nearby rack, he cast a look about the dimly lit room.

This was his favorite place, his comfort zone, and he never tired of seeing it. Built a hundred years ago, the Minister's office had been designed to at once impress and intimidate visitors. It was rectangular room twenty paces wide and twice as long, all of which was covered end to end by a fine Persian carpet. A huge mahogany desk with two gilded lamps dominated the far side of the room, and behind the desk was a large window that gave a spectacular view of the city. The left wall was lined from roof to ceiling with rare books on wizard history, economics and governance (Fudge had read perhaps six of them, but as he'd discovered on his long tenure, the mere impression of knowledge was often enough). The right wall, on the other hand, was almost completely obscured by the stuffed heads of fantastic beasts. Ranging from the antlord down to the zebrazelle, each letter of the alphabet had at least one representative present. There was even a head of the now extinct Croatoan, the largest crocodile species that ever existed. It was status symbol for any minister to contribute something new to this wall. Fudge knew, however, that at least half of those heads there had been secretly purchased from taxidermists (after all, the mere impression of skill was often enough). It was likely he'd go that way, too, before his term was over.

Well, he had no time to for lollygagging, he had a country to run. Fudge headed for his desk. He had just taken out his wand to light the wall lamps, when a voice said, "Good morning to you, Minister."

Fudge fairly jumped, nearly dropping his wand. The voice was deep and dusky, holding a little amusement.

"Who's there!" said Fudge, peering about his gloomy surroundings.

His eyes widened as he spied a pale face framed against the nestled shadows at the corner near his window. "W-who are you?" demanded Fudge. "What is the meaning of this? Did-did you schedule an appointment?"

The figure stepped out into the light of the window. He was a tall man, lean as a knife, with a bald pate and sharp features. A red satin scarf wrapped around his neck and was tucked into the front of his black robes. Dark round glasses completely obscured his eyes.

"Please forgive my rudeness, Minister Fudge," said the man. "I'm afraid I haven't scheduled an appointment, nor have I given any forewarning of my arrival. Nonetheless, it does not diminish the importance of my visit."

"Indeed?" Fudge raised an eyebrow. "And how, may I ask, did you find your way in here in the first place?" Fudge was prepared for times like these. There was small switch beside the lamp on his desk. One flick would summon a dozen Auror guards to his office. Feigning nonchalance, he walked towards his desk.

The man's hidden eyes seemed to follow him. "Your people did not have any qualms about allowing me in. I made them understand that I simply had to see you."

"And I suppose they just let you in? Remarkable." Later, he would see an investigation on the matter. But now he had to handle this intruder. Fudge felt he could turn the whole imposing manner of his office against this fool. But first, he had to take up position behind his mahogany desk.

The stranger took one sidestep and passed his hand three times over the left desk lamp. The light from the window faded and sounds from the outside fell still as the Security Charm activated. That stopped Fudge in his tracks.

"H-how did you know that was there?" he spluttered.

The man's grin was pointed. "I know a great many things about you, Minister," he said. "And for our discussion, I want us to have a little privacy."

"Tell me who you are," said Fudge, and there was the tiniest quaver in his voice. "Tell me or you'll be sorry."

The man nodded his greeting. "I am Andros Gallowbraid."

Fudge stared at him, then he threw back his head and laughed. Gallowbraid? That was a good one. His mirth came not so much from the humor of it all, but from the sudden release of tension.

"All right," he chuckled. "All right, all right, I'll admit you nearly had me going there. So, who put you up to this? Colonel Fazackerly? He always enjoys a good laugh. Or was it one of my staff? Kelwyn? Quigley? Montague?"

Gallowbraid did not seem to mind Fudge's laughter at all. He leaned towards him, one hand on the table. "I am well aware that my name has turned into something of an urban legend, perhaps even a punch line, after all this time. Perhaps I deserve it, having lived so far from the public eye. Still, fact remains fact. I am who I am."

Fudge had already reached his desk and plopped down his huge chair. "So I'm to believe you are an infamous super-criminal that no one has ever laid eyes on," he chortled. "I supposed I can accept that. Why do you honor me with your presence today, Mr. Gallowbraid?"

