Harry Potter and the Dark Mark

Chapter Twelve: The Last Straw

"Nicknames are rubbish, Harry. When I was in Primary school, the kids used to call me 'Gormy Granger'. Can you imagine? Me, being Gormy? They obviously just called me that to wind me up a treat. It worked, too."

"Gormy. . ." Ron repeated blankly.

"Oh come on Ron," said Hermione impatiently, "'Gormless'? As in clueless? Since when does keeping your nose in a book all the time mean that you're clueless."

Ron was smiling. "Well . . . you do tend to wander off into an alternate universe sometimes."

"I do not. . ."

"Yeah you do! I can be talking to you for ages, and if you're reading you haven't a clue as to what I'm saying."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just because I'm not answering you doesn't mean I'm not listening. I'm perfectly aware of what you're saying."

"Oh really?"

"Yes really. It's just that what you're saying is never worth an answer, that's all."

Ron grew red and Harry knew that the two were going to fall into yet another one of their classic rows that would last the usual twenty-three minutes and end with Ron taking Hermione in his arms and giving her a kiss, like he always did, and everything would be fine. But Harry didn't feel like enduring the remaining twenty-two minutes of arguing so, scolding them, he got up from the cushy common room chair and ventured up the stairs towards his dormitory.

It being the first Monday back from the Holiday, Harry should have been concerned with a million and one other things (namely, his marks in Potions) but he just couldn't seem to rid from his mind what that Helen girl had said. Instead of trying to dismiss it, he'd gone straight to Ron and Hermione to see what they thought of it. It was wonderful of Hermione to have been so supportive about Sophie and her supposed reputation. She was right: who cared what she might have been called in school. That was before Harry knew her and even if it was true, Sophie was obviously not proud of it. What mattered to him was her now, not years ago.

He woke up the next morning feeling decidedly better (even thought it was a gruesomely dreary Tuesday) and found himself looking forward to seeing what his classes had in store. Understand, of course, that most of the Hogwarts students were in that same New Years 'I'm-gonna-get-top-marks-this-term' frame of mind. The same frame of mind that, come February, always turns into the more common 'Get-me-the-hell-out-of-here'.

At breakfast Harry eagerly untied the parchment and envelope from Hedwig, hoping to find a letter from Sophie. He was only momentarily disappointed to see she hadn't written--but Dudley had! He tore open the letter and read it eagerly:

Hiya!

All right there, Harry? I'm fine now, thanks. And I'm still really sorry about the Quidditch Game. When do they play next--maybe we can try again?

Life's as boring as ever at home. Mum and Dad are their usual lovely selves and I'm going to go stark raving mad before my 18^th birthday, I know it. Speaking of Birthdays, at Sophie's

Party I remember you all talking about the Weasleys opening up their store! That's coming up soon, isn't it? I'm sure you lot will all have fun there-- I bet anyone who is anyone is going to be there. Sorta wish I could see it myself.

Hope Ron and Hermione are all right, tell them hi. Hope to hear from you soon.

-Dudley

"Dudley's doing all right," Harry announced lightly, tucking the letter back into the envelope. "Says that he wants to know when the Canons are playing again so that we can . . ." his voice trailed off. Ron and Hermione were both frowning.

"What?"

Without a word Ron slid him his copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Damn," Harry muttered under his breath.

CELEBRATED ALCHEMIST AIDA DEVEREAUX, FOUND DEAD. DARK MARK FEARED.

PARIS. The Wizarding World today mourns the loss of one of its most revered and accomplished Alchemists, Madame Aida Devereaux, who was found dead Sunday night in her home outside of Paris. According to the Ministry of Magic, earlier in the day Devereaux had given a speech at a Defense Against the Dark Arts League charity event near Calais and was then accompanied home by her husband and eldest son. Ministry officials say that Devereaux had retreated into her garden to enjoy a cup of tea late yesterday evening, and when her son came to call her in, he found her body on the garden floor. She had apparently been dead for several minutes if not longer, coinciding with reported sightings of the feared Dark Mark that poured in to Ministry officials in Paris.

