At What Price?

Chapter 9- Unknown Forces

Lycheis, a woman of middle years with a handsome face, ran her fingers through her mass of blonde hair. It was streaked with gray and had been for more years than she could count. She looked at her careworn hands, in surprisingly good shape for a woman who had been weaving as long as she had, but then this was no normal tapestry that she wove. She looked critically at the half-completed scene on the massive loom where she sat.

She leaned in and looked closer. Something was wrong with the lion; his mane was fuzzy. She began to feel apprehensive and knew that one of her aspects was hiding something. She looked closer and it became apparent what was wrong. A single thread, reddish gold in color, was frayed. She hadn't remembered that thread being like that when she wove the lion. Frowning, she stepped back from the tapestry and stretched her arms wide. "Cloéthe, Atropa, we need to talk."

Light coalesced around her, pulsing and spinning. Gradually it faded, in its absence there stood three women. A young woman with curly auburn hair and a buxom physique spoke first. "Could we not have held this conversation when we were one?"

Lycheis raised her eyebrow, "Yes, Cloéthe, we could have, but I believe it best if we discuss this face to face." She turned an accusing eye on the old woman standing to her left.

"Why do you look at me so, Lycheis?" The old crone's voice was pitched just a tone to high and her words came a beat too quick.

"Because you have been tampering with the tapestry, haven't you, Atropa?"

"On what grounds do you accuse me?"

"The young seer's thread is frayed and damaged. I do not remember it being like that when I knotted it there."

The old woman leaned in and looked closely at the lion's mane. A wicked smile crossed her face as she pulled out a pair of golden scissors. "How unsightly, it should be clipped at once." The old woman almost sounded joyous about this turn of events. Her scissors began to open and snap shut very rapidly.

"No!" The young auburn haired woman shouted and jumped forward. "The thread can be repaired, I can fix it. You can't cut the thread of his life just because it's frayed a little."

"Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, Cloéthe. You spin the thread as is your duty, leave the clipping of threads to me." She leaned forward and began to pluck at the frayed strand or reddish gold thread. Her scissors moved closer to the thread.

"No, Atropa. Stay your hand." The old woman turned an evil, wandering eye on Lycheis. The tall, blue-eyed woman seemed unfazed by this. "You will not cut his thread yet, it is not his time and you and I both know it."

Atropa turned now to fully face the tall woman. "It is his time, when I say it is his time." Her voice was a low growl, her face a twisted mask of anger and hatred. "He has no right to look upon this tapestry, to see these threads; no right at all. This is our work, for our purposes." Her voice began to rise as she whirled back to the tapestry and raised her scissors. "If I say it is his time, then it is his time."

With a strength that one would not think possible from a woman so old and bent with age, she stabbed the golden scissors into the frame of loom. Light coalesced around her in a spinning sphere; when it dissipated, she was gone.

"Be well, Henriette d'Encausse d'Nostradame. May you find peace." Lycheis spent a long moment looking at the spot where the old woman had been standing.

"What did you call her?" Cloéthe asked.

"Henriette d'Encausse, it was her name before she married Michel d'Nostredame. The name she carried before she became the incarnation of Atropa."

"Will we see her again?"

"I expect not. The next time we see Atropa, she will be a different woman. I only hope she will not be as bitter." Lycheis sighed and turned again to the tapestry.

"What was your name before you became the incarnation of Lycheis?" Cloéthe asked the question in bright-eyed wonder.

"I had one once, long ago." Lycheis spoke quietly. "I am the oldest of the lesser incarnations. I have held this position for over nine hundred years, I expect that soon I will leave this though. However, there are events set in motion now that I cannot walk away from." Lycheis reached out and ran her hand over the lion's mane on the tapestry. "Come, we have much to do."

"Shall I repair the seer's thread?"

"Not yet, Cloéthe, not yet." Lycheis spread her arms wide again. Light enveloped the two women. When it was gone, only Lycheis remained. She reached out and touched the frayed thread, then ran her finger along it until it knotted with a thread of golden brown. "Be well, my child. Soon it will all be over."

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The Weasley family and its extensions gathered early for dinner. There was a great deal to discuss. The WWN had already reported the death of Albus Dumbledore during the early afternoon. The newly appointed Headmistress made the announcement and several members of the Board of Governors also offered words of support. Minister Cornelius Fudge had promised the full support and resources of the Ministry to ensure that the school would be ready for the fall term. What Harry considered most curious though was the fact that no mention had been made by anyone concerning the possibility of Death Eater involvement. However his concerns were made baseless when an owl delivered a special edition of the Daily Prophet with the headline "Assassination! Death of an Icon. End of an Era."

Arthur folded the paper over and sighed, "This won't be good. 'Rita Skeeter, on special assignment reporting for the Daily Prophet,'" he read. A collective groan went up from everyone at the table as he scanned down through the article. "Listen to this, it's buried down in the article, but this is what everyone is going to be talking about. 'While the passing of Albus Dumbledore is a great tragedy, the greater tragedy is that the school administration, the investigators, The Board of Governors, and even the Ministry itself are all lying to us in the wizarding community. The former Headmaster did not just die in the night, as they would have us believe. He was brutally murdered. Assassinated as he slept. Investigator notes seen exclusively by this reporter show that he was slain in a horrific manner, stabbed and then beheaded. His head was displayed to look like a Dark Mark, the symbol of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.' Is that true?" Arthur looked at Charlie, who shrugged.

"Yes, it is." Harry's voice was quiet. He hadn't said much all day, even when Sirius had arrived then departed shortly before lunch. Everyone at the table stopped and looked at him.

"Yeah," Ron interrupted, "it was, ouch!"

"Not appropriate conversation for the dinner table." Ron glared across the table at Hermione as she spoke. Ron opened his mouth to say something. Hermione pointed her fork at him and furrowed her eyebrows.

Everybody turned their heads toward the end of the table where Charlie sat between Fred and George as one of them made the swish and crack sound of a whip. All three began to laugh as Ron turned red and Hermione gave them a puzzled look.

"Care to tell the rest of us what was so funny?" Hermione's question did nothing to alleviate the ridiculing laughter of Charlie and the twins, nor Ron's rising blood pressure.

Sensing Ron's anger and wanting to avoid the fight that was brewing, Marix spoke abruptly. "Charlie, when was the last time someone cared enough about you to try and make you a better person?"

"Oh yeah, that's just what I need; someone to make me a better person." Charlie and Fred burst into laughter again as George repeated the whip cracking sound. Turning in his seat, Ron kicked George's chair out from under him. George's face smacked on the edge of the table and he fell to the floor. He wasn't laughing when Ron pounced on him.

"You don't talk about her that way," Ron growled. He raised his fist to punch his brother, but was pulled off by his father and Harry. George stood up and faced his younger brother, whom he could no longer call "little" brother.

"What's the matter, Ron? Truth hurt?" Ron renewed his effort to get to George, but Harry and Arthur weren't letting go of him.

