The Veil of Memories

Chapter 16

Dolores Squared

"We're waiting for you, Weasel Face. Don't make it worse for yourself."

As Ron looked across at his roommate and friend, he could still see that almost all of Seamus's face was now covered in the purple boils, but there was only sharp determination in his light blue eyes. He nodded once at Ron who nodded back. Ron then turned the handle on the door that led out from their dormitory and opened it.

A half dozen masked Death Eaters stood in a semicircle in front of what had once been the wizard chess board where Ron and Harry used to play. Ron felt a painful lump form in his throat as the memories of those happier times once cruelly denied him now wound his emotions into knots. But he forced it back down: if he lost his concentration now, it would be the last thing he would do.

"Come on, then, down here facing us," snapped the middle Death Eater in Nott's voice. "Or do you want your little mudblood wench to think you died a coward?"

Ron felt his anger boil inside but he clenched his fingernails tightly into his palms to make it go away. He was doing this for Hermione, he told himself. He was doing it for Harry, too. He was doing it for everything decent their friendship had created together these last seven years. Ron said nothing as he led Seamus down the steps and into the common room. His ears heard more insults coming from Nott's mouth and laughter from the other Death Eaters as they approached. But his mind never told him what Nott was saying: all he kept thinking of were the sweet faces of his closest friends smiling at him.

Finally, Ron and Seamus reached the bottom of the steps and stood less than a dozen feet in front of the Death Eaters. Ron willed himself not to flinch as all six raised their wands like a firing squad. He saw Seamus glance over in his direction as though to tell him that their time had run out. But Ron knew that the timing had to be perfect if his plan was going to work.

"Ease up, boys," came Nott's voice again. A few of the Death Eaters lowered their wands, some looking impatiently back at their leader. "I think Weasel Face and the half-blood here want to have a duel. Tell us, Weasel Face: are you going to use that thing to block our hexes or do you think this place is so filthy it'll spontaneously combust? It isn't as wretched as your mother's house, you know."

The other Death Eaters laughed stupidly again but Ron and Seamus said nothing. In one respect, Nott had not been mistaken, however. The two Gryffindors were not empty-handed: each carried one of the two torches that had once lit their dormitory, torches they had removed from their brackets before coming down the stairs.

"Where's Longbottom?" Nott demanded.

Silence again.

"Never mind, boys," said Nott again. "Once we've finished with these two, we'll go up and get him. And we'll make it nice and painful for him before he dies."

Once again, guffaws of agreement from the Death Eaters but silence from Seamus and Ron.

"Raise your wands again, lads," said Nott more seriously following a moment's pause. "We're going to have a duel. But since he's not going to win, I think we should give Weasel Face the benefit of a few last words."

Still silence.

"Nothing to say? All right then, lads, the one who hits them first gets to torture Longbottom. On the count of three. One - "

"Sorry," said Ron suddenly. "Actually, I do have something to say. Just one thing."

"Let's hear it then, Weasel Face."

"Cheers."

The Death Eaters tried to swish and flick their wands through the air but Ron was much quicker. His hand flew into the right pocket of his robes. Before the Death Eaters could complete their motion, he grabbed and hurtled a small glass bottle against the wizarding chess table. Ron and Seamus then both threw their torches after it and leapt quickly to the ground in the other direction. At the last second, Nott screamed at his fellow Death Eaters to get out of the way but it was too late. The smashed remains of the Fire Whiskey Harry had smuggled into their room so many months before connected with the fire from the torches. An alcohol far more volatile than any Muggle spirit erupted into an enormous fireball where the Death Eaters had stood only moments before.

As soon as the sound of igniting inferno had died away, Ron and Seamus got to their feet. Ron didn't want to look at what he had done but horrible screams still reached his ears and the acrid stench of burning flesh penetrated his nostrils. He saw Seamus duck as an errant hex flew at them from the other side of the fire. Apparently not all the Death Eaters were down but a towering inferno now raged in between them. Ron hoped it would be enough.

The flames began to lick the staircase to the boys' dormitories. Both boys tried to cover their noses and mouths with their robes but smoke was rising fast from the flames. Seamus was limping again; his eyes had watered over and he had begun to cough. Ron half-pulled him up the staircase, the flames lapping at their feet. Finally, they made it to the top of the stairs and Ron opened the door to their dormitory.

Neville fell out of the door as it opened. Ron stumbled as he managed to catch hold of him before he fell to the floor. Still limping and coughing, Seamus ran into the room and grabbed Ron's and Neville's broomsticks which they had propped against the door before leaving.

"Neville, you've got to get on!" cried Ron.

The only reply Ron heard was a series of coughs. Nevertheless, Neville made his best effort to mount onto the back of Ron's broomstick. Seamus mounted Neville's and the three Gryffindors flew out and over the common room just as the hungry fire leapt up over the steps and began to consume the wooden door to their dormitory.

With the weight of both himself and Neville, it took all of Ron's willpower just to keep the Cleansweep steady for the short journey to the large windows on the far side of the common room that, unlike the small narrow openings in their dormitory, were just about capable of admitting a person.

"Hang on!" he cried.

Neville managed to cover his face with his hands as Ron rammed the end of his broomstick into the window. There was a satisfying smash of glass, although Ron could instantly feel the pinpricks of the jagged pieces eating into his flesh. The bottom of Ron's cloak snagged on pieces sticking up from the bottom of the window but Ron kicked those away, too, and then he and Neville flew out into the night's sky, filling their lungs with glorious fresh air. Seamus flew after them but immediately turned into a sharp dive. Neville hung on as hard as he could as Ron plummeted after him. Once they reached Seamus, they could see that his face was badly blackened and he was unconscious. Ron briefly tried to rouse him but they were far too near the ground. He managed to steady Seamus' broomstick just enough to slow its free fall but they were fast running out of space. Ron felt a painful thud as his broomstick connected with the ground and threw him and Neville several feet in the air. He succeeded in rolling to break his fall and immediately looked up to see what had happened to the others, but this was as much as Ron's body could take. He had not yet raised himself into a sitting position when lights began to dance in front of his eyes and then everything turned to darkness.

***

Ginny hit the ground with a painful thud but immediately got to her feet again.

"The Portkey is working!" squealed a delighted voice beside her. "Dobby is very pleased. Dobby is saving Ginny Weasley from the horrible dark wizards. Ginny Weasley cannot be hurt here! Dobby will protect her!"

"No, Dobby!" Ginny rounded on the house-elf. "We've got to go back! Ron's in danger! And he's not the only one!"

Dobby looked up at Ginny and then down at the ground several times.

"Dobby is very sorry, Ginny Weasley, but Dobby cannot take her back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Portkey can only work in one direction."

"The Port - " Ginny started, looking back down at the house-elf in disbelief. "But, no, Dobby, that can't be right! You came back to Hogwarts!"

"Indeed Dobby did, but Dobby is a house-elf and there are some things house-elves can do that wizards cannot." Dobby looked at the ground again as though ashamed of his abilities. "But if Ginny Weasley likes, Dobby will return. Dobby is ever grateful to Mr. Ronald Weasley and he has not forgotten that he is Harry Potter's best friend in the world. Dobby is most grateful to Harry Potter, because Harry Potter set him free."

Dobby looked back up at Ginny with very sad eyes and then made to snap his fingers but Ginny quickly took hold of his hand.

"No, Dobby," she said, more quietly. "Enough people have died tonight. Enough people have died because of me. And I don't want to add you to the list."

"But Dobby is not a person, Ginny - "

"Yes, you are!"

Dobby looked up at Ginny slightly fearfully and then quickly nodded.