While Devereaux is best known for her work under the tutelage of Nicholas Flamel and her groundbreaking advances for the uses of Bezoar, not to be forgotten is the incalculable effect she has had on the Wizarding education system both in Britain and abroad. Perhaps her most lasting contribution to Wizarding society is the role she had in establishing Defense Against the Dark Arts as a part of mandatory wizarding curriculum.

She moved from England to France in the 1968 where she introduced the same curriculum for Beauxbatons and until only two years ago served as Deputy Headmistress for the institution...

"Please stop," said Hermione quietly, "I don't want to hear anymore."

Ron lowered the paper. "This is bad...this is very bad."

Harry's knuckles gripped the newspaper so tightly they were pure white. His voice was hushed but quivered in an attempt to suppress its outrage.

"We can't just sit here," she said. "We can't just . . . sit and do nothing."

"Well, what can we do?" asked Hermione.

Harry didn't answer. There was no answer.

But then Harry remembered that crazy plan that had suddenly pushed to him at the Witch's Wart. "Er . . . well . . ."

Hermione and Ron looked up expectantly.

"Right . . . just hear me out: we all know what snakes the Malfoys are. Lucius is obviously tied up in this--I'd bet even money that he's helping oversee the whole thing. Now, who knows what sort of information is floating about the Malfoy Manor. Probably the key to this whole mess," he said, tossing The Daily Prophet back at Ron.

"Right," said Ron, "but how can we find out anything? I doubt Mr. Malfoy would have us for tea."

"Well, I was thinking what I can do is--"

"Talk to Dumbledore," said Hermione brightly, snapping her fingers. "Yes Harry, of course you're right! We should have told him what Professor Trelawney said ages ago!"

"Dumbledore," Harry repeated, as though the name were unfamiliar on his lips. He was struck of shame that he hadn't done so right away out of instinct, and also disappointed that he'd have to tuck away his plan.

"We have to tell him what we know," Hermione repeated.

"Which isn't much," said Harry slowly. He was simply dying to carry through his scheme. "We could know more if we . . ."

"I doubt the Malfoy's would leave anything, er, incriminating around the house--"

"--Wow, five whole syllables there--"

"Shut up Hermione," Ron snapped, "so we'd better forget about that."

"Right," said Hermione standing up. "We'd better get to class, but I think that you should pay Dumbledore a visit tonight, all right Harry?"

Harry was very reluctant to put away his idea of bringing the Malfoys down yet conceded to Hermione's, admittedly, much more logical approach. He went to Professor McGonagall later that afternoon to ask to speak with Dumbledore. She appeared surprised at Harry's request and arched her brow in her classic ''is-that-so'' sort of way, but asked no questions.

She led Harry to Dumbledore's office and Harry slipped up the familiar winding staircase and went to tap on the door, but it opened before his knuckled even made contact.

"Er--Professor Dumbledore, sir?"

"Come in Harry, please, sit down," said Dumbledore from the other side of the office. His desk was more cluttered than usual and he was going about the business of sorting away stacks of parchment.

"You look busy--"

"Very much so. The first week back from Holiday is always hectic." He looked up and smiled over his spectacles. "But that's all right. Pumpkin juice?" His wand carelessly rapped the desk and a large pitcher appeared with two gleaming goblets.

"Er. . . yes, thank you."

"What's on your mind?" Dumbledore asked, pouring him a goblet of pumpkin juice. Harry truthfully wasn't thirsty, but felt it best to drink anyway.

"Well . . . you've seen the news, right? About Aida Devereaux?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Yes. I knew her very well."

"Yes. Well . . . that makes five people who've died so far, right?"

Even though Harry's eyes were glued to the floor, he could feel Dumbledore's wise eyes staring at him--probably staring through him.

"Well . . . about two months ago, Professor Trelawney. . . she made a . . . "

"A prediction?"

"Er. . . yes, actually."

"Ah. So when will you be dying this time?"

"N-no, not about me. About. . . the Dark Mark. She said that there would be nine deaths in all."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "And was this the same night that Sibyll spent in the Hospital Wing?"

"Yes."

More silence. "Did she say . . . anything else?"

"Not really. She said she saw the mark of death everywhere, much blood and red climbing high into the sky. It was all very cryptic. But she did say that the mark would strike nine times."

"Nothing else?"

"No, Sir."