"George, stop teasing your brother," Molly stated simply, apparently willing to let the whole thing just slide by. George straightened his shirt and ran his fingers through his hair before sitting back down. Ron sat down next to his brother again, his features hard and his eyes dark as he stared at his food. He relaxed, but only slightly, as Hermione ran her foot up and down the back of his calf under the table.

Eager to change subjects, Arthur again picked up the paper. "So how is it you three seem to know so much about this?" The trio of friends shifted uncomfortably in their seats, finally Harry spoke up.

"I," he began hesitantly, "sometimes get this...pain, in my scar." Molly's face became overcast with worry. "When I do, it's like a warning. I used to get it a lot during first year. Then just before we went to the Quidditch World Cup I had a vision that made my scar hurt." Everyone at the table watched him carefully, some out of concern, some out of morbid curiosity. "I've had a couple since then. I had one this morning." Harry continued on, relaying the story that began with an uneasy sleep, and ended with him standing in Burrow's living room.

Molly looked about to cry, Fred and George were even at a loss for witty remarks. Finally, Arthur spoke up. "Harry, did you talk to any of the investigating Aurors?" Harry shook his head. "Right then. I'm going to go call Amos Diggory. I found out today that he's one of the lead investigators. Harry, I think we should probably have you talk to them and tell them what you know."

Arthur let out a disgusted snort. "To think I invited that," his mouth twisted trying to form several words, none of which came out, "traitorous bastard into my house. Let him get to know my family." Arthur let out a deep sigh, then looked carefully at Fred and George. The twins were whispering and gesturing back and forth across the table, seemingly oblivious to their older brother sitting between them.

"What is it boys?" Arthur asked mildly. Fred and George appeared to almost be arguing though nothing was being said out loud. Finally, Fred slammed his chair back from the table and stormed out of the room.

"Dad," George turned to look at his father, a serious look stamped on his features. "We can vouch for MacNair's whereabouts last night. We were with him. He took us to a pub on London's lower east-side and we all got thoroughly pissed." Molly made a tutting sound to show her displeasure at the news her boys had been drinking. "When we left it was after one in the morning and he was pretty well gone."

"Where did you go when you left there?"

"We walked him back to his flat and then took a taxi over to Katie and Angelina's place." Molly raised her eyebrows at this. First her boys had been out drinking all night, and then they had spent the night with girls they were known to have histories with.

"Right then. George, go find Fred and then come back in here. The two of you, Harry, and I are going down to MLES." Harry slid his chair back from the table as George left the room.

"Arthur, you haven't even finished your dinner yet," Molly fussed. "You need to sit down and eat. So does Harry."

"Molly, I, we have to go." With a muttered, 'Be right back,' Harry bounded up the stairs to Fred and George's old room where his stuff was stashed. The door was closed and he could hear arguing from beyond. Creeping closer, he pressed his ear to the door.

"Think about it George! We told him how to get into the bloody castle! We are accessories. If we go down there and tell them, they're gonna send us to Azkaban!" Harry heard the shuffling of feet. The voice was much quieter when it spoke again. "I don't want to go to Azkaban, George."

Harry stepped back and knocked on the door; he heard what sounded like a jump. Slowly he opened the door. George was staring out the window and Fred was tying his shoelaces. "What's up, Harry?" Fred asked in a strained conversational tone.

"I just need to get my wand." Harry grabbed his pack and fished his wand out of it. "You guys ready to go? The sooner we get down there and tell them what we know, the sooner they can arrest him." Harry looked pointedly at Fred, who was still looking at his shoes. "I'm sure they'll be fair with anyone who can give them information about what happened." Fred and George both looked at him suspiciously. "At least I hope so."

When they stepped out of the Floo portal into the headquarters of Magical Law Enforcement Squad, it was a hive of activity. Agents were going this way and that. Orders and requests being shouted back and forth. Harry was quite sure that no one had even noticed the Weasley's entrance. He moved to step out of the protective ring around the portal. An electrical jolt, rather like a bolt of lightning, shot through his hand and numbed his arm.

"Give them a minute, Harry." Arthur said, smiling as Fred and George chuckled uneasily at Harry's misfortune and twitching muscles. A moment later a man Harry remembered seeing at the school that morning walked over. With a touch from his wand, the air shimmered and cleared.

"Hello, Arthur."

"Hello, Jack. Looks busy."

"What do you need, Arthur?"

"I think we may have some information you'll be interested in. It's about the Dumbledore case."

"Who says there is any Dumbledore case?" Arthur shot a don't-feed-me-that-line-of-crap look at Jack. "Okay Arthur, do you actually have anything concrete or are you just regurgitating that crap that Skeeter woman is reporting?" Arthur tried to answer but Jack just kept right on talking, muttering to himself more than anything. "I'm going to kill whoever leaked information to that nosey..." Jack screwed up his face, obviously swallowing whatever further remarks he was going to make about journalistic integrity and the status of her species.

Arthur chuckled fondly, "True as that may be, Jack, I think we might be able to shed a little light for you here. These are my sons, Fred and George," he indicated the tall twins on either side of him. He then stepped to the side and ushered Harry to the front, "and this is Harry Potter."

Jack raised his eyebrow and extended his hand, "Hello, Mr. Potter. Jack Boot, Division Head of MLES."

"Hello, Mr. Boot." Harry shook his hand.

"Sirius mentioned you might have some useful information. I was actually going to send a team out to talk to you. Sorry I didn't get to make your acquaintance this morning, you took off kind of quick." Jack shook hands with all the Weasley's in turn. He scanned the room quickly, then called out to someone. "Sager, come over here." The young woman, who looked to be about two years older than Harry, was carrying a large stack of files and looking a little ragged. "What have you got there, Sager?"

"Background files from personnel, sir. Black has a theory and we're trying to establish the background on it."

"Is Sirius here?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, down stairs in, oh!" She dropped the files she was carrying as she looked at Harry. "Um, hi, Harry." A smile split her face. "Fred, George." Her expression turned suddenly serious. "You guys finally got in enough trouble to end up here, huh? I always knew you boys would come to a bad end." She grinned at them and stuck out her tongue.

"Ha ha, very funny, Liz." George smiled back at her though. "I never had you pegged as an MLES agent."

"Yeah, well, I'm full of surprises. If you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work."

"Wait a minute, Sager. I need you to do something first. I need you to lead these folks down to the interrogation rooms. Put one each in rooms five through eight, we need to get statements from them." Sager sighed and turned toward a long hall.

"Follow me please." Harry noticed she seemed to pull herself up and walk a little straighter with the four of them walking behind her. "In here, Fred." She pushed a door open with her foot and then closed it after he was in.

"How come you're separating us, Liz?" George asked.

"Contaminated testimony. If we interview you all in the same room, your testimonies can't be used to corroborate each other. You'll be influenced by what other people say. In here George," she opened another door. Soon she had secreted each of them in a room and headed back down to the archives where Sirius and Chris were waiting on her.