"I bring a message for you from my employer."

"Do you? And who is this employer of yours? Rumpelstiltzkin? Baba Yaga? Santa Claus?"

"Lord Voldemort."

It was as if the very air around in the room had turned to ice water. A shiver ran down Fudge's spine, even as the mirth fled from his face. "How dare you," he seethed. "How dare you say that name out loud! Have you no decency, man?"

Gallowbraid did not cease to smile, but it was not the smile of someone sharing a joke. Fudge did not like it. It looked--wolfish.

"You know," Gallowbraid said, "I suspected you would have a difficult time taking all this in. After all, you are an intelligent, reasonable man, someone not easily duped. We are the same in that respect. It won't be too difficult to create a meeting of minds, where two men of power may speak on equal terms."

"This joke has gone too far!" Fudge reached for the switch to call his guards. This comedian would be sorry he even thought of stepping into this office.

"Put your hand down."

Fudge's fingers stopped a scant inch from the switch. Something in the man's voice compelled him not to press it. He looked up, saw his reflection captured in the dark orbs of those glasses. Gallowbraid was not smiling anymore.

"As I said, I wish to create a meeting of minds between us. But that will only occur when the parties involved take each other seriously."

Fudge swallowed involuntarily, but kept his face as impassive as he could. Gallowbraid left his side and stood somewhere behind his chair. "There is something I would like to show you, Minister. Will you join me at the window?"

Again, compelled by something he could not explain, Fudge got up and stood beside his visitor. They looked out the window onto the street below.

The sidewalks teemed with people. Unnoticed by the Muggle majority, witches and wizards were out on their Sunday strolls. Some walked with their children, others took their pets disguised by Disillusionment Charms. Shoppers weaved in and out of buildings, while newsboys hawked the latest headlines at the street corners. In an alley, a lone saxophonist's tune was nearly buried beneath the bustling city life.

"Look at the intersection to your right," said Gallowbraid. "Do you see someone you know?"

The window was a mesh of wood and glass. Gallowbraid tapped a section to their right, and that frame magnified a section of the street. Fudge immediately caught the person Gallowbraid wanted him to see. It was none other than Colonel Derrick Fazackerly, second-in-command of the Magical Law Enforcement Department and head of the Hit-Wizard team. He had served as Fudge's personal bodyguard for many years before Fudge promoted him to his current station. The gray-haired gentleman stood at the corner with his hands in his pockets, waiting for a chance to cross the street.

"And there by the shoemaker's," Gallowbraid said, tapping another part of the window. "Do you see?"

The window magnified Jonathan Kelwyn, Fudge's right-hand man, standing at the store entrance and counting his change. Kelwyn was the brightest member of his staff, and had the knack for doing tasks without Fudge having to order him around.

"Finally, that white-haired lady sitting on the bench by the pharmacist's."

Said woman was Justice Rebecca Haley of the Wizard High Court. A humorless, dignified woman, Haley's knowledge of wizarding law was daunting, and her fame for impartial rulings even on the most one-sided of cases well earned. Today, she was spending her leisure time basking in the early morning warmth and feeding some pigeons with crumbs of bread.

"I've been busy visiting these people at their homes since yesterday morning," said Gallowbraid, watching the three images before them. "I was glad to find them extraordinarily accommodating towards me. In fact..." He lowered his head a little and intoned, "Over here."

The three people they were watching suddenly stopped what they were doing and turned their gazes to the Minister's window. Fudge's blood froze. With the magnified images, there was no questioning the looks of loyalty on their faces, looks he had seen only in the eyes of well-bred hunting dogs. The words were out of Fudge's mouth before his conscious mind could form them. "Imperius."

Gallowbraid chuckled. "Oh, nothing so crude, Minister. Just a little bit of Mesmery. You see, the Imperius engages the subject's mental facilities, using the power of suggestion to manipulate surface thoughts. Such tampering is becoming easy to detect nowadays. Mesmery, on the other hand, concentrates on the subject's emotions via delusions, and is far more difficult to distinguish. As such, I can inspire feelings of happiness and calm in a person. Or if I choose, despair, terror, even wrath. In your case, I aimed for a momentary obedience, and in theirs, a lifetime of devotion."