Dumbledore was tugging at his beard absently--the ticking of the many clocks in the office was becoming quite deafening to Harry as nothing between the two was said for a very, very long time.

And when he did speak it certainly wasn't what Harry was expecting.

"I see. . . well, I certainly thank you, Harry. I will of course take this development into serious consideration. Will that be all?"

Harry stared at Dumbledore hardly able to formulate a response through his surprise. "Er . . . well, yes. That's basically everything."

Dumbledore smiled and stood up from his chair--it was a move that made Harry do the same thing. "Well, off you go then. I'm sure Quidditch practice has you up early. Isn't the final match against Ravenclaw coming up in a fortnight?"

Harry nodded.

"I'll be looking forward to that one, to be sure!"

"Right. . ." Harry said slowly, walking towards the door. "Er . . . thanks, Professor."

"Not at all, Harry. Good night."

Harry left the office hardly five minutes after he'd first arrived, and much more confused than when he'd first entered. Dumbledore was supposed to know everything. He was supposed to pull answers right out of that old hat of his. But as Harry walked slowly towards Gryffindor Tower, he felt strangely angry. Dumbledore hadn't given him an explanation or even tried to come up with an explanation. He'd simply thanked Harry and sent him merrily on his way, as though he'd just stopped by for a polite chat! But this was a life and death matter and Harry was quite upset that he'd been so quickly dismissed!

"I dunno Harry," Ron said to him after he told what had happened. It was late in the Common Room and the three friends sat close to the fireplace, voices hushed. "I'm sure Dumbledore has his reasons. I doubt he'd just toss what you said aside like that. He always listens to you have to say."

"Not tonight," said Harry gruffly, slumping in an armchair. "It was like I wasn't even there."

Hermione smirked. "He probably was trying to use psychology on you. I mean--we're all known for sticking our noses in things. Maybe he was just trying to steer you away from trying to crack the case on your own."

Harry sighed.

"Not that it entirely worked."

Harry and Ron glanced up. Hermione was smiling mischievously from her cozy spot next to the fireplace.

Ron looked particularly suspicious. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, I haven't been able to stop thinking about what those Americans said. So," she pulled out a folded piece of parchment from her trouser pocket, "I've made a little list."

Harry stared at Hermione's small but very neat writing on the parchment:

(7)

(8)

(9)

"Wow, Hermione. Quite a bit of homework you've done on these people," said Harry.

"Thanks, but it's not near enough. I need your help, Harry. I need you to write down all the names of the people you know to be Death Eaters. The ones right in Voldemort's inner circle. If there's a pattern, I'll find it."

Harry nodded and thought back to that terrible night Cedric died. He closed his eyes in concentration, hearing Voldemort's voice call to his supporters. Then his thoughts drifted to last term when he'd seen all of the Death Eaters, though they'd been cloaked. Harry's quill was scratching the paper: Peter Pettigrew . . .Lucius Malfoy . . . the Lestranges. . . Rabastan Lestrange. . . Crabbe . . . Goyle . . . Avery . . Antonin Dolohov . . . Jugson . . . Walden McNair. . . Mulciber . . . Nott . . . Augustus Rookwood . . .

Harry couldn't think anymore. Nor did he particularly want to. He handed the parchment to Hermione who took it and smiled.

"Thanks." She folded it neatly and stood up from her spot. "Now we're going to get somewhere."

**

The rest of the week was grueling, positively grueling. The spirits amongst the Sixth years were decidedly deflated by the time the week was over, and they remained deflated when the next week gave no promise or relief.

Even the arrival of Valentine's day, usually such a festive time on campus, was rather muted underneath the heavy workload. Add to that the fact that Harry was now beginning to severely stress about the Apparition Exam which was due to take place in little over a month. The idea of being splinched was not entirely appealing, so he made little complaints about Hermione's constantly quizzing and testing him on questions that were surely to be on the written exam. The actual apparating aspect, well, only Harry could help Harry with that-- a thought that left him ill with dread.