Harry sat pensively in the stark white room. A single light charm hung in the middle of the room casting harsh shadows as he sat in a hard wooden chair at a rectangular metal table. The door opened after a couple of minutes and another witch walked in. Her hair was streaked with red, blonde and brown and Harry thought she looked vaguely familiar. When she spoke though, he couldn't place the voice.

"Hello Mr. Potter, I'm agent Miran. I'm here to get you set up for interview." She pulled a flat metal disk out of her pocket. "This is a recording device, to stamp it I need you to place your thumb and forefinger on it and speak your name."

Harry placed his fingers as she had indicated; though she still held onto it. "Harry James Potter," he spoke clearly, his voice echoing in the small, bare room. There was a jerking sensation behind his navel. With a sinking sensation, Harry knew he was in trouble.

In a matter of seconds he found himself on solid ground again. Before he could get his bearings he felt a foot slam hard into his ribs, knocking the wind from his lungs. Harry collapsed to the ground, pain alight in his ribs and chest. "Where am I?" Harry wheezed.

The cell door clanged shut. "Voldemort Manor, Little Hangleton." Harry felt like he would be sick. He looked up to see the woman standing on the opposite side of a barred dungeon door. "Don't go anywhere." Harry listened as her heels clicked down the hallway, leaving him in the dark as she took the only light source.

----------------------

"Sirius, guess who I just ran into?" Elizabeth popped her head over the paper he was reading and dropped the files in his lap. Sirius grunted and looked up at her. "Harry. He's upstairs being interviewed." Sirius looked up from his work.

"Really? Hey Chris, want to meet my godson?"

"Sure."

The three headed back upstairs where Elizabeth led them to the room where she had left Harry. Sirius pushed against the door, which was latched. Reaching for the doorknob he gave it a jiggle, but it was locked. He rapped on the door, but no one answered. He knocked again, a little more insistently. "Harry?" Apprehension growing in his chest, he turned to the door and gave it a great kick. The wood around the knob splintered and the door swung open to reveal an empty room. "Elizabeth," Sirius's voice was quiet and measured, "are you sure this is the room?" He turned and looked at her, his eyes were narrowed and dangerous.

"Yes," her voice trembled.

Sirius looked down the hall; Jack Boot was leading several agents toward him. "Jack," Sirius called in a tone that sounded more like dog's growl. "Where's Harry?"

"Should be in that room right there." Jack could almost feel the waves of anger and worry and coming off of Sirius. "Why?"

Sirius pushed the door open so that everyone could see in. On the ground, a small silver disk was clattering softly as it wobbled to a smooth rest on the tile floor. Jack swore in a long whispering tone. He swooped into the room and picked up the disk with his wand. There were a few stray hairs lying on the ground next to it. Jack examined them for a moment. "Bugger!"

"Whose is it, Jack?" Sirius snapped off the words like a bark. He had recognized the disk at once; every MLES agent carried a Portkey just like it. If the agent was severely injured it would take them at once to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies with a word. If the agent spoke his name after giving it to a prisoner, it carried the offender to a cell deep within MLES headquarters.

Jack grabbed the back of a wooden chair and threw it into the wall, where it shattered. "Sodding bitch! Good for nothing," his language quickly degenerated into comments about anatomy, cross species breeding, and the general state of what he thought her profession should be.

Sirius stalked into the room. He reached out and grabbed Jack by the lapels of his robe. "Who's got him, Jack?" Sirius didn't so much speak as he snarled. His eyes were murderous and he desperately wanted to get his hands on somebody he could hurt.

Jack reached up and removed Sirius's hands from his robe. "I need to go check something. Give me five minutes and I'll have an answer for you about who's got Harry."

"In five minutes Harry could be dead!" Sirius shouted. Doors opened up and down the hall. "What the bloody fuck happened?"

Jack held up the disk and watched as the light refracted off of it. Sirius noted that it was not, indeed, one of their Portkeys, this one had a hole in the middle of it. "One of our own has turned Death Eater on us. Look at this." Sirius looked, engraved lightly into the surface of the disk was the skull and serpent mark. However, it was badly rendered, the top of the skull was too narrow and the snake came out of the corner of the mouth and went sideways. Sirius knew there was something significant about the shape, but in his enraged state he just couldn't quite place his finger on it. Jack stuck the item in his pocket and started to walk out the door just as Jonathon Walker came running up.

"Sir, we've got a problem. Lomax, Fletcher, and Arnold are all dead sir. It doesn't look like Conway is going to last much longer."

"The whole bloody team, what were they doing?"

"Following up on the MacNair lead, sir. They're all at St. Mungo's," Jonathon answered the question before Jack had even begun to ask it. Jack reached into his pocket and withdrew the disk that had been on the floor. He flung it to Sirius like a miniature Frisbee.

"Figure out what it means Sirius, and make it quick. That's your godson's life there. Find the owner of that disk, you'll probably find Harry. Follow up on what you've been doing for the last three days." Suddenly, the air where Jack had been standing was empty. Sirius looked at the disk in his hand and then looked to Chris and Elizabeth who were standing just outside the door.

"Let's go. Chris, I need Erin Miran's personnel file. Elizabeth, come with me, we're going to see the Unspeakables." Agent Sager tried to listen to his explanation of why as she followed in his wake, running to keep up with him as he moved through the halls like a tsunami in deep water. At the door to the Department of Mysteries, he broke the surface. The door splintered at his touch when he extended his arm to push through it. Tentatively, she followed him through.

"Yes?" A quavering, elderly male voice came from somewhere beyond a dark curtain. Elizabeth looked around the small area. Two functional chairs sat in a small area lit only by a glowing stone, which constantly shifted through the colors of the rainbow and would occasionally wink out all together.

Sirius reached out to bat the curtain out of the way. "Wait!" Elizabeth shouted, but she was not fast enough. Sirius was engulfed in a ball of blazing light. When it subsided the only sign of him was a small black dog, a miniature version of Padfoot. "Sirius?" The small dog let out a pitiful whine. "Awww, aren't you cute?" She knelt down next to the puppy who was now growling and snarling, which might have been threatening were it not coming from a small puppy that looked a little clumsy with his large paws and slightly oversized head. She reached out and scratched his ears, tussling him a little bit as he nipped at her fingers and yapped.

"Who's your friend?" Elizabeth looked up to see a bent old man, leaning heavily on a cane and wearing large, thick spectacles looking down at her. She quickly stood up.

"Hi, Agent Sager, this is my," she thought for a moment, what exactly was Black to her? "My partner, Sirius Black." The old man jumped back, a bit startled; and then began to laugh. Sirius began to growl and crouched down into a threatening stance. At this the old man began to laugh even louder.