"But why can't I go back, Dobby? It can't be that difficult to make a Portkey, can it? Where are we any - "

Ginny broke off as she turned around to study her surroundings for the first time and then took in a sharp breath and fell silent.

She and Dobby were standing out in the open air. The grass was tall and cool under Ginny's feet but the air was warm, much warmer than it had seemed outside Hogwarts and Ginny suddenly had the impression they were very far away from the school indeed. They seemed to be on the top of some sort of hill. The tranquil sound of a warm breeze rustling through the new leaves told Ginny that there was a forest behind her. But she was looking down ahead of her through a clearing in the hill to a valley below. There, crowned by the starlight in the velvety-black sky above them were hundreds of tiny myriad lights. It was though someone had created a vast mirror of the heavens. Ginny squinted in disbelief at it all: it seemed like she was looking down at a village for fairies. Looking more closely, Ginny could see that the most of the lights came from what looked like miniature torches; others emitted from small ground fires made from the tiniest of sticks. Struggling to focus more closely, she could make out very small figures moving around on the ground. Each was walking in and out of small huts or tents that trailed minute traces of smoke out into the sky. Ginny peered at the figures more closely and then drew her head back in a gasp.

"Is that - " she began to ask. "Are we - "

"Ginny Weasley is looking at an elfin village," said Dobby. "Ginny Weasley will stay here now and rest. But first Dobby must take Ginny Weasley to see Professor Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore is waiting for her. Ginny Weasley must be careful. The mountain is very steep. Dobby will help Ginny Weasley."

Ginny found herself speechless at the Lilliputian beauty below her. Her eyes remained fixed on the village as though glued there with a charm. Her attention was distracted only momentarily as Dobby reached out his hand as if to grab the sky and came up with a long stick a little larger than a wand. He waved it again and a small light appeared at the end. Ginny then felt his small hand in hers and he guided her down the mountain slope.

The lights grew more distinct as they made their way down but they did not seem to grow any larger, only more numerous. Ginny felt as though she had lost all perspective. It was not until they reached the foot of the hill and the outskirts of the village itself that Ginny's mind caught up with her eyes. As they passed the first curious huts, Ginny couldn't help but stop and stare at them like a small child peering into a doll's house. The huts seemed to have been thrown together with piles of pebbles and sticks. The gaps between them were plugged with loose bits of random cloth that looked like they had been torn from the remains of spare quilts in the Hogwarts dormitories. The resulting structures did not look like anything that should have remained standing. It was as though the pebbles and sticks had been idly thrown up in the air and ended up stuck together. Ginny was certain they must have been held up with magic.

The first two huts they passed seemed empty but there was a light inside the third one. Ginny couldn't restrain her curiosity, even as Dobby tugged on her hand and propelled her more quickly forward. She was still watching when the flap on the tent opened and two pairs of large house-elf eyes peered out at her. Even though she had trouble telling male and female house elves apart, Ginny felt somehow that they must have been a couple. She was still surprised, however, to see a slightly smaller house-elf with smaller tucked-back ears but a ridiculously long and narrow nose emerge from between their feet. The younger house-elf met her hypnotic stare and Ginny wondered whether he had ever seen a witch before.

Ginny was still staring at the smaller house-elf when Dobby succeeded in pulling her forward again. She reluctantly turned away from the small hut and continued to look ahead. She found that they were walking down some sort of central avenue that seemed to lead to a much larger hut in the center of the village. They had not walked much further forward when Ginny felt an even tinier hand in her other palm. She looked down and found that the diminutive house-elf child was now walking along with them, his face still staring up in awe and surprise at their curious visitor.

"Should he be - "

Ginny quickly swung her head back around and found that both of the house-elves' parents were staring out of their hut. They seemed very curious but unconcerned that their offspring had walked away from them.

"Myahe I'ckmin Ohei," said the tiny voice of the child suddenly.

"I - I beg your pardon?" was the only thing Ginny could reply.

"Myahe I'ckmin Ohei," repeated the child again, his eyes never leaving Ginny's.

"Myahe I'ckmin Jiniwuzhy, t'ckmin ose julis," said Dobby.

"Ose," said the little house-elf and continued to stare back up at Ginny.

"Wh - what did you say? What did you tell him?" asked Ginny.

"Not to worry, Ginny Weasley," said Dobby brightly. "I told her your name and that you couldn't speak Elfish."

Ginny took in a small breath and held it for a moment. She had always assumed that house-elves were somehow slower or stupider than humans. She had never considered that they were speaking in a language other than their mother tongue.

"I - I never knew house-elves could speak a different language," she finally said.

"Oh, yes, Ginny Weasley. Siosia is not a house-elf, though," he added, without seeming to take any sort of offense. "She is just an elf. But perhaps when she is growing up, she can become one!"

Dobby seemed very pleased with himself at the thought, though Ginny couldn't help but feel that the idea that this small child would grow up to be a slave was monstrous. She began to understand what Hermione had been trying to do all along by organizing S.P.E.W. and wondered why she had never taken more time to listen to her friend.

They continued to walk down the central pathway. The tall grass through which they had walked down from the hillside to get to this point had grown shorter and then turned to just mud and dirt, but it wasn't paved or stoned in any way. The huts grew more plentiful, some even larger, and they began to stretch out from the central avenue along smaller paths. Several families sat outside them, cooking out of strange tall, narrow-looking cylinders that stood over fires lit with twigs. Great numbers of large curious eyes peeked out from between and inside the huts. And while the adults were content to watch and stare at Ginny with curiosity, the children - some even smaller and others slightly larger than Siosia - skipped out to join them. The older they were, the further forward their ears seemed to stretch out from their heads until finally those of the adults spread out at a ninety-degree angle. Their noses, by contrast, seemed to contract as they aged, but even those of the adults were still quite long. Before much time had passed, Ginny found herself trailed by an entourage of tiny, skipping elfin children, each of whom wanted to jump up and hold onto her arms, legs, the sleeves of her robes, any part of her. Dobby admonished them when they impeded Ginny's movement but otherwise seemed indulgent. Ginny looked around her to find that the adult house-elves (or were they just elves?) now ringed each side of the avenue as though they were greeting a procession. Several held long, narrow torches like the one Dobby had in his hand. At the sight of the elves on either side and the feel of tiny hands all around her, Ginny felt something unwind inside her and a sound catch in her throat. A moment later, she released it as laughter, and it was returned to her by all of the tiny elves dancing around her. She wasn't at all sure what she was laughing about but it seemed that now she had started, she could not stop.

Dobby continued to lead the way in front of Ginny. It became clear that they were getting nearer and nearer the center of some sort of village and now Ginny could see more clearly what that center looked like. It seemed to be at the intersection of four avenues that led out from its center. Later, she became aware that there were actually eight pathways, leading out like the spokes of a wheel. On a slightly raised mound of earth sat the largest hut Ginny had seen in the village, although it was little more than three stories high. It was round, but its total circumference was probably no more than about two dozen meters. It was also made of pebbles and sticks and looked to have been built no less haphazardly than anything else in the village. Long red sheets draped down from a dome at its top. While somewhat dirty and faded, they were at least of a single piece unlike the patchwork of haphazard cloth that covered the other huts. At the top of the dome were two white circles ending in black dots, which looked to have been hastily painted onto two large slabs of wood. Ginny looked up at them for a few moments before she realized that they represented two large house-elf eyes.

In front of the hut was a small rectangular opening which all of the house-elves refrained from stepping on. Unlike the trampled-on dirt of the remainder of the village center, this patch of earth was still covered in fresh green grass. Preserved in the center of what was otherwise a hive of activity, Ginny couldn't help but think that this rectangular area marked some kind of sacred space.