Which is why the next visit to Hogsmeade on the twenty-fifth of February was especially exciting, because it was such a welcome and needed diversion from academic life. And the one ingredient that was making the bubbling cauldron of excitement overflow, was the fact that it was also the much-anticipated Grand-Opening of Fred and George's store Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

Ron hadn't been able to touch his breakfast that morning, he was so nervous. Ginny did her best to coax him into a piece of bacon, but he simply couldn't. Not that Harry could really blame him: after all, last year someone had set Fred and George's store on fire just as it was getting ready to start business. The case was never solved though all had their suspicions (Malfoy!) and it had taken Fred and George an entire year to re-supply their inventory and pay for the necessary repairs.

What didn't help things for Ron was that as the Gryffindors made their way out of the Great Hall after breakfast, walking towards the awaiting Hogsmeade carriages, Draco decided to invite himself into their conversation.

"Oy! Weasley!"

Ron and Ginny stopped in their tracks at the cringing voice. Ron rolled his eyes, and they turned to face Malfoy.

"What do you want," Ginny demanded, the fire in her voice matching the color of her hair, to be sure.

Malfoy feigned surprise. "Well someone's in a rotten mood," he said dramatically, "I only wanted to wish you all the success in the world with your brother's store." He reached into his robes and Harry instinctively let his own hand gravitate towards his want just in case Malfoy was planning to try anything stupid . . . as he was so accustomed . . .

"Look, I even found something that reminded me of you. Or, your brothers, really." In his hand, Malfoy held a small silver orb that much resembled a remember-all.

Ron's frown intensified as he stared at it. "And what exactly is that supposed to--"

BAM!

All at once, the orb burst into a very bright (and surprisingly hot) ball of fire. The flames raised high into the air and then dissipated into smoke. Malfoy, along with a host of other Slytherins were heaving with laughter.

Harry saw that familiar glint of Weasley temper spark in Ron's eyes, but before Ron could call Malfoy any of those phrases that all begin with the word 'bloody', a shriek came hurtling down the corridor.

"MR. MALFOY! FOR THE LAST TIME! NO-MAGIC-IN-THE-HALLWAYS!"

Harry let out a smile upon sight of Arabella Figg pushing aside the students as she stormed for the Slytherins. In one swift movement, she'd taken hold of Malfoy's sleeve and gave it a severe yank, pulling him away from the rest of the students.

"No more! I've had ENOUGH! Detention, Malfoy! This is the last time, do you hear? If you can't follow simple first year instructions--"

"Professor Figg--"

"HUSH UP! It's detention for you, and yes, I mean today!"

"BUT IT'S A HOGSMEADE WEEKEND--"

"WELL! You should have THOUGHT about that before you BROKE THE RULES!"

"THIS IS BOLLO--"

"FINISH THAT SENTENCE AND NOT ONLY WILL YOU MISS THIS TRIP TO HOGSMEADE, BUT YOU'LL MISS THEM FOR THE REST OF TERM! AM I QUITE UNDERSTOOD?"

Harry couldn't believe his eyes: Arabella did look like she was ready to spurt open from anger, as did Malfoy! The tables had turned and the Gryffindors were now the ones doing the cackling as the Slytherins grimaced severely.

The scene with Malfoy had done much to improve Ron's mood, and the carriage ride to Hogsmeade was particularly delightful, filled with laughing and joking and, of course, Ron and Ginny impersonating Malfoy being dragged off by Arabella.

Upon arrival in Hogsmeade, the sixth-years did the unthinkable and bypassed the usual stops at Zonkos and Honeydukes. They instead marched directly to the far end of the High Street. There was already a large group of wizard folk assembled in front of the charming store: a half-timbered building with bay windows and fancy, red twin "W's" painted on the hanging store sign above the door. Across the heavy oak door was very large burgundy bow that was, most obviously, going to be cut during the opening ceremony.

Arthur and Molly appeared to be quite popular that morning, as people kept interrupting each other to get a chance to extend their congratulations, or at least to get a quote for their respective news journals. Harry gave Arthur a wave from across the crowds and Arthur waved back enthusiastically, excusing himself from his conversation.

"Kids," Arthur said happily as he approached them, "you've made it on time! Excellent! Ronald, I told the Mayor not to start until you and Ginny arrived!"