"Who would've thought," the old man said through his laughter, "that the infamous and notorious Sirius Black is nothing more playful and ornery puppy?" Suddenly the puppy leapt onto the old man's foot and sank his teeth deep into his ankle. "Ouch!" The old man stabbed at Padfoot with his cane.

"Sir," Elizabeth interrupted scooting Sirius away with her foot. "I don't mean to be rude, but we actually have something very important to ask."

"Sorry, Ms. Sager. What can I do for you?"

"First, can you change him back?" She indicated the growling form of Sirius on the floor. With a muttered Finite Incantatem Sirius resumed his normal form. His eyes smoldered with anger, his body was tense and he looked about to strike. Elizabeth stepped in front of him just as he was about to jump on the old man. "Sirius," she put her hand on his chest, hoping that she didn't look as scared as she felt. The look he gave her was cold, but she held her ground. "Sirius, we came to get answers. Let's get some answers. You can come back after we find Harry." At this, Sirius relaxed slightly. "Give me the disk." She held out her hand, and to her surprise he gave it to her.

She looked carefully at the engraving on the surface. It was very dense; the lines in some areas were very close together while other areas were open without any detail. She handed it over to the old man. "We need to figure out what that symbol means. An agent that kidnapped somebody from an interrogation room dropped the disk. We want to know if the symbol contains clues about where they may have gone." She was amazed that her voice could be so level. She was coming apart inside, she could acutely feel Sirius's anger and it was disturbing to say the least.

The old man took the disk and looked at it carefully, raising his glasses above his forehead in the process. As soon as the disk had cleared her fingers, Elizabeth bolted for the door to the small office and ran to the loo. She hadn't been that scared of anything since her fifth year when they thought Sirius Black, then an escaped convict from Azkaban, had been loose inside of Hogwarts. She closed the door of one of the small, gray stalls; locking herself within. Now, with all pretenses gone and no one to see her, she allowed the scared little girl within to cry a weeping storm of tears.

***

Chris Whipple wrenched the file cabinet open, "Sodding Death Eaters, all over the goddamn place." He yanked out the file on 'Miran, Erin' and opened it. He scanned down the page, noting that she had graduated Hogwarts, class of 1996, was in Ravenclaw, had maxed out on all of her physical entrance exams, and tested very high on covert operation testing. He flipped the page and continued to scan it. Name, address, physical characteristics, emergency contacts. Suddenly he froze and read again, Emergency contact, Ian Flemming, 042 2404 5597. "Bugger me Sunday." He snatched up the phone off the desk and pounded in a series of numbers. The phone rang and he tapped his foot impatiently.

"Filch," came the answer on the other end.

"Michael, this is Chris Whipple."

"Not good, mate. Listen, I've got a name and number I want to run by you, tell me if you recognize it."

"Go ahead." Chris read off the number first. He never got past the first name. "Chris, I don't know where you got that number, but you'll lose it if you're smart."

"No can do Michael. It was in an employee file as the emergency contact." There was an expostulation on the other end. "What's Ian doing these days? I'm assuming he's moved out of surveillance by now."

"You could say that." There was silence for several seconds.

"Michael, it's important, I need to know." Chris paused, and then continued, "The safety and future of the wizarding world may hinge on this answer."

"Why?" The voice on the other end was wary, almost suspicious.

"You know who Harry Potter is?"

"Yeah, well, he was kidnapped out of MLES headquarters a few minutes ago. We think we know who did it. I went and pulled the agent's file and Ian is listed as the emergency contact." There was a sigh of resignation from the other end.

"How many fucking moles have you guys got in here?"

"How did you find out who did it?" The door clicked open and Sirius stormed in and flung himself down in the chair.

"She dropped a disk, looks like the Portkeys we use for agents."

"It's not." Sirius said darkly, tossing the disk on to the desk. "Damned if I know what it is." Chris picked it up and looked at it.

"Michael, it looks like one of those optical disks you use."

"You got a computer there?" Chris replied that he did not. "Right, I'm bringing my laptop over. I'll be coming through the Floo portal." The phone suddenly went dead. Ten minutes later the three men were ensconced at a table staring at the screen of Michael's computer. His fingers flew over the keyboard, typing at a ferocious rate. Screens flickered on and off, buried under new screens until the screen suddenly went black. The white cursor blinked in the corner. Michael typed in eight letters that all came up as asterisks and stabbed the Enter key.

Data began to scroll down the screen. Sirius could see names, dates, phone numbers; they sped by so fast he could barely read any of them. Then as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The cursor blinked again, this time in the lower left corner. Above it were four words, "Voldemort Manor, Little Hangleton."

"Well boys, its time to make a trip. You're going hunting."

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Walden MacNair looked around his office frantically. With a yank, he pulled the shotgun free of its casing under his desk. In appreciation he ran his hand over the sawed off barrel. He didn't have long at all now. All four of the MLES agents that had come into his office were gone now, probably to St. Mungo's. There was no help for the blood on the wall or the hole in the front of his desk; soon it wouldn't matter anyway. There was no way he could ever come back here. He grabbed the black and white photograph of his commando team mugging for the camera off his desk and jammed it into his pocket. Opening the desk drawer he grabbed a box of spare shells and the silver port key disk and stuffed them in the other pocket.

"Wish I could say I was going to miss this place." He muttered out loud to no one in particular. Chambering three fresh rounds into the lever action Winchester's magazine, he slid the shortened weapon up his sleeve and strode out of his office. Most people had gone home to be with their families when the death of Dumbledore had been made public knowledge. MacNair found this rather convenient, as the halls were deserted in this wing of the Ministry's offices. His footsteps echoed through the vacant halls as he hurried to the Apparition portal.

"Hello?" A man with curly brown hair stuck his head out of an office if few feet ahead of MacNair. "Mr. MacNair, is everything okay? I thought I heard a some explosions." MacNair came to a stop. Craven was a known gossip and always told a great story. He was very popular with the chattier women because he seemed to a magnet for the best inside information.

"You did, Craven. I received a package from the Minister, it exploded in my office."

"Are you okay?" His eyes were wide. "Why would he do something like that?"

MacNair leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially, "Don't you think its just a little odd that the day after the Minister gets a vote of no confidence, the man most likely to succeed him dies under suspicious circumstances?" If possible, Craven's eyes got even wider and his mouth opened in shock. "I know some things about Dumbledore's death, and the Minister knows that I know." He nodded, Craven nodded along with him. "I have to go into hiding, I'm getting too old to be dodging exploding packages." He started to walk away, but looked back over his shoulder. "Don't believe everything you read Craven. The Minister still has a great deal of influence in high places and he's not afraid to use it." He walked through the door to the Apparition portal and closed it behind him. With a word and a flick of his wand, he was at home.