She had no sooner finished these thoughts when the door to the larger hut opened. The crowd of house-elves around her, both children and adults, who had been tittering and chatting in their native tongue suddenly fell silent. A lone child was still carrying out a conversation with his friend but both were quickly silenced by the adult house-elves standing over them.

Ginny fixed her eyes on the opening to see who would emerge. A wizened-looking house-elf was the first to come out of the hut. His face was curled up in a frown. As he limped toward her, Ginny could see that he sprouted bits of white hair from his ears.

"Kreacher!" Ginny cried out.

There were murmurs, some of surprise and astonishment, others of curiosity from the gathering house-elves, but they quickly fell silent again. Ginny feared she had transgressed what was obviously basic house-elf decorum but she knew that she could not have restrained herself. What was Kreacher doing here, in the center of a house-elf village, in a position of some obvious authority?

"This is the elder Ju'ipo Fey," whispered Dobby. "He is not having any English name. And I do not think it would be Kreacher." He lowered his voice still further. "That is Dark Wizard naming."

Ginny felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and stupidity. Despite spending the last several years in a school full of house-elves, she realized she still knew very few and could not really tell them apart very easily. But, of course, that was how house-elves were supposed to be at Hogwarts: unseen and unheard. Looking closer, she could see that Ju'ipo Fey was slightly shorter than Kreacher, and he seemed older, too. He was also supporting himself with a long, thin stick that seemed as though it would snap in two whenever he put his weight on it.

The tent opened again and another house-elf emerged. This one was shorter, thinner, but somehow more alert than its fellow. A strange-looking red felt hat crowned its head and tucked in behind both of its ears which were unusually long. Only when she saw the hat did Ginny realize that this was the only house-elf in the village who wore any sort of clothing at all.

At the appearance of this new elf, all of the house-elves around her, save for the other that had emerged from the tent, fell to their knees on the ground. Ginny quickly bent her knees to do the same but she heard gasping and felt herself lifted back up by the combined weight of the house-elves behind her.

"You are a guest and guests cannot bow," explained a crouching Dobby in a whisper. "It's meaning your host is not good to you."

"Oh - sorry," Ginny whispered back, feeling stupid again.

"Do not worry, Ginny Weasley," replied Dobby, flashing her back a faithful smile.

With all of the house-elves kneeling around her, Ginny decided she had never felt so tall. Her feeling did not change as the two elder house-elves approached her. They both stood and stared her up and down for a moment, their curiosity almost as unabashed as the child elves that still surrounded her. Finally, Ju'ipo Fey moved differentially to the side, and the elf with the red cap stood right in front of Ginny.

"Ose Kei on Ja'hak!un."

"Ose Kei," replied Dobby. "Our honorable head village elder M'iu M'po welcomes you to our village."

"Please thank him for me, Dobby."

"Her, Ginny Weasley."

"Oh." Ginny's eyes widened as she looked back and forth between M'iu M'po and the male Ju'ipo Fey who stood differentially behind her.

"Nose bang-bang Jiniwuzhy ose," said Dobby.

"Ose, t'kio mange-mange, t'kio t!uk t!uk Du'umbuk-duk."

"The elder M'iu M'po thanks you for accepting her blessing and invites you to eat with us and visit with Professor Dumbledore."

At the mention of Dumbledore's name, reality seemed to come crashing back to Ginny. She realized she had to explain to him that they had to go back to Hogwarts and rescue Ron and the others. She tried to conceal her anxiousness as both M'iu M'po and Ju'ipo Fey gestured for her to enter the tent. She walked slowly and did not look back. It wasn't until she entered the hut that she realized no one had followed her, including Dobby.

The inside of the hut, which seemed made up of only a single large, round room was cool and dark and Ginny found it difficult to adjust her eyes. She had not yet fully done so when she heard a flurry of wings. A snowy-white owl landed on her hand and began to ruffle its feathers against her arm affectionately.

"Hedwig!" Ginny exclaimed.

The owl hooted in equal enthusiasm. Ginny giggled as Hedwig nipped at her hand affectionately, tickling it.

"Hedwig is not the only one pleased to see you, Ginny."

Ginny looked into the far corner of the tent. Albus Dumbledore stood there impassively, the dim light from three twigs planted upwards in the earthen ground at the base of the tent casting light over his familiar white hair and beard, half-moon spectacles, and twinkling eyes.

Ginny took a step toward Dumbledore and studied him for a moment, as though unsure she could believe he was real.

"Do you remember?" she finally asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "Everything in fact. When I left the field of the memory ball at the school, my memories were returned to me. And Lord Voldemort's charms cannot penetrate into this village. In fact, he has no means of knowing we are here."

"But how did you get out that night?"

"The same way you did. The house-elves rescued us. They knew we were about to be expelled. They had overheard Malfoy and Wormtail talking just as Sirius had. They Portkeyed us here."

"Well, we have to Portkey back! Hogwarts has been attacked by the Death Eaters! Ron went looking for me and they've set a trap for him! I can't stay here; I have to - "

But Dumbledore held up a restraining hand.

"I'm afraid that's not possible. The elves' Portkey is not an ordinary one. I'm afraid they've had far too long and unfortunate an experience with outsiders to make it very easy for us to enter or leave their villages. It takes many weeks of ritual and concerted magical effort for them to prepare even one and we do not possess the knowledge to help them. And the Portkeys only work in one direction. They can travel back and forth to Hogwarts but we cannot. And as for Apparation - "

But Ginny did not let Dumbledore finish his sentence.

"Are you telling me there's nothing we can do?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to trust your brother to look after himself. I do not wish it, but there we are. And he is not alone."

"Brilliant! That's just spectacular, wonderful!" Ginny flung her hands wide and Hedwig flew back to her perch with a hoot. "I'm going to just be stuck here with you and wait - don't tell me - we're going to be doing absolutely nothing! Just as you have for the past few months!"

"That's not entirely fair, Ginny," replied Dumbledore with only the faintest hint of remonstration. "We have been trying to rescue you. As I told you - "

"Rescue me? Well, congratulations, you made it. Another second there and I would have been kidnapped, atomized, or I don't want to say what, but, yes, you rescued me. People have been killed but, yes, you rescued me!"

"We could, of course, send one of the elves back to - "

"Yes, let's do that! Risk more innocent lives on my behalf! After all, what's one more death when the world's about to end? And how are we doing on that front?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply but this time, he did not succeed in getting out a single word.

"Let me guess, nowhere! Rescuing Harry and Hermione, nowhere either, right? We're all safe in our little village. Meanwhile, while we're conveniently out of the way, Malfoy is busy turning Hogwarts into a Death Eater hell and counting down the days until he becomes a very nasty god! And, oh, did you know? He's Voldemort!"

It was very obvious from the non-plussed expression on Dumbledore's face that he had not known.

Ginny felt tears prick her eyes. "You don't know anything! You can't do anything! You're supposed to be - you're the - you've messed everything up!"

Dumbledore did not try to move out of the way as Ginny ran toward him and began hitting her fists ineffectually against his robes. But when she quickly stopped doing this and instead buried her sobbing head in his chest, the once headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry put his arms around her and ran his fingers gently through her long red hair.

"Yes, Ginny," he murmured quietly. "I'm rather afraid I have."

***

"Hermione, where's he taking us?" hissed Lavender.

"You'll find out."

"Why are you giggling? Hermione, please, this is serious. This isn't funny."

"Oh, but it is. It's hilarious in fact."