"H-how could you...?"

"Just a demonstration, Minister, of how serious I am, and how serious my employer is." Gallowbraid nodded, and the three wizards lowered their gazes and went about their business.

Fudge's throat was almost painfully dry. He wanted a drink, a glass of bourbon. "I've seen enough."

"I don't think so," Gallowbraid replied. "Please turn your attention to the corner café on this very street."

Helplessly, Fudge peered down at the Gotham Café. He had been there perhaps only twice. They had an ice cream bar and some tables on the sidewalk where customers could enjoy the sunlight and open air. When Gallowbraid magnified the image, the Minister let out a strangled gasp.

His wife Marlene was at one of the tables, reading the daily while sipping a cup of brewed coffee. Beside her sat their only daughter, Tara, wearing a white sundress and a wide-brimmed hat decked with delicate pink flowers. Marlene loved the coffee of Gotham Café, and never failed to stop by for a cup during her Sunday walks. This time she took their seven-year old girl with her, treating her to biscuits and a cup of strawberry ice cream.

But it was the woman sitting not far away from his family that arrested Fudge's attention. Cesca Whiteshore sat alone, her hands clasped before her on the white tablecloth. When he had first met here six years ago, she was working as an assistant at the Ministry Records Department. He had thought this young woman as mousy and reserved, but she was quite pretty behind those glasses. She was fond of music and dancing, easy to please and eager to return favors.

But this woman at the table was barely a wisp of that girl he met long ago. She wore worn work robes, and her chestnut hair was down, worming past her bespectacled face in oily little cords. Her fingers clasped and unclasped, twitching and troubling the table cloth before her.

She eyed Fudge's wife and daughter with a poisonous glare.

"I paid Cesca a visit yesterday," Gallowbraid casually said. "She was living in a dingy little flat near High Street. It looks like she hasn't done much for herself since you abandoned her."

"How...how did you know about her?" murmured Fudge, but Gallowbraid ignored his question.

"I stayed a while, and we talked for the better part of the afternoon. You know what I discovered? The poor girl's in love with you. She only realized it after you left her. For the past six years she's been trying to forget about you, but all her efforts proved fruitless. I suppose you were the only excitement she's had in her otherwise lackluster life as a glamorized librarian. It's such a shame you already have two wives: Marlene and your job. No room for poor Cesca.

"She blamed herself for a long time, thinking it was her fault you no longer fancied her. I think, though, she's recently had a change of heart."

Fudge suddenly found it difficult to breathe, but he could not make himself turn away. He could only watch as Cesca, still staring at his wife and child, reached one hand into her pocket.

Gallowbraid went on. "She blames you now, Minister, for how miserable her life has become. Imagine her hatred, if you can. Imagine what it would feel like to be consumed by a feverish rage. Then imagine that feeling multiplied five, ten times, until you feel like there is a firestorm beneath your flesh. A woman possessed by something like that would be likely to do something...drastic."

Cesca pulled out her wand. Her eyes were wide and glaring, showing too much of the whites. Her wand hand was clenched and shaking feverishly. Fudge felt cold sweat dripping down his cheeks. "What is she doing there? What did you do to her?"

"I can see the headlines now," mused Gallowbraid. "Mistress Massacres Minister's Family. Won't take long for the press to find out the gory details, eh? Crimes of passion happen all the time, but such a terrible end to your illustrious career. I imagine you'd be forced to resign from the shame of it all. It's what a gentleman would do."

Cesca left her table and walked slowly towards Marlene and Tara. Nobody noticed her or the wand she held at her side. "No, no!" cried Fudge, grabbing Gallowbraid's sleeve. "S-stop her! Make her stop!"

"I don't think so," said Gallowbraid, meeting his eyes. "I have to show you why you should listen to me, Minister. Like my employer, I am a man of power. You'd do well to recognize that."