"Dad," said Ginny, "you didn't have to tell the Mayor--"

"Nonsense, this is a family moment more than anything! Bill and Charlie arrived her only just ten minutes ago-- I think you can see Charlie from here. . . oh there they are, next to your Mother. But now that you two are here, we can get started! Doesn't it look wonderful? It's a beautiful shop, isn't it? Much more appealing to the eye than Zonkos even, if I do say so myself. Then again, I am biased. You know, the Mayor and I were talking, and if it does well they would probably even open one in Diagon Alley! Wouldn't that be something! Oh Harry, there's something similar to that in the Muggle World, isn't there? When there is the same shop in several different cities? I know for a fact there's one very popular Muggle shop that has many different locations, oh what's it called? Mitch and Stevens? No-- Max and Seevers? "

Harry was laughing at Arthur Weasley's nervous enthusiasm. "I believe you're thinking of 'Marks and Spencers'. They're called 'chain-stores'. And yes, the shop does look beautiful."

Arthur blushed, "Oh, I am talking too much. Sorry, but I'm just ever so-- children! The Mayor! He's getting ready to-- oh, let's get a good view!"

Mr. Weasley held Ginny's hand, who in turn grabbed hold of Ron, who snagged Hermione's arm, who tacked on to Harry as they were led through the hemming crowds. They came to stop at the front of the crowds, directly in front of where the Mayor of Hogsmeade was proudly standing. The Mayor was a surprisingly tall wizard of a robust build, standing directly in front of the shop door.

Mrs. Weasley looked lovely in her robes of emerald green, her face flushed from the excitement, and she greeted Harry in her usual jovial manner. Bill and Charlie were also glad to see Harry, a mutual feeling of course, and both of the eldest Weasleys seemed to be saying the same thing most people were no doubt saying: of all the Weasleys-- Fred and George?

The Mayor held up his hands and in a booming voice began to speak:

"Welcome! Welcome one and all! How marvelous to see so many of you here this afternoon to support this community and to celebrate the latest addition to our Hogsmeade family, 'Weasley Wizard Wheezes!"

The crowd applauded loudly.

"I should first like to introduce you to the creators of Wheezes, Mr. Fred and Mr. George Weasley!"

Fred and George awkwardly took their place alongside the Mayor (who was still considerably taller than them even) and about a half dozen cameras went off as they exchanged handshakes.

"Erm. . . thanks," said Fred sheepishly, ears burning red from embarrassment, "Really, it's wonderful to see you all here today, thank you."

"And," said George, "we'd like to thank the Mayor for granting us the undue honor of basing our business on one of the greatest Wizarding High Streets in the world!"

"'Granting us the undue honor?" Hermione whispered loudly, smirking, "I wonder who scripted that one for him!"

Ron's silence on the matter rather made Harry think it was Ron who'd scripted it.

"And we'd also like to thank our dear Father and Mother who are here today-- happy birthday, Mum!"

Mrs. Weasley was wiping tears from her smiling face as the crowd applauded her birthday, and Harry was at once tugged at the heartstrings. After all, the Weasleys weren't exactly accustomed to recognition. This must have been an incredible moment for them! And how fabulous that Ron now was to have a famous last name too-- it was terrific to have spotlight on fresh faces for once.

"And, of course, we have to thank our dear friend Harry Potter--"

Dammit. Harry was not expecting his name to be mentioned, and instinctively stepped behind Ron to hide as the crowd turned and craned their necks to try and catch a glimpse of him.

"--without whom, none of this would be happening right now."

The crowds applauded louder and to Harry's dismay, someone grabbed hold of his shoulder and shouted over the din of the crowds, "Mr. Potter! Doris Dinsmore of the Daily Prophet: what exactly were your contributions to this project?"

Harry was disgusted at her lack of manners. He furrowed his brow, "Listen, shouldn't you be asking the Weasleys these questions? It's their store, not mine!"

Dinsmore was speechless for a moment. She turned around, quill scribbling as she left, muttering under her breath, "Potter was so overcome with emotion he was unable to reply..."

Harry shook his head, but was happy to be left alone and out of the picture. He was smiling as the Weasleys answered the reporter's questions and thrilled to pieces that he was being ignored by the press.

"You know, now that I'm on the other side, I have to say that most of the time us reporters do look pretty damn silly."