"There is a funny side, I agree," said Snape, flashing Hermione an outrageously uncharacteristic wink.

"Hermione, he's - but he's - what's going on?"

"Lavender, keep your voice down, please!"

"What do you mean 'keep my voice down?' We've been led out of church by the headmaster! How could we get - " Lavender's eyes widened. "Oh my God, he's - he's some kind of horrible child molester, isn't he? I knew it the first time I laid eyes on him! A - and you're - you're - you and Harry are his accomplices, aren't you? I want to go back!"

Lavender swung around and headed back up the corridor but was quickly restrained by both Hermione and Snape.

"Let me go!" she moaned.

"Lavender," said Hermione, trying to conceal the irritation in her voice. "You're going to have to trust us. Do I seem like a child molester to you? Really?"

"No," said Lavender but she still regarded her roommate suspiciously.

"Then trust us," said Snape. "We're almost there, anyway."

"Wh - wh - where's there?"

Snape led her to the door to the secondary maths classroom and turned the handle to open it. Lavender stared up at him reluctantly for a moment and then looked quizzically back at Hermione who nodded reassuringly. She then walked slowly into the room and was surprised to see not only Harry, but also Colin and Dennis Creevey, Arabella Wycliffe, Euan Abercrombie, and a girl Lavender thought was named Eloise Midgen. Each looked up to her when she entered.

"I'd like you all to welcome Lavender," Snape announced, smiling as though his face had just learned how. "She already seems to have a knack at cracking memory charms. And I'm sure there's a lot more she can do when we start training her."

"I hope you've put a silencing charm on the room," said Hermione, closing the door behind them. "I know she's going to scream."

Snape did not reply. Lavender looked back at them apprehensively. But that was nothing to her expression when the headmaster suddenly turned into a man with long, mangy hair and dark circles under his penetrating bloodshot eyes.

And then, just as her roommate had predicted she would, Lavender screamed.

***

"Easy does it, mate."

"I think he might be coming around, Poppy."

"Give him some room to breathe then!"

A blurry world swam sharply into focus. Ron looked up to find the concerned-looking faces of Neville, Professor Harmon, and Professor McGonagall looking down at him. His first impression was that he was lying on a bed in the hospital wing; he could distinctly feel a pillow beneath his head and sheets and a blanket on top of his body. But the next moment, Ron found his eyes adjusting to the sharp glare of daylight. Still half-disoriented and profoundly suspicious of anything amiss, Ron swung quickly off the bed, causing Neville to leap to one side, and found that his feet touched not the floor of the hospital wing but the very cool earth.

"Mr. Weasley," came Madam Pomfrey's voice from somewhere in the background. "You've had a very nasty bump on the head! If you would be so kind as to stay - "

But Ron did not listen. Ignoring the still splitting pain in his head and the wet cold on his bare feet, he stood up and found himself blocked by one side of a cloth tent. He felt McGonagall's protesting hand on his shoulder as he searched for an outside flap but he shook it off. With still unclear determination, Ron found an opening and broke outside of the tent only to discover himself on the Hogwarts grounds just at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. When he stood up to look at the castle building, his eyes streaming from the glare of the sun in the pristine sky above him, he could see why.

The school that he had attended for almost seven years was now a charred, blackened ruin. A burned-out frame still marked what once had been the entire west length of the castle. The east wall did not even have a frame and there was no roof, laying the entirety of what once had been several stories of castle open to the sky. Underneath the frame, what had once been a very large school was now an extremely large pile of rubble. Both Gryffindor Tower and the tower that had once held Dumbledore's office were nowhere to be seen, and the Ravenclaw, North, and West Towers were about half their previous height. The Astronomy Tower was the only one that still reached up to the top but its insides appeared gutted. Small fires continued to burn all around the rubble and large groups of house elves were ferrying buckets of water onto the remaining flames.

"D - did - did I do that?" Ron wondered aloud.

He felt a hand on his shoulder again but this time it was less in restraint than commiseration.

"No, Mr. Weasley," replied McGonagall. "It is true that you started quite a blaze in Gryffindor Tower, most ingeniously from what I understand." Her lips twitched slightly. "But the Death Eaters themselves made things far worse. I'm still not quite sure how but they managed to use some sort of Dark Magic to ignite and explode all of the fireplaces within the floo network. The main motive seemed to have been to smoke out Dolores Umbridge from where we had been holding her captive in Professor Dumbledore's office. I also think they were trying to make sure no one survived to tell anyone what we were supposed to have all forgotten. I'm pleased to say that at least one of their aims was unsuccessful. We have a number of casualties but everyone else seems to have survived. We managed to capture some of the Death Eaters - mostly the trained students - but we're not sure how many of them got away or how many of them died in the castle."

"Neville?" asked Ron, suddenly recalling with full force the perilous position he and his friends had been in the moment before they had fallen unconscious on the ground just underneath Gryffindor Tower.

"I'm right here," said Neville, joining them. "It was a bit nasty but Madam Pomfrey managed to fix up my knee. You ended up a lot worse, though, mate. Your head didn't half split open on the ground last night, did you know?"

"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom," said McGonagall with a hint of reproach. Neville grimaced sheepishly.

Ron's hand went to his forehead to find there was still a large bumpy scar that stung painfully when he touched it. But he was still in no mood to return to bed.

"Seamus?" he demanded.

McGonagall and Neville exchanged slightly uneasy glances, but Neville spoke up quickly.

"He's still in a bit of a state and he hasn't woken up yet. They did some nasty hexes on him. But Madam Pomfrey thinks he's gotten the better of it."

At the mention of nasty hexes another memory came back to Ron. He looked Neville and uneasily in the eye and said quietly:

"Luna?"

Ron let out a breath as Neville smiled at him, color rising in his cheeks.

"She's still not come round yet. But her - well, you know, her face has cleared up a lot - and Madam Pomfrey says she's going to be all right."

"And we have some other news for you, too," added McGonagall. "One of the house-elves told us not long ago. Your sister is safe."

"Ginny!" cried Ron in response. "But where - where is she? I want to see her!"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," replied McGonagall. "She's in a house-elf village. We're forbidden to know its location. Professor Lupin and Professor Dumbledore are with her."

"Forbidden to - I thought the house-elves were on our side?"

"Perhaps I should put this to you more plainly, Mr. Weasley," said McGonagall, her lips drawing terse again. "If we could find out, then so could the Death Eaters and I don't think you want that to happen, do you?"

"Oh... no," said Ron, rubbing his aching head and still not quite sure he understood. "Can I send her a note?"

McGonagall hesitated for a moment. She seemed on the point of refusing Ron but then nodded.

"A short note, if you must, Mr. Weasley. But please don't make a habit of it. There is always a danger they may be intercepted. I can send it with a house-elf; they're the only ones who can travel back and forth freely, without great difficulties, that is. And Mr. Weasley: do not even think of sending her an owl; it's far too risky."

Ron nodded. "What happened to Malfoy?" he asked.

McGonagall sighed. "We couldn't find him. He seems to have disappeared completely. But whatever he wanted with your sister, he didn't succeed. Now, if you have no further questions, I think Madam Pomfrey would like to see you back in bed."

McGonagall indicated Madam Pomfrey who stood at the edge of the tent, quietly fuming that Ron had been allowed to venture so long out of bed in his condition. Ron began to slowly walk back to the tent, followed by McGonagall and Neville. He peered around the grounds as he did so to see a number of makeshift tents, most of which seemed to have been erected by magic. There were only about two dozen students standing around in groups on the lawn, even fewer staff, and a large number of house-elves. He remembered that most of the students and some of the staff had been evacuated to St. Mungo's after the initial attack. But, still, something seemed missing. And in Ron's still woozy mind, he tried desperately to figure out what. And then, in a flash of realization, he knew.