"All-all right, you made your point. Just--please, for the love of Merlin, she's going to kill my daughter!"

Cesca was three steps away from the girl. Fudge slammed his palms against the window pane, as if he could push himself into the image and restrain Cesca himself. Marlene's eyes still scanned the paper in her hands, and beside her Tara licked some melted ice cream from her fingers. Cesca raised his wand, trained it at the back of Tara's wide-brimmed hat.

Fudge screamed, "I'LL LISTEN, I SWEAR! I'LL DO ANYTHING YOU SAY! ANYTHING! JUST STOP HER!"

Gallowbraid snapped his fingers. Cesca halted where she was, blinking. Her wand hand faltered, dropped to her side. She looked from mother to daughter with horrified eyes, as if she just realized what she was about to do. Then she quickly turned and strode out of the café. Neither Marlene nor Tara noted her departure. Fudge watched Cesca walk down the street until she turned the corner and was gone.

"She will return home and attempt to forget about the whole thing," said Gallowbraid. "Perhaps she will think it a fever, or a delusion. Like the others, she won't remember me visiting her." He left Fudge's side and stood by the desk. The Minister stayed where he was, fingers splayed on the windowpane, eyes on his family. Mist formed on the glass near his nose. His vision was hazy, and he absently wiped the tears from his eyes. Finally, he turned to face his tormentor.

Gallowbraid was leaning against his desk, eyeing him with a relaxed half-smile on his face. "Why don't you have a seat, Minister? I assure you we won't take long."

Legs weak and shivering, Fudge forced himself to move to his own chair and sit down. He could not believe all this had just happened, that his carefully wrought, orderly world could be smashed in such a small space of time.

"Y-you really come from...from the Dark Lord?" he murmured, head bowed.

Gallowbraid nodded once.

"And he's behind these attacks on Portsmouth and Southampton?"

"They were not attacks on Britain, Minister. They were battles, and the cities were the battlegrounds. The Order of the Phoenix wanted to drive us out of our dens. We defended ourselves, and they paid a heavy price for it. Ask the Auror team you sent to investigate, and their results will validate my claims."

"And...why are you here? Did the Dark Lord send you to...t-to get me?"

Gallowbraid laughed. "Not get you, dear Minister. Nothing like that. You've noticed I've made no attempt to fully Mesmerize you or put you under the Imperius Curse. It would have been easy enough, but I decided that would not do. You would be completely loyal, but you would also be too happy to perform each of my requests to the letter, so much so you would have no room for creativity. You would lose your edge, your cunning, the skills that made you what you are now. And I don't want that. Neither of us would prosper.

"And thus, I come to you as an envoy, to offer a proposal. One where both sides stand to gain."

Fudge raised his head. "What sort of proposal?"

"A partnership. Our common purpose will be to remove a common thorn from our sides: Albus Dumbledore."

Fudge blanched. "Dumbledore."

"We want your aid. Your influence. We want you to help us put Dumbledore away for good."

The Minister gaped at him. It was true that he bore no love for Dumbledore and he couldn't be bothered to lie. But neither was he inclined to remove him!

Gallowbraid uncrossed his arms and started pacing around the room. "That man has never ceased to torment us, Minister. Even back in Lord Voldemort's weakened state, Dumbledore sent his agents far and wide, destroying our friends and hounding the Dark Lord to the fringes of civilization. And he will continue to do so, now that he's assembled his own army."

"What?"

"You know what I speak of. What else could the Order of the Phoenix be?"

"They...they were our allies. People who helped defend Britain--"

"And now, what are they? Whom do they serve? Have you accounted for the activities of these vigilantes? Do you know what they have planned?"

Fudge opened his mouth to speak, found no words forthcoming.

"I can answer that for you," Gallowbraid said. "They want exactly what we wanted more than a decade ago: dominion over Britain. Thus, they seek to put away all obstacles to their will." He stopped pacing and looked directly at Fudge. "I assure you, Minister Fudge, you have no friend in the old schoolmaster. Even now he plots against you. He knows he can't take your place because of the popular support you have earned through your own hard work. And so he will resort to less subtle means. A revolt."