Startled, Harry spun around to see that familiar face behind him. Her blond hair was pinned, as usual, and she was wearing the same simple robes she had been the past two times Harry had seen her. Quite sad for Rita Skeeter-- a woman who used to dress so very exquisitely.

Harry nodded a polite hello to her and said, "Well, I guess it's a living."

She nodded. "Indeed. How funny it is that you don't realize how much you really care for something until you no longer have it. Everyone's in it for the money, of course, but. . . I'll tell you Harry, there's something more involved. It's a. . . such a rush, really. The thrill of getting the story. . . nothing like it . . ."

Harry had no reply to give for such unexpected, heartfelt candor. The only thing he could think of was the idea he'd been wanting to get out in the open for such a long time . . . and now that he was standing in front of Rita Skeeter . . . well, what harm would there be in just running it by her . . .

"Tell you what, Rita," he said matter-of-factly, "You scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours."

Her eyes looked down at him, swimming in confusion, awaiting the explanation of such a cryptic proposal.

"I'll give you a story-- the story of a lifetime."

She still looked confused, albeit insatiably interested.

"Imagine a school governor who is also a Death Eater and behind the recent wave of dark mark attacks," he stepped closer to her, "can you imagine what the Prophet would do if you exposed him and gave them the story? Exclusive? Rita, they'd welcome you back with open arms."

Rita's mouth had fallen, and she could barely speak. "H-harry, are you . . . certain?"

"Rita, I know. I've seen him, if you will, in his element."

Her voice was a mere whisper now. "Who is it? Oh, you simply must tell me now!"

"First you promise to help me get into his house."

"House? But how? I can't apparate--"

"Forget what you can't do, think about what you can do: your job is to get me into his house. I need information..." he paused, "the death eaters are planning another dark mark attack."

"Harry! How do you know?"

"I have my sources too, Rita."

A smile came over her astonished face. "I knew I was gonna like you, kid."

The Weasleys were finishing up with the reporters, so Harry had to make it quick before they came back. "Listen-- I'll owl you. Where do you live?"

She laughed. "Send your owl in care of me to the Strood House Inn-- that's where I'm staying."

Harry was surprised to hear she was living in such a shabby place as the Strood House Inn. He wrinkled his nose, "Rita-- is that very safe?"

"Just let anyone try something with me!"

He nodded. "Yes, well, we'll arrange it all by owl. I'll be in touch."

She winked and quickly made her exit as the Weasleys came to join Harry. They were all quite keen on the idea of a pint at the Three Broomsticks, as was apparently the rest of Hogsmeade, as the pub was about as crowded as Harry ever remembered it being.

The Weasleys were all talking a mile a minute, Bill and Charlie laughing the loudest of any of them. Harry was smiling, genuinely enjoying the giddiness and glee that was so abounding, but he just couldn't help the fact that his mind kept drifting. Drifting to what he'd said to Rita . . . and now that Rita had agreed to help him . . .

"Oy, Harry," said Ron, "what's wrong with you today!"

Harry truly hadn't been aware that he was being unusually quiet, it's just he'd so much running about in his head.

"Huh? Nothing! I was just thinking about what the Mayor said about-- opening more than just the one shop."

"Oh yes," said Mrs. Weasley, her face still bright red, "can't you see it? Weasley's Wheezes all over Britain! Oh how marvelous!"

"Now let's pray it never comes to that," Bill guffawed, gaining snickers from the rest of the family.

Harry put away his scheme for the moment and decided it best to enjoy the excitement around him for all it was.

**

The questions was when to do it. He knew that it would have to be at night so he could slip away unnoticed. And it would have to be soon before there were anymore attacks carried out. What was he hoping to find at the Manor? He didn't know. For all Harry knew, he'd come back empty-handed. But he simply could not ignore the nagging feeling that was eating away at his sanity that the Malfoy Manor held some clue-- a needed piece to the puzzle. He would not be able to live with the guild of not having tried when someone else fell victim to the hands of the death eaters. Hermione and Ron both seemed quite willing to leave matters to Dumbledore to solve, but thus far all that had resulted from that were five innocent deaths.

True, this was dangerous talk, but Harry could not sit idly by any longer and do nothing.

"Haaaaary?"