Ron swung around to look at McGonagall, ignoring a fresh throbbing pain that had appeared in his temple.

"Where - where is she? Umbridge? She didn't get out, did she? Please tell me you let her burn?"

McGonagall's lips pursed. "I will tell you truthfully, Mr. Weasley, that I was extremely tempted. However, I do not aspire to the status of Dark Wizard myself. We tried to move her and it was then that she escaped."

"Escaped? B - but how, to where?"

"That was what we hoped you might still be able to tell us, Mr. Weasley," she replied.

"After he gets some more rest!" demanded Madam Pomfrey.

"No, now!" insisted Ron. "But why do you think I would know?"

Ignoring a mutinous glance from Madam Pomfrey, McGonagall went on.

"Please try to think, Mr. Weasley: before your sister disappeared, did she say anything to you about anything unusual in Umbridge's office?"

"Well... no, she didn't say all that much to me at all, I mean - " Ron lowered his eyes. "I didn't believe her about the memories. I think, after a time, she decided it was better not to tell me too much. And then when we got the memories back, there wasn't any time. We had to come down into the hall, and then - " Ron sighed. "You know the rest." He paused for only a moment. "What happened?"

McGonagall hesitated and Ron could see that she wasn't entirely sure she should let on. Neville edged closer to them and it was obvious that he didn't know either. Faced with two very curious Gryffindor faces, McGonagall sighed.

"Very well," she said. "I expect you'll hear it from the other students sooner or later. As I explained before, the Death Eaters tried to smoke Umbridge out of her office by setting the floo network on fire. We tried to move her but," McGonagall paused, "we weren't very successful. She actually threw herself into the fire and succeeded in releasing her bonds. I myself was only just arriving when she rolled herself out of the flames. We thought she might have been burned but she came up firing and hit Hannah Abbot with a very nasty stunning spell." McGonagall lowered her voice. "We're still not very sure if she'll come out of it."

Ron and Neville followed McGonagall's gaze to a bed in a further part of the tent. It was then that Ron noticed that the tent contained more than a dozen beds, more, in fact, than there had been in the whole of the old hospital wing. All of them contained students. Some were conscious and talking but others were still asleep. His attention was returned to McGonagall when she started to talk again.

"The rest of us tried to stop her. We thought she'd make for the exit. As far as we knew, it was the only way out of the office. But she didn't. She ducked into an alcove and touched her wand to a small opening on the wall. It must have been some kind of secret panel. I don't think it was there when Professor Dumbledore had the office. We continued to fire at her. She fired back and still didn't move her ground. Whatever was inside the wall was obviously important to her. Finally, she succeeded in forcing us to duck to the corners: for someone who never taught real Defense skills, she certainly turned out to know a surprising number. Once we were out of the way, she reached her hand inside the panel and pulled out some kind of parchment. And then - " McGonagall paused again.

"Yes?" asked Ron.

"Well, the next part was the strangest of all. When she reached for the parchment, I came up firing again. I thought I had her but then she seemed to curl her body and disappear sideways into one of the paintings."

"And that's it?" demanded Ron when McGonagall stopped talking.

"We tried to move forward but then the flames rose around us. I was afraid we would be trapped so I took hold of Hannah and shouted at the others to come with me. We just managed to escape down the staircase as the whole place went up."

"But what was the painting of?" asked Neville.

McGonagall hesitated. "It was a portrait of an old room in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. An old... chamber, containing a very old archway with a veil."

***

Sirius had gone to get Dean just after Lavender had arrived. This had been Hermione's idea after Lavender had been unable to stop shouting and crying hysterically. While Sirius had been gone, it had taken the remaining students all of their efforts to persuade her not to run away and go looking for the nuns. After Sirius had returned with Dean, she calmed down a little bit. But although he had been much more rational about the whole affair than his girlfriend, Dean was hardly taking it in his stride, not that Hermione could blame him. She remembered the entries she had read in the diary Sirius had gave her. According to that account, it had been Dean who had tried to convince her of the existence of magic and, quite understandably, she had very much doubted him herself.

Still, Hermione thought to herself, it had taken Lavender a lot longer than the others to adjust, perhaps because she had shown little outward signs of magical abilities, apart from being able to crack memory charms. But this did not lead Hermione to forgive her roommate so easily, especially as her histrionics had wasted valuable time from their lesson. Sirius' magic classes - Defense Against the Dark Arts classes as he called them - were the only thing she had to look forward to all week and they had had very little time to learn anything this time. She could sense that Sirius was impatient, too, although he had done a better job of disguising that impatience to Lavender than she had.

Once they had finally convinced Lavender (and to a lesser extent Dean) to calm down, Sirius decided just to review their lesson on levitation charms from the previous week. Hermione was pleased to see that he started with Arabella, who had struggled with levitation charms since they had first started to learn them. She sensed that some of the other students were impatient, especially when Arabella still took a long time to master the charm, but Sirius did a very good job of using her efforts as a way to better explain the lesson to the whole group. And his efforts paid off: by the lesson's end, Arabella had succeeding in levitating a cup of water nearly six feet in the air while spilling only the tiniest of drops. Hermione could see on her face a sense of pride and accomplishment that had been absent ever since the first day Hermione had met her in this miserable school. And she felt as glad as if she had done the charm correctly herself.

They walked back to the chapel in groups of two. Sirius had explained once that returning as a whole group might test the limits of the memory charm. Hermione still wasn't quite sure what that meant or how it was possible that the nuns did not notice even groups of two students returning, which they surely would not have missed under ordinary circumstances. She and Harry were the last to go as usual. Hermione could hear the chords of the closing hymn starting up. She knew that they had little time to return but she wanted to let Sirius know how she felt. Harry, however, beat her to it.

"That was a very kind thing you did back there," he told his godfather. "I've never seen Arabella as pleased as that before. She usually looks so miserable."

Sirius smiled. "Believe me, Harry. I understand how she feels. I've been in some very dark places myself."

"She killed her father, you see," added Hermione, a little quietly, even though she knew the sound of their voices could not travel past the range of Sirius's silencing charm. "O - of course, he had been terrible to her and her mother, not that I'm suggesting - "

"But that's a lie!" said Sirius suddenly, his smile fading and a dark cloud passing over his features. "I told you I know what it's like and I do. I was told I'd killed someone once and even though I knew that I hadn't, there were times when I sank so far, I began to believe it myself. Of course, the dementors didn't help much."

Hermione didn't pause to ask what dementors were. She was far more interested in the first thing Sirius had said.

"B - but she did," she protested, giving Sirius what must have been a very strange look. "It took an awful lot out of her to finally tell me. I can remember - "

"That's just it!" said Sirius, his face twisting and eyes bulging in what Hermione had come to think of as his crazed look, an expression that never seemed far below the flexible mask of his features. "You remember. She remembers. But that's all it is. A memory. And memories can be altered."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Are you saying - "

"Think, Hermione, think!" urged Sirius, clenching and unclenching his hands. "What's the best way to pull someone down, to weaken their resistance, to crush their defiance?"

It was Harry who answered. "Make them believe it was their fault. That they deserve whatever it is they're getting."

"Exactly, Harry! In the hands of the oppressor, guilt is a far more powerful weapon than any gun or sword."

But Harry's face hardened. "But I know I killed my aunt. It didn't seem real at first, but now I know I did it. And it's not easy but I've learned to live with it. And that doesn't mean I think the nuns can do whatever they like to me or my friends."