"That's absurd! How could Dumbledore--"

"He will attempt to destabilize your government and cause chaos. When the people perceive the leadership to be weak and ineffectual, he will step in. You know I speak the truth. You suspected them too, did you not? Why else have your Aurors been looking for the Order ever since rumors of their resurgence surfaced?"

"But you ask for too much!" protested Fudge. "Do you realize that you're asking me to help you destroy the most influential wizard alive? To be an accomplice to the Dark Lord? Do you realize how many friends he has ready to help him?"

Gallowbraid was examining the open jaws of the Croatoan, testing the dagger teeth his fingers. "And are you telling me you have no friends of your own? That your influence is weaker than Dumbledore's? You're saying your all teeth and no bite?"

"That's not what I--"

"Why would I come to you if you were weak? Surely I would have done something else worth my time. I believe you are capable, Minister. Very capable." Gallowbraid turned to him, sunlight flashing on his glasses.

"Listen. This is what we want you to do.

"First, you will order a more intensive search for all suspected members of the Order of the Phoenix. In today's press conference, announce that you are investigating reports that the Order was behind the attacks of Portsmouth and Southampton. Fear not, your Aurors will have enough evidence. They have an Order agent in custody with some....interesting things to say.

"Second, you will report all findings directly to me. I will take up residence in a nearby inn, and everyday you will confer with me using a secure line. For my part, I will give you further guidance on how to defeat the Order.

"Lastly, you will call the Chief of Magical Law Enforcement and the Head of National Security immediately after this meeting. You will tell them that, given the magnitude of the threat to our country, you have no choice but to erect a Black Barrier."

Fudge stared at him, mouth agape. "You-you can't mean that!"

Gallowbraid raised an eyebrow. "You know the Order uses Portkeys to move their army all over Britain. The Black Barrier will take care of this maneuverability. It will make them vulnerable."

"How can I possibly give that order? It will disrupt the economy! Transportation will be in an uproar! The public will--"

"They will do everything you say, Minister. Do not underestimate your power. You are living in desperate times, fighting a hidden enemy. You need desperate measures. And if anyone in the government should question your judgment, let me know who they are. I will convince them otherwise."

Fudge buried his face in his hands. He felt hot, almost feverish. "How can I even contemplate all this? How can you expect me to say yes?"

Gallowbraid shrugged. "Why not? What do you stand to gain if Dumbledore gets his way? In a year's time, maybe less, the people will be tearing down the Ministry, demanding he take your place. But if you unmask him for what he really is, if the public sees you defeating a threat to their freedom, will they not love you all the more? Now tell me, will you gain anything otherwise? I assure you, Minister, you only stand to gain if you stand with us."

Fudge lifted his eyes. "And what will the Dark Lord give me if I agree?"

Gallowbraid held up his palms in a welcoming gesture. "Now you are talking sense, Minister. Very well. If you choose to aid us, Lord Voldemort guarantees that you will remain Minister of the wizards of Britain. You will have no political opponents you cannot defeat, and all insurgencies will be immediately taken care of. The Dark Army will maintain a minimal presence in Britain--for we have higher goals elsewhere, after all--and will leave you to rule, though we would like to maintain a treaty of mutual assistance, a respectful relationship between men of power. All we ask for now, as I have said, is to help defeat our mutual enemy."

"I...I don't know. I need time to think. If you can give me some days to consider--"

"I'm afraid the Black Barrier is non-negotiable. It must be up today, before morning is over. You have four hours."

Fudge gaped at him. "But--"

"I should be going now. Think it over, Minister, and we shall leave it at this: if the Black Barrier goes up before noon today, then we have a deal. If it doesn't, then we don't. Quite simple, don't you think?"

Gallowbraid started down the office towards the door. Fudge stared at his receding form, then in a sudden burst of indignation, shouted, "How can you be so sure I won't turn on you? That I won't tell my Aurors to hunt you down the moment you leave this room?"