Hermione was frowning at him from overtop her Apparition book. They were at the Ministry attending one of their last Apparition classes before the exam in March. Ariah Warwick had dismissed the class into small study groups for the remainder of the day and Hermione was drilling Harry with questions from their study sheaf.

"Sorry?"

Hermione seemed more amused than scolding. "You haven't heard a word I've just said, have you?"

"Yes I have," he lied, "you said that . . . that . . ."

"That Harry Potter is a big fat hairy git?"

Harry laughed. "Sorry. I'll focus, I promise."

"Hey, I'm doing this for you more than anything. I'm not the one who'll be taking the exam in two weeks. But of course if you want to get splinched--"

Harry's stomach churned at the very idea and he grabbed hold of the study parchment. "Right. Where were we?"

Hermione laughed softly. "Harry, Harry, Harry. Okay, now this one this one is easy. An act of apparition is measured in terms of what four main components?"

"Okay, er, they are density, velocity, opacity and composition--the last being the most important."

"Right. And . . . What is the correct percentage of the third Apparitional Component for successful long distance travel?

"Er . . . s-seventy three percent?

That's short distance travel, Harry. Long distance travel is eighty-two percent."

"Oh."

"Focus. Okay, what is the correct percentage of the first Apparitional component for successful short distance travel?"

Harry was spared having to answer because the door to their classroom flew open unexpectedly, startling all of the students. In rushed Professor McGonagall, her emerald robes flowing behind her, eyes fixed on Ariah Warwick at the far end of the room.

"Professor McGonagall," said Ariah pleasantly, "May I help--"

But McGonagall appeared to not be interested in pleasantries.

Harry was somewhat alarmed as she took Ariah aside and spoke to her. Harry was studying Ariah's expression, and his heart sunk as her eyes closed, a shadow of sadness and hurt coming over her as McGonagall kept speaking.

Hermione nudged Harry's arm and whispered, "What's going on?"

Harry shook his head, his eyes not leaving Ariah and Minerva for a moment. They apparently finished speaking and Ariah gave McGonagall a final nod of the head.

Then, what Harry was dreading happened, and Ariah turned her mournful eyes towards Harry's direction. Harry immediately stiffened and began going about the business of mentally readying himself from whatever she was going to say.

"Mr. Potter? Miss Granger? Will you please gather your thinks and accompany Professor McGonagall? You won't be returning to class today. I shall owl your assignments to your dorms at school."

Harry's throat tightened, and he promptly packed up his satchel. Hermione's eyes were wide with worry and she kept looking to Harry for help, but of course Harry was just as confused as she was. He followed Hermione out of the classroom after a quick paced Professor McGonagall. They had to nearly run to keep up with her brisk strides.

"Professor--McGonagall--where--" Hermione was starting to say, but she cut it short when Minerva stopped abruptly in the arrivals area of the lobby. The floo fireplaces were awaiting them, but Professor McGonagall quickly ushered them into a small vestibule, safe from wandering ears.

It took her quite a while before she was able to speak.

"I. . . I am sorry to be the one to tell you both this, but there was another attack late last night."

Harry's breath left him. No. Whatever it is, please let this be a dream . . .

Professor McGonagall looked about as worried as Harry had ever seen her, and she removed her square spectacles so that her normally beady eyes looked strikingly compassionate. Her breath caught in her throat before she was able to continue.

"It was Remus Lupin . . .'

"NO!" Harry hollered, nearly doubling over from the blow of the news. He'd surely been punched right in the stomach, and the tears-- furious and hurting-- were already falling as he raged on. "PLEASE! No, Professor McGonagall--please, no!"

Professor McGonagall remained poised and merely raised her right index finger. "Remus Lupin was the victim of a dark mark attack however--"

Harry's choked on his sob and held his breath.

McGonagall's voice was stern, but her eyes were softening every moment. "he is still alive."

Hermione gasped and, tears still fresh on her red cheeks, grabbed hold of Harry's arm tightly and they stared at each other, their expressions both begging for the same answer: what did she say?

Harry was the first to find his voice, however cracked it was. "He's still alive?"

Professor McGonagall let out the brilliant smile she'd obviously so desperately wanted to flash, and her entire body relaxed with it. She put her hands on both Hermione and Harry's shoulders.