He looked around the two-room, post-war flat. The walls had a few pictures on them, there were a few books in the bookshelves, but mostly it was spartan and old. He walked down the hall to his bedroom and dropped the shotgun on the bed. "Wingardium Leviosa," he intoned, the mirror hanging above his dresser rose up and floated down to rest against the wall. He spun the seven-step combination into the wall safe and then pointed his wand at it. "Alohamora," ponderously the safe door swung open. He reached in and grabbed his most valued possession, a black brief case with a gold nameplate. Corporal Walden G. MacNair. Presented in recognition of esteemed service, 6 June 1940 by His Royal Majesty, King George VI.

He opened the case; his rifle lay there in its components and smelling of fresh gun oil. He lifted the stock, below it was an index card with several account numbers and balances listed on them. Suddenly he dropped the stock back into the case and pulled up the sleeve of his robe. The Dark Mark burned with fiery intensity and was obsidian black against his wrinkled skin. "Yes, my Lord." Reaching into the safe again, he withdrew the black dagger lying there and sheathed it. This he stuck in the small of his back and closed his robe again. The safe again closed and hidden, he set the point of his wand against the mark on his arm and Disapparated.

The Apparation portal at the Dark Lord's manor was deserted, though he was sure it would not remain that way for long. He exited the room and walked down the long hall to the drawing room where Voldemort normally received guests. As usual, a fire blazed in the hearth and Nagini was coiled in front of it. His tall gaunt form was silhouetted by the firelight and on the floor at his feet sat a young woman MacNair had only seen one other time, at her initiation.

"Hello, Walden. Sso nisse of you to join uss." He turned and swept his gaze over MacNair. "Going ssomewhere?" He was eyeing the case that MacNair was holding.

Do not tell him, a voice seemed to whisper in the vaults of his mind. MacNair ignored the voice, every Death Eater knew that the Dark Lord could smell lies in the air.

"Yes, my Lord, I was." Voldemort arched the skin above his eye where he should have had an eyebrow. "Four agents from MLES came to visit me this afternoon. I believe it is time for me to leave for a while."

Voldemort waved his hand as though sweeping it aside. "It iss of no moment. However, it iss good that I caught you before you left. I have good newss to sshare with you. Ah, Luciuss, Draco. Come, come." At the mention of the younger Malfoy, MacNair noticed that the young woman on the floor looked up and then turned her head to stare at the fire. "Gentlemen, we are to have a grand sseremony tonight." It was clear to the observers that the Dark Lord was relishing what he was about to tell them.

"Why is that, my Lord?" Lucius rose to the bait first.

"Becausse," he extended his hand to the woman seated on the floor beside him and pulled her to her feet. "Thiss lovely young woman hass delivered Harry Potter into my handss." A wide, malicious grin split the snake like visage, enhancing his reptilian appearance.

"My Lord," Lucius sounded alarmed, "are you sure she is not laying a trap for you?"

The Dark Lord leveled a cold stare on the elder Malfoy. "Fear not Luciuss, her reward will in no way threaten your power. Though your lack of faith in your fellow Death Eaterss dissturbss me. Why iss that?"

MacNair suppressed a grin. Few things pleased him as much as watching Lucius being taken down a notch. The elder Malfoy bowed low before Voldemort. "I meant nothing my Lord. It just seems rather convenient, does it not?"

"Luciuss, fortune favorss the bold. I have hunted the fox in hiss lair; and ass my reward the fatess have ssmiled upon me and delivered to me my greatesst enemy." More Death Eaters were entering the room now. MacNair left the room to secure his briefcase. Fifteen minutes later, all of the Dark Lord's servants were assembled in the large ornate room where the Dark Lord held court.

***

Voldemort rose from his throne chair, which sat upon a raised dais on one side of the room. His followers were all assembled, waiting expectantly to know why he had called them. He relished moments such as this, they reminded him of the glory he had known in years past and spurred him to the glory that would be his again. With two of the Heirs dead, he would have only one left to find to complete his quest for immortality. Fate was with him now; all was ordained as it should be. He smiled to himself and felt his power reach out to the worlds beyond.

------------

Harry sat in the inky darkness and listened intently, but there was only silence. Slowly he slipped the wand from his sock, hardly daring to breath. "Alohamora," he whispered, pointing his wand at where he knew the door to be even though he couldn't see it. He waited several endless seconds, no sound, no alarms, no Death Eaters coming to beat him. He exhaled gratefully and reached for the door.

Zap! Harry yanked his fingers backed. This is stupid, Harry thought. "Lumos." His wand failed to produce any light. "What the hell?" Harry muttered through clenched teeth. He tried the spell again with the same result. He ran his hand along the shaft of his wand, it didn't feel damaged in any way. The feeling was returning to his fingers now, he imagined they were blackened and possibly scarred. There was a click of a door far down the hall, Harry slipped his wand back into his sock.

Light flooded the hallway, blinding Harry for a moment. Once he was able to open his eyes again he looked out the narrow bars of his cell apprehensively. The tall, gaunt figure of Lord Voldemort was looking down at him, the reptilian figure smiled maliciously.

"Harry Potter," he spat the name out and chuckled darkly. "Once more you find yourself in my possession. Tell me, don't you ever get tired of this?" Harry watched him through cold, calculating eyes. Harry had been here before, several times in fact. He was long past the point of being fearful in the Dark Lord's presence. This was simply how it was. "Harry, how about if we make it so that this never has to happen again?"

"That's a marvelous idea." Harry's tone was dark and even, as though he was bored by this whole exchange. "Why don't you find a sword and fall on it. Make everybody happy." Something stirred deep in Harry's memory, it struggled for the surface like a swimmer in deep water being held back by chains.

"Tut, tut, Mr. Potter." Voldemort's tone was light and casual. He talked to Harry like he was admonishing an errant student. "Do not trifle with me, Fate is on my side. I have cleansed the last of the spies and traitors from my ranks. The Ministry is in chaos. I have defeated my most powerful enemy. Now," he looked directly at Harry; his face split in a wide, malevolent smile. "I am about to pluck the thorn from my paw."

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes, concentrating on the memory that was struggling to free itself. Voldemort's continued prattle made it difficult to concentrate though. "This time there will be no challenges, no opportunities for heroism or wild and ancient magics. Professor Snape cannot come to save you, and Wormtail no longer owes you a life debt." He stopped and looked directly at Harry. "Not that it would matter if he did, since he is no longer among the living."

Harry furrowed his brow and stared at Voldemort. Peter was supposed to be safely hidden away somewhere. Not even Harry and Sirius knew where he was. The only man who knew didn't even know anymore, he had been Obliviated following the casting of Peter's Fidelius Charm. The Dark Lord smiled as the realization dawned on Harry. "Don't you think it's incredibly ironic that the same spell Peter broke by talking to me couldn't keep him safe from me? It's absolutely delicious." He laughed a cold, high, mirthless laugh. "No one is coming to save you, and I won't give you the tools to withstand me again." He leaned close to the bars and whispered. "This is about victory, Mr. Potter. This time I will have it."