Sirius took hold of Harry's shoulders. "But, Harry, you didn't kill your aunt! None of it's true!"

Harry shook himself out of Sirius's grip. The two of them stared at each other for a moment. Hermione knew what Harry was thinking; it had tormented her soul, too, for so many years: they had both spent so much time denying their crimes to themselves. At least she hadn't killed anyone. Harry, like Arabella, had to wake up every morning looking into the mirror and seeing a murderer's face look back at him. And yet he had managed to accept that and put it behind him. And now Sirius was dangling the prospect of innocence over his head again like a worm on the hook of a hungry fish. Hermione knew that part of Harry was wondering whether accepting what his godfather said would mean that he would have to go through the whole painful process of confronting his guilt all over again. She wondered whether Sirius realized this.

"You keep talking about memories," Harry finally said, "but where are these memories? How can we - " Harry stopped himself. "I want to believe you, Sirius. I - I do believe you but - but - I can't - we can't really understand what you're saying until we get them back."

Hermione was pleased when Harry looked over to her for support and she gave him a silent nod of encouragement. She didn't manage to look Sirius quite properly in the eye when she did it, however. Her heart went out to their magical teacher but she also knew that Harry's question had to be asked, and it would have been hers also.

Harry's question seemed to hang in the air as though it was taking an eternity to travel to Sirius's ear. The ominous chords of the final hymn's final verse, pierced by Sister Barnes's shrill descant, broke into full swing in the background. Hermione knew they had no time left to stand here talking to Sirius and she knew that Sirius knew it, too, but she hoped for Harry's sake that he didn't say it.

Sirius looked at Harry for a moment and then sighed.

"You're right, both of you, of course," he said, shifting his gaze back and forth between Harry and Hermione. "I know it has to be in this school somewhere but I'm afraid I'm no closer to finding it. But there is another way," Sirius added, as though coming to a decision himself. "If I can get you out of this school - out of this world - then your memories might be returned to you. It's a bit difficult to explain but I think it's time I organized a jailbreak."

***

Snape sat at his desk, staring at the video monitor. A smashed teacup and saucer littered the floor at his feet in testament to his frustration. Snape normally kept everything meticulously neat but now he found that he couldn't be bothered to pick up the pieces. He felt content to let them litter the floor, ornaments to his increasing clutter. Neatness was no longer a sufficient temptation for the headmaster to tear his eyes away from his obsession with things did not make sense. And the video display on his screen, like many before it, simply did not make sense.

It was the same every Sunday. It had become almost predictable. Snape was looking down at a view of the chapel. He could see the teachers and students, all lined up in deceptively neat and orderly rows, appearing not to dare to make any noise or movement. Snape could see his own profile as he sat in the chair off to the side of the chapel. Monsignor Downs, who presided over the weekly mass, stood at the front of the altar. They were singing the opening hymn....

And then the screen flickered - as Snape knew it would. Monsignor Downs had moved, as if by magic, to the lectern, where he was now beginning to read the first lesson. The counter at the top of the screen showed that two minutes had elapsed. Snape angrily hammered at the fast-forward button at the screen. But he already knew from past experience what he was going to find.

Another two minutes would disappear from the tape at the end of the mass during the closing hymn.

Two minutes at the beginning and two minutes at the end, just like the two minutes missing from the video the day that guard had talked to Potter in the playground two months before.

But what did it mean? What could have happened during those two minutes, and how?

The playground incident had been damnable; Snape was sure someone had gotten into his office and tampered with the tape, most likely that guard. But the missing time from the Sunday mass, week after week, had now passed well beyond the bizarre. Snape himself had been sitting there in the chapel the whole time and he knew that nothing had happened. Yet somehow he felt certain that it had.

And every week, when Snape left the chapel, he found that the same four minutes had been deleted from the security tape. Snape knew that it should have been impossible for anyone to touch the tape. Trusting no one, he had specifically spread the disinformation among the staff that he had no intention of taping mass, even after the attempted jailbreak of Granger and her friends. To do so would have been unforgivably sacrilegious, he had told them, and would have undermined everything they were trying to create in the school. He had taken to keeping the camera and VCR locked in a drawer to which only he knew the combination; he had asked for his office lock to be re-cored under suspicion that someone else had the key. He obsessively glanced at the mirror in the church behind which the camera was hidden to determine that no one could have possibly tampered with it during the mass. And, of course, after mass was over, far earlier than it was polite to the Monsignor, he had invariably bolted down to his office.

And each time he discovered that the tape had already been changed.

The most logical explanation was an equipment malfunction. Yet Snape refused to be content with this, either. How could the same two minutes be missing from the tape right after the start of mass, even with different tapes in different positions? And Snape always made sure that the cameras were activated well before the mass, so such a consistent fault at that end could not have been possible either. No, someone was tampering with the tape for some purpose. And even though he could remember clearly seeing Potter and Granger staring at him from their pews throughout the whole of the mass with their wide, false-innocent eyes, he was certain it had something to do with them. And he was also sure that -

Snape was jolted back to the present by a loud, sharp knock on the door to the office and froze. He was not supposed to here - not on Sunday, not on the day of rest. Only Snape appreciated how there could be no rest for him. He didn't expect anyone else to understand. He should have pretended he wasn't there and, after all, who should have suspected him? He had made very sure that no one had followed him from the chapel.

Snape realized he should have tried to make no noise and convince whomever it was that there was no one there. But an obsessive instinct seemed to take hold of him and before he could stop himself, he threw all of the video equipment noisily into the locked drawer, as though it was infected with some kind of contagion.

Only when he had finished did Snape stop to consider that whoever was outside the door could not have failed to notice the racket. Even then he still considered pretending that the office was vacant but the knock came again, this time more insistently.

"Enter," said Snape, making an effort to keep his tone authoritative.

Snape's heart plunged into his stomach as the door opened and none other than Sister Umbridge walked into his office.

"Sister," he said. "I - I - I wasn't expecting - "

But Umbridge only smiled her horribly false sickly smile and walked toward him.

"Oh, dear, Severus, you oughtn't to be working on the Sabbath, you know."

"I - I - Sister, please forgive me." Snape quickly got to his feet and then almost immediately sat back down again when he decided that the height differential between himself and his superior created the wrong sort of impression altogether.

"Please - please have a seat."

Snape was unable to keep the uncharacteristic nervousness out of his voice and he could see in Sister Umbridge's eyes that she sensed it. She slowly pulled a nearby chair over to the center of the office and sat down at it methodically, as though to emphasize her comfort and ease in contrast to Snape's obvious disquiet. Yet, in spite of this, Snape still sensed she was bothered about something. There was a high color in her cheeks and a bright, almost eager look behind her hypnotically-large brown eyes.

"There's no need to worry, Headmaster," Umbridge went on, speaking in her typical, painfully slow manner. "I fully understand that, in a position such as yours, there cannot be the luxury of rest. And I understand how vexing this problem of the missing minutes on the tape must be to you."

Snape felt an icy cold penetrate to each and every synapse on his head. How did Umbridge know? He had told no one. Fear fired his nerves again. Had Umbridge been playing with him all this time? Had this been a test - a test that he now had failed?

"Sister, I - I - I assure that I - I had fully intended to apprise you of all details as soon as this matter was resolved, b - but as you seem to know - "

With a still horribly sweet smile on her face, Umbridge slowly shook her head.

"Once again, headmaster, your apology is most unwarranted. You have done all that could possibly have been expected of you. As a matter of fact, I have come to release you of the terrible burden that has caused this little problem."