Gallowbraid stopped and turned to face him. Again that pointed, merciless smile. "How do you know the next person you talk to in this building isn't someone under my influence? It would be like dancing on a minefield, Minster. I have many Death Eaters beneath me, and as you've seen we can pull a great many strings." He thought for a minute, then added, "Yes, I suppose you might succeed one way or another. After all, all I can do for now is watch and wait.

"I'll give you fair warning, though." He reached for his glasses, lowered them just a fraction of an inch. "I keep a very good watch."

And when Fudge saw what lay behind those dark lenses, he uttered a feeble cry and shrank back, cowering behind an upraised hand. I was just a peek, but it enough. Where Gallowbraid's left eye should be, there was only a gaping empty socket. But his right eye--only a demon could have an eye like that. It was sleek and sharp as a wolf's, and colored cancerous yellow from top to bottom. The iris was a silver coin, the cornea slanted like a black fang and was never still; it shivered and undulated like a snake in still water.

Jagan, the Evil Eye. One look could drive a man stark-raving mad.

"Please, don't hurt me," Fudge whimpered. "Don't hurt me."

He heard receding steps, but still he did not lower his hand. "Fear not, my dear Minister," Gallowbraid called to him from somewhere near the door. "We're not barbarians, you know. But there's a saying that goes, 'if you dance with the bear, you can't stop when you're tired.' Should you betray us, I'll know, and I'll surely pay you another visit. Or perhaps this time, it will be your wife and daughter. Either way, I will no longer consider us equals.

"I trust you will make the right choice."

He shut the door and the Security Charm disengaged. Light flooded in, as did the chatter of workers in the next room. Fudge peeked out from behind his hand and saw he was finally alone.

For the next half hour, he sat very still. He did not think in his usual way, sober, straightforward, all-business. His thoughts ran here and there, like a mouse in a maze that had no exit. He thought of his long tenure as Minister. He thought of his wife and his little daughter. He thought of his future. Then his eyes fell on the stuffed head of the Croatoan, once the greatest predator of the Amazon. It stared back at him in a silent snarl--fearsome, menacing, and utterly impotent.

I trust you will make the right choice.

Finally, after many more agonizing minutes, he reached for the gilded communicator beside his chair. There was crackling noise on the end as his secretary's voice came on. "Yes, Minister?"

In a barely audible voice, Fudge said, "Get the Chief of Magical Law Enforcement and the Head of National Security in my office. Right now."

---

Somewhere in Cornwall, Stan Shunspike sat in the back of the parked Knight Bus, fiddling with the knobs of his tiny enchanted telly. Stan had been using the telly to contact his old mother in Evensdale, and was surprised and peeved that all he could get from it was noisy static.

And in The Summit, Lyle listened gravely to the radio as the press conference wore on. Minister Fudge was answering questions: yes, the Ministry is starting a thorough investigation on the Order of the Phoenix, and yes, we have one of their agents in custody and undergoing tactical interrogation, and yes, a reward will be offered for information regarding the Order's whereabouts. Beside Lyle, Marius was reporting on Birmingham's status in a tone of half-concealed panic: none of our Portkeys were functioning, mobility's been reduced by 50, some of their teams were caught without back-up, and the rest are waiting anxiously for orders.

"Voldemort," was all Lyle said.

And in Hogwarts, Ron Weasley was on his way back to Gryffindor to meet Hermione, when he passed near a window where a cluster of students were gathered. Some were pointing and muttering among themselves. One of them shrieked, another burst into frightened tears, prompting Ron to run over and ask what was going on. He fell silent when he saw the curved line eating into the sky, and deepening hue that followed it. None of them knew what it was, but they all knew it meant no good. Ron stared at it for a long time, his head empty of thought. But black fear welled up in his chest, for himself and for his friend, somewhere in the wilderness.

And in his tower high atop the school, Albus Dumbledore also watched as the Barrier stole even the brightness of the sun. His face was impassive, but no onlooker could have mistaken the look of deepening anger in his ancient eyes.

And in his tower on Onyx Isle, the Dark Lord watched Britain fall under the shadow of the Barrier, and laughed.