The Dark Lord stood up and walked away. Harry listened to his fading footsteps. "Enjoy your last few minutes alone, Harry." he called out in a loud voice echoed in the large dungeon complex. "I guarantee you won't be lonely when you die!" His maniacal laughter bounced and reverberated off the stone walls of the dungeon long after if it was dark and Voldemort had gone.

Harry slumped down against the stone wall and drew his knees up before him. "Why don't you find a sword and fall on it. Make everybody happy." Harry whispered, the struggling memory was becoming stronger. He repeated it again and the memory tore free of its bindings and rushed to the surface.

Harry blinked several times, allowing his eyes to adjust again to the darkness. That was odd, I wonder what it means. I'm never going to find out if I stay here. He pushed up from the floor and groped his way in the darkness to the cell door. He set his hands between the cold iron bars. Slowly, he pushed his hands on through and warmth pervaded them. He pulled them back through and they were suddenly cold again, though now he actually noticed. He pushed them back out and absorbed the warmth.

He brought his hands back in and wrapped them around the bars. Concentrating, he willed magic into his hands, thinking about the warmth he had felt when they were outside. His hands began to feel warm, Harry smiled to himself. His smile faded quickly, his hands were starting to feel very warm, too warm. He yanked his hands away and touched them gingerly. They were dry and cracked and small blisters were sprinkled across his palms. Harry let loose a string of colorful language that would have made Ron proud. He began to pace back and forth in what could only now be called his cage.

------------

Ron sat at the kitchen table, his head bent over an array of books as he scratched away at a parchment with a quill. Hermione sat across from him doing something he had never seen her do before, she was reading a novel. What caught his eye was how much Hermione resembled the woman on the front of the book. A little older no doubt, but still very much like her. "Whacha readin?" he asked around the chocolate sugar quill that drooped from the side of his mouth.

"Its called With a Tangled Skein," she replied without looking up. Ron shuddered without knowing why. "Apparently it's the third book in a series, I may have to go back and read the first two."

"Wha'sit 'bout?"

"This woman becomes the youngest of the three aspects of fate," Ron shuddered violently, biting the end off of his sugar quill. "You okay, Ron?" He was short of breath and was suddenly very dizzy. He felt like he was going to retch and his stomach was tying itself in knots.

The temple, seer, the temple. A woman' s voice was shouting in his head. His vision was filled with a vision of the white temple he had seen when doing Harry's reading earlier that day. "The deck," he managed to gasp out of his strangled throat. His head was pounding with pain and he could feel his eyes rolling up into his head. "Marix! Deck!" His head collapsed onto the table.

Hermione jumped up from the table. "Marix!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs. She ran around the table to where Ron was gasping for breath and pulled him upright. Everyone who was home ran into the kitchen. Molly shrieked on seeing the bright red color of Ron's face and the way he was choking and gasping. "Marix, he said something about the deck!" Hermione began pounding on his back as though she thought he was choking on something.

"Did he say what he needed or why?"

"He just said 'the deck' and then started choking. I don't know! Just get it!" Ron was turning blue around the lips and the veins in his forehead were beginning to pop out. Marix bolted from the room as Hermione continued to pound on Ron's back. Molly came over and stuck her finger in Ron's mouth, her finger extending into the back of his throat.

"Yech," Ginny said, watching her mother. She moved forward to take hold of Ron's hand, as though doing whatever she could to help but not knowing what.

"There's nothing there," Molly said withdrawing her finger and wiping it on Ron's shirt. "Help me pull him upright." Molly and Ginny pulled Ron into a standing position and Molly slipped around behind him to administer a Heimlich maneuver. She jerked him several times with noticeable effect. He collapsed against his mother just as Marix ran into the room. She dropped the box of marble tiles on the table and yanked it open. She grabbed Ron's hand and slapped it on top of the deck.

Ron could feel himself becoming unraveled. It was like floating, and then he realized he was floating. He could see Hermione and she was pounding on something, it took a moment for him to realize it was his body she was pounding on. She looked like she was screaming but he couldn't understand what. A sound behind him got his attention though. He spun around to see an old woman leaning against the doorway, a pair of scissors opening and snapping shut in her hand. "You!"

"Yes, me. You know why I'm here, don't you." The old woman's voice was cruel and mirthless as she laughed at him.

"But, I thought that it wouldn't happen until it was time to reveal the Heir." The image of the man dropping the sword came back to him. He could again see the copious amounts of blood as the sword cut across the man's eyes.

She let out a sharp bark of laughter. "You're all the same, wrapped up in your own importance, convinced you know what you're talking about. Fools and bastards, all of you." Her scissors snapped sharply and she reached out and took hold of a single strand of frayed, reddish gold thread that she twisted around her finger. "Say good-bye to your life Ronald Arthur Weasley, Seventh Son of Arthur and Molly Weasley. It's almost a shame really, you had so much potential." She pulled the thread taut. It glowed with an inner light as she held the scissors open. "Your loss I guess."

Ron struggled to reach for the thread. "Nooooooooo!" Ron shouted as he felt himself yanked away from the thread. Everything began to spin, there was a rushing wind in his ears, and it was absolutely dark.

"Follow the sound of my voice," came a female voice through the darkness.

"Hermione?" There was no answer. "Hermione!" he shouted. His voice carried across the vast expanse of darkness but there was no answer.

"Ronald, there isn't much time. Come with me." A young auburn haired woman appeared out of the darkness before him. "Take my hand." Tentatively, Ron reached out to take her offered hand. Her hand felt surprisingly solid, he had expected the ethereal silverness of his own hand to pass through hers. Warmth flooded his mouth and it felt like something warm and wet was pressing on his cheek.

"I can't, I have to go back." Ron tried to pull away from her and go back the way he had come.

"No, Ron, you must come with me. You have to fix it." She pulled insistently on his hand and dragged him along behind her, despite his protests to the contrary. He saw that they were moving at great speed across the vast plain of darkness that was now filled with stars. In time the starry plain fell away as well.

He was standing in what was obviously a graveyard. The sense of stone filled the area around him and he could see the static gray aura of death lying under the earth. Before him, in the near distance maybe a fourth of a mile away, stood a building. Its aura pulsed and glowed with magic, outlining a magnificent mansion.

Ron heard tinny, hollow sounding voices behind him and turned to look. The auras of several people, maybe thirty in all, were gathered at the base of the hill. "Elizabeth, stay closed to me. This is liable to get a little dicey. We don't know how many Death Eaters may actually be in there."

Another of the auras spoke, this one in an authoritative tone, though very hushed. "Take your positions, watch for the sign." The aura reached out to the one that had been speaking earlier. "Sirius, when we get inside you find Harry. Don't go looking for revenge, find your boy." The auras separated and spread out.

Ron shuddered with the realization that Harry was trapped inside that building with Death Eaters. He knew what he had to do. Gliding up to the face of the house, he slipped through a wall and found himself in a dining room. He willed himself down and he passed through the floor into a dungeon complex. There was a feeling of pervasive misery in this place. Ron passed through the bars of the cell he had entered and floated down the hall. In a cell near the end of the hall he found what he was looking for.