"Y - you have?" asked Snape, struggling desperately to settle his voice.

Umbridge nodded slowly, as though addressing a child. "Indeed I have, Headmaster. I am here to arrange a transfer of pupils." Her smiled transformed into a solemn frown that suggested she was about to deliver a grim pronouncement borne of holy necessity. "You know, I think, who is responsible for this unfortunate lapse in security."

"Potter - a - and Granger?"

Snape felt a sense of relief wash over him as Umbridge nodded sagely. But almost immediately that feeling of relief was replaced by one of profound suspicion and distrust. How indeed did Umbridge know this? Snape suddenly felt himself vindicated for his decision to tell Umbridge nothing in the first place about the strange turn of events with the video camera, although now it seemed that she had known. His churning doubts came to a quick halt when he suddenly realized that Umbridge had been speaking at him again and, this time, she apparently expected an answer.

"I beg your pardon, Sister?"

Umbridge smiled sweetly and spoke even more slowly, as though Snape's failure to hear her question had been by reason of mental deficiency and not a lack of attention.

"I said that the students in question will be transferred to the Ashford penitentiary. The transfer will take place this evening."

"This evening?" replied Snape, a bit dully.

"Yes, Headmaster, this evening. We don't want to give them chance to prepare a last ditch effort at escape now, do we? Here is the list of names. I trust you will find all of the signatures in order."

For the first time, Snape noticed that Umbridge had slung around her shoulder a small leather purse with a large clasp in the shape of a furry blue kitten whose smile seemed rather forced. She reached into the purse and produced a folded sheet of paper. Snape unfolded it to find the names of eight students neatly typed. He scrutinized the sheet carefully, but all of the correct signatures - from church officials, the warden of the Ashford prison, even the Home Office - seemed to be in order. He quickly held it up to the light as if to read it more closely and discovered that the sheet did indeed bear the Home Secretary's watermark.

"I assure you that I have meticulously checked the authenticity of the document myself, Headmaster."

Umbridge's tone of voice seemed non-committal but her eyes held a challenge. Snape quickly turned away from her gaze and back to the document.

"Are all of these transfers necessary?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. If you look closely, you'll see that all of the students were part of Granger's group. When one apple begins to rot, it is really very difficult to salvage the others, don't you think?"

"Of course, Sister." Snape looked at the document once more. Everything seemed to be correct, just as nothing had seemed to go amiss during the morning mass. Yet Snape was certain that the time was past when he trusted appearances. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but feel that he would rest more easily if Potter and Granger were no longer in his school. He was on the point of offering Umbridge a grudging nod when the phone on his desk rang.

He looked at it in surprise and wondered, like he had the knock on his door, whether or not he should answer it. But Umbridge said:

"Aren't you going to pick up the phone, Headmaster?"

Snape looked across at her and they locked eyes for a moment. He was sure that Umbridge's cheeks now looked quite flushed, but her expression remained calm. Something made him continue to watch her as he picked up the receiver.

"Yes?" he said, in what he hoped was a brusque tone.

"I'm sorry to trouble you, Headmaster," came the voice of the guard in the front office. "I tried to reach you in your chambers, sir, but there was no answer."

"Never mind that, Stevens," replied Snape shortly. "What is it?"

"Sister Umbridge is here to see you, sir."

"You needn't bother. She's already here."

"Sir?"

"I said 'she's already here,' Stevens, or perhaps you need to invest in hearing aid. And I'd thank you to inform me before I have any more visitors, whatever their clearance."

But Stevens was not so easily put off.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said again, his voice high and nervous, "but I've only just heard from the gate. They - wait, there she is. Wait - she's - she's gone straight in, headmaster. I hope you didn't mind; I didn't - "

But Snape heard nothing more. The receiver fell from his hand onto the desk. He felt a twitch begin in his cheek, then in his arm, and finally his body began to tremble again, just as it had so many times in recent months. Stevens' voice continued to sound from the receiver but he made no move to pick it up again. And all this time, his eyes never left those of his visitor.

"Whatever is the matter, Headmaster?" said Umbridge, still smiling. "You look as though you could do with a visit to a doctor - or perhaps a healer would be a rather better choice?"

The door flung open and what little remained of the tidy, ordered world of Severus Snape came crashing to a complete halt.

There, framed in the doorway, was a second Dolores Umbridge, identical in every way to her doppelganger, down to the one-piece black habit she wore. The only difference between them was that the new Umbridge looked considerably more flustered as though she had been running very hard. There also seemed to be burn marks on each of her arms. She held a long rolled-up parchment in her hand which her double examined with intense curiosity. Following her double's gaze, she quickly tucked it underneath the folds of her robes.

The original Umbridge immediately got up from her chair, gracefully swept back her habit and gestured toward the open chair, the smile not leaving her face.

"Why, Dolores, how very nice of you to join us! Do sit down!"

Snape's knees gave way and he fell to the floor. With a shaken and blurred gaze, he managed to notice the standing Umbridge fuming like an angry rhinoceros. She pointed a bony finger, devoid of all color, alternately at Snape and her twin who continued to smile as though she was enjoying every moment of the impossible confrontation.

"Y - y - you, don't you see?" the newer Umbridge bellowed at Snape finally. "It's him! It must be! It's the hound!"

But Snape could manage no response. His teeth began to chatter. Somehow, he could feel no further surprise when the newly arrived Umbridge reached into her cloak and produced a strange long stick which she aimed at her counterpart. The latter smiled, waved and then changed before Snape's eyes into a ruffian with mangy hair and a long beard. An alien language that sounded vaguely like Latin began forming on the lips of the Umbridge with the wand but then her mangy opposite vanished completely.

The remaining Umbridge looked frantically around the office as though expecting the apparent intruder to re-appear. Her eyes finally settled on Snape who was still on his knees on the floor.

"You idiot fool!" she barked. "We've got to stop him! Get - get - " She pointed the stick at him but then drew it away in exasperation. "I'll be back for you and your memories!"

And with that Umbridge opened the door and ran quickly out of the office. Snape heard her calling to the guards. There were shouts of instructions and a clatter of footsteps but they quickly lost their coherence for Snape. He felt as though his brain could no longer make meaning out of sight or sound. Suddenly, he knew he had to have quiet; he had to have quiet at all costs. Everything he heard and saw seemed fall of chaos, and he just had to make that chaos go away.

Snape's wiry knees were still knocking but he managed to get to his feet and make his way to the door. His stomach oozed with nausea and he felt certain he was going to be sick but he forced the feeling down. He managed to slam the door shut, turn the lock, and draw his newly installed deadbolt firmly across. When he was satisfied that nothing and no one could enter, he collapsed panting to the floor once again, turned around to face back into his office, and found himself face-to-face with the mangy ruffian.

"Crabby old bag, isn't she?"

Snape screamed.

"Why, Severus, I don't think I've ever heard you make that sound before and that is saying something. I'd prefer it if you'd shut up though. We don't want the feline-loving freak back just yet."

Snape sunk further to the floor. "Wh - wh - what do you want with me?" he groaned.

"A few minutes of your time," replied the intruder. "I doubt we have much more. Oh, I know it's been fun, Severus, but you really have been a very bad boy. And it's high time we put Humpty Dumpty back together again, don't you think?"

***

"Don't get me wrong, General Kwiluxital. It's been an honor to be the first human aboard your spacecraft but I'm afraid I really must get back to Neville."

A pair of large blue eyes snapped open.

"I'm right here," came a slightly choked reply. McGonagall put a supportive arm on Neville's shoulder who was unable to restrain a sob and a tear as he took Luna's hand in his.