---

When the sky above them had turned a deep ultramarine and the clouds an odd goose gray, Harry found he could not bear to look anymore. Instead, he crouched down next to Moody. The old Auror was sitting on the grass and smoking on his pipe, a frown of deep concentration on his face. His Dark Detectors formed a loose circle around them, seeming such a flimsy defense in their bleak situation.

"I don't understand," said Harry. "What's a Black Barrier?"

"A field of magical energy," Moody explained, "visible only to wizards and other magical folk. Powerful abjuration magic. Grindelwald had used it back in the war to keep us Aurors out of his territories. We thought the last of those devices had been destroyed."

"So Voldemort's behind this? He's got one of those things?"

"Doubt it. Takes an incredible amount of magical energy to even get a Barrier started. The only one who can tap into such an amount at a constant rate would be the Ministry." He paused. "Fudge."

"The Ministry? But why would they do something like that?"

"Who knows? A lot of things could've happened while we were busy out here. I'd call Dumbledore to know the score, but..." He gestured at the gas lamp in front of him. He had been trying to get through for the last fifteen minutes, to no avail.

Harry eyed the equally useless Portkey, still sticking out of the ground in front of them. So close, so far. Something inside of him felt like breaking beneath the weight of such disappointment. "The Barrier's stopping us from getting home?"

"The first thing it does is prevent any entry using magic," said Moody. "No one can Apparate into an area covered by a Black Barrier. Floo Powder doesn't work, the same with Portkeys. The only safe way to cross the Barrier is to walk through it. But doing so will send a signal to the Barrier's controller, and he'll know exactly when and where the Barrier was breached. It makes surprise attacks impossible.

"The second thing it does is disrupt all unsanctioned magical means of travel and communication within its coverage area. Illegal Portkeys like ours are useless. The Floo Network will be strictly monitored: you can't even get to the house across the street without the Ministry's nod." He scratched his chin. "This also means that the Order's Portkey and communications systems have been sabotaged. They'll have to resort to brooms and owls, which are easier to detect--exactly what the Dark Lord wants."

Harry leaned back, "I honestly think our cover's been blown. Voldemort must've found out that I've slipped out of Hogwarts. Why else would he send Death Eaters here?"

Moody reflected a moment, then replied, "If Voldemort knew exactly where you are now, he wouldn't bother sending in a small group to investigate. We'd be up to our armpits in Death Eaters. No, I don't think he knows exactly what's going on, or what we're doing. It's more likely he's gotten wind of Order presence here, then sent someone to investigate. But that doesn't matter now. Bottom line is, we can't stay there." He put out his pipe, nodding to himself. "We have to get to the nearest Order outpost."

"And where's that?"

"Dunwick village, some twenty miles north of here."

Harry paled. It would take too long. He couldn't even fully walk yet

But his bodyguard was right. They had no choice but to move on

"Maybe the Order will send someone out here to get us," Moody continued, as if to reassure him, "but we can't rely on that. We have to keep moving. Hopefully, we'll meet them halfway and save us most of the trip. From Dunwick, we'll be escorted to Hogwarts."

Harry shook his head, fighting off his despair. No way was he going give up and let Voldemort win. They were too close. All they had to do was get to Hogwarts, and the Dark Lord wouldn't be able to touch them. All they had to do was get home.

But he decided he wasn't going to do it alone.

"Well..." Moody got up and put on his hat. "Least we've got a plan. What're we waiting for?"

"You should know," said Harry, frowning up at him. "We have to get Danny back first. We can't leave him here--it's too dangerous. Besides, it wasn't his fault that the Portkey didn't work."

Moody fell silent, his magical eye looking at anything except Harry. Harry rolled his own eyes. "Look, we're not going to get far with just the two of us, especially in the state I'm in. Think about it--it'll be safer we all work together."

"Safer? With him around?" muttered Moody, "I highly doubt that." But he bent down and hauled Harry to his feet. Together, they hobbled out of the meadow to look for the Auror's godson.

To be continued

Next episode...

"HARRY'S WHAT!"

-- Sirius Black

Chapter XIV: Through A Glass Darkly