He hadn't known who any of the other auras were until they spoke, but of this one he had no doubt. It was a tawny golden color and had the distinct appearance of a lion as it paced back and forth, except that it was upright on two legs. "Harry!" Ron shouted, but the form seemed to take no notice. "Harry, mate, I'm here for you." There was still no response. The lionesque form slammed itself into the bars, which suddenly lit up with magical light and slammed him into the opposite wall. Ron was hurled back as well and passed through a gate and the outer walls of the dungeon before he stopped.

Ron pushed himself back through the wall and into the dungeon. Frantically he looked around; he had to find the way out. He shot down the hall, desperately looking about for staircase. After turning around and going back the way he had come and trying a different passage he found it. He headed for the surface again to find Sirius.

***

Sirius crouched down behind a tree. He could almost smell the fear coming off of his partner. "Elizabeth, clam down, I'm right here." He turned to look at her; she was putting up a brave front, he had to give her credit for that. He looked back up at the house. It was hard to believe that the Voldemort had chosen this place to set up shop. It was dilapidated, run down, in desperate need of repair, and very near a Muggle village. Hardly at all a location to soothe the wounded ego of a dark lord.

However, the notes they had drawn out of the disk left by Agent Miran had said this was the place, and that it was not at all what it seemed. He really hoped he wasn't the one who found Miran. If he did he might just have to kill her, either that or kiss her. She had single-handedly delivered up the entire Death Eater organization, and quite possibly the Dark Lord himself. On the other hand, if they hadn't figured it out Harry would be dead, if he wasn't already. Sirius shook his head; this didn't bear thinking about. Harry is alive; I just have to find him. For the twentieth time that night he checked to make sure his Portkey disc was still in place.

A burst of purple sparks shot into the night sky, followed by three others from the corners of the buildings. In the light of waning quarter moon they were barely visible, but visible enough. Sirius began moving toward the cellar entrance on the house's north side. There were shouts and loud bangs as the doors were blown open and windows smashed in. A couple of seconds later there were retaliating shouts in the house and the light of curses and hexes and charms of all types seemed to be ricocheting off every available surface inside. Sirius heard a great rushing wind as a hellish green light suddenly lit all the windows on the north side ground floor. Instinctively Sirius dove to the ground pulling Elizabeth with him.

Sirius felt like he had been slapped, he was light headed and dizzy as he got to his hands and knees again. He felt it again, this time it was like being shoved forward, though there was no contact against him. Elizabeth let out a small scream to his left. In the blink of an eye Sirius shifted forms. His senses were much keener in his dog form. He looked around and sniffed at the air. There was nothing, but his hackles stood on end from ear to tail. A low rumbling growl escaped his lips. Again the lightheaded spinning sensation overcame him. There had been something like a touch, but not quite, near his left ear. He swung his around and snapped at it, but found nothing.

Something cold pulled at his ear, though again there was no contact. Padfoot closed his eyes, allowing the preternatural awareness of the dog take him over. There was a presence near him, in front of him. It was conflicted, frustration, fear, excitement, anger, all rolled about in an area just in front of him. He concentrated on it; there was no malice and no deception that he could feel, just a sense of urgency. Again there was the pulling sensation on his ear. He took a step forward, again the sensation. He opened his eyes but there was nothing there, though now he could feel the presence acutely. He shifted forms again.

"Identify yourself." Again the vague feeling of being pulled at, this time on his arm. Sirius was struck by an inspiration. "Do I know you? Tap my chest once for yes, my face for no." A cold sensation spread across his chest. "Am I your friend?" Again he felt the cold sensation in his chest. Do I owe you my life?" This time it was his face, then to his chest, than back to his face. Suddenly the pulling sensation was on his arm again. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Elizabeth looking at him strangely.

"Where are you taking me?" There was a moment of hesitation, then something brushed over his exposed forearm. "Arm?" He said quietly, "Army?" The cold sensation spread violently across his face, he felt dizzy. He felt the hair on top of his head ruffle and a cold tingling sensation across his scalp. "Hair? Harry! You're trying to take me to Harry." The cold sensation flooded his chest and spread across his back. He turned to Elizabeth. "Wands out, let's go." He dropped into the form of Padfoot and felt for the presence of the unknown being, which was in front of him tugging at his ear.

Elizabeth blew the cellar access door into pieces when it didn't respond to a simple opening charm. Padfoot jumped to the floor below, just as a gigantic explosion rocked the upper floors. Dust settled down from the cracks in the floorboards dusting Padfoot and causing him to sneeze. Elizabeth dropped down next to him and he felt the insistent tug on his ear. Padfoot paused to sniff at the air, but there was too much dust and he sneezed again. A cold brush against his flank caused Padfoot to turn down another corridor. The presence was becoming very excited at this point, in turn Padfoot became excited.

They turned another corner and Padfoot stopped to sniff the air, he picked up Harry's scent on the air. He barked several times. "Down here." Harry was alive! He bounded forward and found Harry locked in the last cell on the block. His face and hands were black with smoke and char marks, his hair was badly singed in several places and his glasses hung at an odd angle. His wand was in his hand and his face was set into a look of grim determination.

"Look out!" Elizabeth shouted from behind him. He felt her yank back on the scruff of his neck. He looked up to see what was going on. Above them there was a loud crash and the ceiling gave way. Before the smoke could entirely clear there were two loud pops and a loud scream. Padfoot leapt in the direction of the pops, and there were two more. A hot burning sensation flashed across Padfoot's flank. He was about to leap after the sound of the retreating footsteps when Jack's words came back to him, get your boy.

"Harry, you okay?" Sirius shouted. He winced at the pain as he moved. There was deep gash running from his armpit to his hip down his left side.

"Yeah, but I can't get out. Burned my hand trying to blow this lock open." His voice was ragged and he was clearly frustrated and pissed off.

"Sit tight a minute, Harry." He crawled over to where Elizabeth lay on the ground, blood welling and trickling from a wound in her lower right ribs. "Elizabeth, are you okay?"

"It hurts, Sirius." She turned her head to the side, blinking away tears. The wound was extremely cold when Sirius touched it. "I'm cold, so very cold." Sirius prodded the air around him, it wasn't that cold. Her body was like ice though.

"Spirit, are you here with her?" There was a cold sensation in his chest. He let out a long sigh of relief. "You're going to be okay, the cold is the guardian spirit that led us down here. You're not dying." He wanted to hug her but decided it probably wouldn't be a good idea. He settled for leaning over and placing a kiss on her forehead. She flinched ever so slightly, but said nothing as he withdrew. "Where's your Portkey?"

"In my shirt," she replied in a mortified tone.

"Does it have contact with your skin?"

"No," she whined slightly as her face took on a pained expression.