"What's going on? Where am I? Did the General leave already?" Luna wanted to know.

"I - I - " began Neville.

"Do you remember anything, Miss Lovegood?" asked McGonagall, leaning forward.

Luna screwed up her eyes in confusion.

"Oh, I suppose the Death Eaters attacked us, didn't they? We were in the Hall and then they were all after me. And then - oh, dear, was I hexed? I hope I didn't look any the worse for it?"

Ron cleared his throat, McGonagall seemed unable to restrain a smirk, but Neville burst into inconsolable tears and wrapped his arms around Luna where she lay in bed.

"Oh, dear, dear," said his girlfriend, running her fingers gently up his back. "Was it that bad?"

"You're a very lucky witch, Miss Lovegood," replied McGonagall.

After a few more minutes, Neville managed to pull himself together and disentangle himself from Luna. Madam Pomfrey came over to deliver her usual reprimands about Luna still needing rest but McGonagall seemed unusually dismissive even as Neville practically fell to his hands and knees in gratitude for the safe (and spotless) return of his girlfriend. Ron sensed that McGonagall had finally gotten a bit fed up with Madam Pomfrey's constant matriarchal hovering. She had been tight-lipped and obviously uneasy since a house-elf had arrived just after lunch time bringing a return note from Ginny for Ron and another longer parchment for McGonagall that Ron suspected had come from Dumbledore. He did not find himself especially surprised when McGonagall drew him away from the hospital tent and out onto the grass just a few yards in front of the forest.

"Mr. Weasley," she said in a low voice. "I feel I can be frank with you. You are no longer a child and I do not wish to hide anything from you."

Ron nodded, though he wondered what was coming next.

"I don't know what your sister told you before she left but the memory charms seem to have been part of a much larger plan, a plan that I'm afraid has been unleashed - by - well, by You-Know-Who. He seems to have returned."

Somehow Ron didn't feel very surprised at the news. He didn't think anyone less could have pulled this off. And besides, Ginny had said as much, hadn't she, the day all this had first happened? All those long months ago.

McGonagall took in a breath and went on. "I'm afraid, Mr. Weasley, that the memory charm that the Death Eaters used at Hogwarts was not the only one. There are many of them - perhaps dozens even - placed all over England, and probably in other countries as well. The only people who remember the true reality are ourselves and presumably Professor Dumbledore - though I'm not quite sure how. That's why the Death Eaters wanted to destroy the school and everyone else in it. There would be no one left alive who remembered the truth."

"So that means...." started Ron, reading the apprehensive look on McGonagall's face.

"That means," finished the deputy headmistress, "that no one in the Ministry or the Order will be able to help us - and that includes your parents and your older brothers. And we simply don't have time to go looking for their memory charms. They could be disguised as anything."

"But surely, I mean - well, we can convince them, can't we? That we're right, I mean."

McGonagall gave Ron a slightly old-fashioned look.

"As Miss Weasley tried to convince you?"

"Well....."

McGonagall nodded firmly, apparently convinced that she had made her point.

"The fact is, Mr. Weasley, Professor Dumbledore needs our help very badly. You-Know-Who is plotting something very - something awful. It will take me too long to explain right now but we need all the help we can get, and it's not going to be much. Professor Harmon is with us, of course, but most of the rest of staff...." McGonagall's voice trailed off as she looked across the lawn where Professor Trelawney, looking very much like a fish out of water outside of her incense-filled classroom, was gesticulating wildly at the clouds and talking to herself.

"Right," said Ron, as though in response. "You can count on - "

"Just a minute," said a voice behind them. Ron looked over to see Luna striding over, still dressed in her hospital gown, dragging Neville with her by the hand.

"If you're making some arrangement to stop You-Know-Who, then I ought to be involved."

McGonagall looked Luna up and down. It was obvious to Ron she did not think this was a very good suggestion.

"You're in no fit state, Miss Lovegood. You shouldn't even be out of bed! We're talking about a highly dangerous - possibly suicidal mission to - "

"I'm feeling perfectly all right, thank you! And you wouldn't even be plotting this mission if I hadn't released everyone's memories!"

McGonagall continued to frown but it seemed that she did not have an easy rejoinder for Luna. Her gaze turned to Neville and grew even more skeptical. "Mr. Longbottom?"

If Ron didn't know better, he could have sworn he saw Neville puff up his chest.

"I'm not a clumsy child anymore!" he declared with a conviction that surprised Ron. "And I've faced Death Eaters before! You can ask Ron; you can ask...." Neville's voice trailed off and he seemed to want to look anywhere but at his roommate. "....Harry," he finished meekly.

After a long sigh, McGonagall nodded her head.

"Very well, you three, hold out your right hands."

Slightly puzzled, but none the less willing, Ron, Luna, and Neville held out their palms to McGonagall.

"The other way," she said.

Each of them turned their palms around so that the backs of their hands were showing. McGonagall took out her wand and touched it quickly to each of their hands in turn. Ron felt an odd, tingling sensation and then his eyes widened as he saw a very small silver phoenix appear in three dimensions over his knuckles. The phoenix ruffled its feathers and turned its head to Ron before disappearing completely.

"I hereby initiate you all into the Order of the Phoenix," declared McGonagall. "I wish it had come at a better time. You won't be alone, of course. I'm going to ask all students with high Defense marks to accompany us. Mr. Finnigan and Miss Abbot aren't well enough. But Mr. Macmillan, Miss Patil, and Mr. Hall will join our group, along with Professor Harmon."

"Hall?" said Ron incredulously. "But he's a Slytherin! He's practically a Death Eater himself!"

"I think you will find that he is not, Mr. Weasley."

McGonagall's tone brooked no contradiction but Ron did not plan to give up easily.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but how can you be so sure?"

"Because he risked his life to save little David Lewis, just as Malfoy was about to hex him!"

"They could have been pretending! He could be a spy!"

"And I choose to believe he is not!" McGonagall's eyes grew very wide. "As I think I told you, Mr. Weasley, if we're going to have a pixie in a haystack's chance of stopping You-Know-Who, we can't afford to turn anyone away with the skill to help us and Mr. Hall has the top marks in his house in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Ron's cheeks flushed red but he said nothing more in reply.

"We'll stay here tonight. We've conjured enough tents to make sure everyone is comfortable. Then we leave tomorrow morning. And tell no one. I don't want a whole gang full of followers and taggers-along. We're to rendezvous with Professor Lupin in the vicinity of the small lake where the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who are hiding. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom, I know you can Apparate. Miss Lovegood, how far - "

"Oh, I wouldn't Apparate anywhere, Minerva, not if you don't want your memories snatched away from you so soon after they were returned."

McGonagall froze in mid-sentence. She, Ron, Luna, and Neville darted their eyes around to find the owner of the resonant yet gravelly voice. Ron was shocked to hear the sound of twigs snapping and branches being cleared away. He watched as McGonagall quickly drew out her wand. His own was in his hand just in time to see who had literally emerged from the forest just behind where they had been standing.

An emaciated man, in a long brown cloak that was tattered and ripped in several places stumbled toward them, his arms raised in a gesture of surrender. His face was dirt and blood-stained. He had grown a long white beard that like his mangy, disheveled hair was full of small twigs and leaves. Ron held onto his wand firmly but then the stranger's piercing blue eyes and unmistakable bent nose looked across at him. Though he had not seen him in almost a year, and could hardly restrain his surprise at the transformation of the once clean, healthy, well-kept man he remembered, Ron knew at once that he was looking into the face of Professor Andrew Nevins.