"Right then." He carefully unbuttoned the front of her robe. "Indigo girls, huh? Never heard of 'em." He looked down; her tan shirt was covered with blood below her right breast. He pulled a butterfly knife from his boot and snapped it open. Elizabeth groaned as the material gave way to the razor sharp knife. "Bugger, right then." Dried blood was spread across her ribs and abdomen; carefully he peeled the fabric away from where the blood had plastered it to her soft skin. He cut away a sizable clean piece of her shirt. "Hold this here." He pressed her hand against the bandage he placed over the entry wound.

Her Portkey hung on a chain about her neck, resting against the fabric of her tight sports bra. He picked up the port key and placed it against the skin on her breastbone. Her skin rose in goose pimples at its cold touch. He pulled her robe back closed and redid the second button, then he placed her other hand over where the amulet rested. "Elizabeth, this is going to take you to St. Mungo's emergency ward." A huge explosion rocked the entire building, rattling cell doors in their frames. "I'll come in later to look in on you."

"You don't have to," she choked out.

"You're my partner, Elizabeth. I can't imagine doing anything less. Take care." He returned the feeble smile she gave him with one he hoped was reassuring. Placing his hand over her own, he intoned the standard command and she was gone. "Okay, Harry. Let's get you the hell out of here." Sirius pulled out his wand.

"Not the bars!" Harry shouted.

"Okay, well if Mohamed won't go to the mountain..." He leveled his wand at the wall between the cells. "Desicatio," The mortar began to rot and crumble, the wall stones began to break loose. Sirius drew his wand across the stones above the door and repeated the spell. "Stand back Harry." Sirius grabbed two the bars and yanked. The entire cage door shook and rattled about, but to no great effect. The bars suddenly became very cold in his grip.

"Spirit?" A faint sensation of cold whispered across his chest. "Right." Sirius tightened his grip. "Give me back my boy!" Sirius yanked on the bars with all the strength he could muster bolstered by his anger and fear. The bars gave out an almighty groan, then snapped free of their moorings causing Sirius to fall back against the opposite door. Harry scrambled through the broken section then suddenly stopped.

"Harry, you okay?"

"Yeah, I just had the weirdest sensation though. I was kind of cold and it was almost like someone was touching me, but not quite."

"It's some kind of spirit. It led me here to you. It seems to be a friend." Sirius felt the almost touch to his chest, but somehow it was lighter this time and left him feeling like laughing rather than the urgent feelings it had been filling him with. He looked over to see Harry grinning as well. "Alright, Harry, let's get the hell out of here." Sirius turned and started to walk back the way he had come in.

"No." Sirius pulled up short and turned to look at Harry.

"What?"

"No, Sirius. It sounds like a war zone up there, what's going on?"

"Raid. We were given information that led us here to you. My orders are to get you out and to safety. Let's go."

"No, now we go up and help out." Harry scrambled up on the pile of rubble from the collapsed ceiling. "Give me a hand up. I can't reach it on my own." Harry gave his godfather a stern look.

"You are your father's son." Sirius stepped up onto the pile of rubble and cupped his hands for Harry to step into. "Ready?"

Harry's face was set and grim. "Toss me up, its quiet." With a heave Sirius tossed his godson up into the room above. Harry clambered over the edge then reached his own hand down to Sirius. "Lets go old man." Sirius clasped the offered hand and was surprised at just how much strength was there. Soon he too scrambled up into the room.

The room was a mess; they appeared to be in a very large coat closet. A single smear of blood trailed down the back of the door. Sounds of shouting could still be heard outside. Sirius cracked the door open slightly. Beyond, fires were burning in the hall and the furniture was splintered and marked by random hexes. "If it's clear out there, go." Harry was shoving at Sirius's back as he issued orders.

Harry and Sirius sprinted down the burning hall and into some kind of main audience chamber. The room had been the site of a massive battle, and literally no place was untouched by hex marks or curse damage. There were shouts from above them. The two men sprinted across the room and up the rounded grand staircase. On the second floor they found more of the same. On the third floor they ran into and tackled a man and woman who were trading hex fire with an unseen assailant at the other end of the hall. Sirius rolled to his left just as a beam of scorching red light burned a gash in the floor where his arm had been. He still had hold of the person he had tackled and Harry had slapped a body bind onto the woman he had tackled.

"MLES! Drop your wand," Sirius shouted down the hall. A head poked out and Sirius snapped up his wand. "Sirius, its me, Jack."

"What's going on?"

"The Dark Lord escaped, off the roof. Sacrificed Crabbe and Goyle to do it. Caught Mr. and Mrs. Lestrange trying to make it back down. They had me going there for a bit 'til you showed. Regular bright spot of sunshine you are today." Sirius pulled himself up a bit and flipped over the body he was laying on. He was unconscious; a large red mark on his forehead showed where he had struck the floor after being tackled.

"You're the one responsible for Neville's parents!" Sirius looked over just in time to see Harry's fist connect solidly with Mrs. Lestrange's jaw. Her arms suddenly went slack where she had a hold of Harry's robes. "That's not half of what you deserve." Harry snarled at the unconscious form under him. He looked ready to strike her again, but instead just pushed her to the floor.

Half a dozen weary and battered forms came down a staircase onto the third floor. "If that wasn't Lucius Malfoy, then I'll eat a whole box of Canary Creams."

"You'll never prove it, nobody saw his face. Doesn't matter, he got away whoever he was."

"Limey bastard, someday I am going to nail that prick to the wall."

Jack came out into the hall. "Calm down, Amos. I'm putting you in charge of clean up here. Are any of you seriously hurt?" He indicated the other agents coming down the stairs. All indicated they were fine. "Good, when I get back to HQ I'm sending Whipple, Gudgeon, Markwood, and Winterbottom out to help you catalog evidence. Sirius, you and Harry come with me. Let these guys finish processing those two." He indicated the prone forms of the Lestranges on the floor.

Harry jumped up and pulled Sirius to his feet and the two of them followed Jack down the stairs. Sirius felt the cold almost-touch of the spirit on his shoulder, and then it was gone. He looked over at Harry and saw the startled expression there as well. "Somebody's a very good friend, wish I knew who it was."

"Yeah, me too." Harry said, following Sirius down to the ground floor and outside. "So how do we get back?"

"Apparate," Jack said with a tone of somebody stating the obvious.

"Can't," Harry replied simply. Jack fished around in his pocket and dug out a silver disk. "This takes me back to my office, shall we use this."

Harry gave a long look at the silver disk the MLES Director was offering him. "No thanks, I think I'll walk." Sirius looked over at Harry, concern written all over his face.

"It goes back to my office, honestly. You can trust me Harry."

"Come on Harry, it'll be okay." Sirius reached out and gripped the disk. Hesitantly, Harry took hold of it as well.

"Slytherin Pride," Jack said. Harry felt the yank behind his navel and the world dropped away.