"Yes, thank Merlin. Whoever the culprit was certainly chose an untimely moment to make his attack. Mr. Lupin was found by Mr. Black, lying in the field not twenty feet from their home in Hogsmeade. He was fully transformed, and most obviously left for dead: the dark mark had been left upon the werewolf's chest. But Mr. Black quickly noticed that he was still breathing."

Harry was stunned. "Did . . . did his survival have anything to do with Remus' transformation?"

"Mr. Lupin is at St. Mungo's in London right now and this is what's most extraordinary. In the short period of time it took for Mr. Black to apparate with Mr. Lupin to St. Mungo's, Mr. Lupin had turned back into his normal self. The healers are still performing numerous tests, but it is obvious the extreme shock of the curse did something to reverse the transformation process and left Mr. Lupin unharmed by the curse itself."

"Unharmed," Hermione repeated breathlessly.

"Well . . . he is unconscious, but very much alive."

Harry, still shaking from the very real scare he'd had, found himself beaming and, perhaps in his state of delirious relief, seriously considered giving Professor McGonagall a kiss on her cheek.

"Dumbledore sent me here to fetch the both of you to you may come to visit. Ronald Weasley is already there, having been escorted from Hogwarts by Professor Snape."

Oh the relief.

The relief was so beautiful and wonderful--and yet the anger was back soon enough, seething and swelling within him. Anger that this culprit had escaped unseen and unharmed, and had come so perilously close to taking the life of one of his dearest friends.

But this sort of thinking needed to be put aside for the time being. He had more important things to do at the moment. He followed Hermione and Professor McGonagall to one of the floo fireplaces in the lobby: St. Mungo's awaited them.

It was a surprisingly quick journey to the hospital, and a smooth one at that. Harry didn't even get a swallow of hot soot down his throat as was his lamentable habit.

The fourth floor was soaking in sunlight and Remus' hospital room was so very white that everything fairly glowed dreamily, which is what made the three imposingly dark figures in the room stand out so drastically: Sirius, dressed as Professor Gray, was sitting alongside Lupin's bedside, Ron stood overtop him, and Snape was in the background near the window-- removed physically, but his eyes remaining keenly focused.

Sirius sprung to his feet the minute Harry walked in the door and they laid eyes on each other. He grabbed Harry with both his arms, pulling him forcefully into his embrace and buried his head against Harry's.

"Harry, my boy. Harry . . ." Sirius' voice broke off and he could say no more, only hold Harry.

Harry clung to his godfather tightly, suddenly so very aware that it could just as well have been Sirius last night as the death eater's target. How differently things could have been . . .

Harry shuddered off the thought of ever being without his Godfather, and surrendered himself to the beautiful reality of the moment-- the beautiful reality of now, being held in the very real loving embrace of his godfather's very real and strong arms.

Ron welcomed Harry and Hermione happily, though with subdued salutations, and Snape just sort of made an obligatory nod of the head.

"So . . ." began Harry, staring down at Remus' sleeping body. Remus' eyes were closed, face gaunt and sickly colored as it always was during the last phases of the moon. He looked so very much older than his actual years with the bright light from the windows making his peppery hair appear whiter than it truly was.

". . . Professor McGonagall said that he transformed back?"

Sirius nodded. "Yes. I'd heard a terrible explosion from behind the home. I'd thought that Remus had been locked away in his bedroom after he'd taken his last dose of wolfsbane, but when I went out back to see what the commotion was about, I saw the dark mark rising above the trees. I panicked and... and that's when I saw him, as a werewolf, lying there in the grass." He shook his head gravely. "I can't imagine what possessed him to go outside when he knew there would be full moonlight overhead."

"But," Snape spoke up, "it obviously worked in his favor because the mark hit him as he was transforming and according to one of the lead Healers here, the death curse apparently was not effective on a body in the middle of such a complex transformation. He thinks that the curse was for humans only and therefore Remus being in the state of a werewolf, did not get the full blast of it. The force of the blast, though, left Remus unconscious, and sent his body into a state of shock, somehow the reversing transformation process."

Harry was trying to decipher Snape's expression. He doubted it was a look of genuine concern so much as it was awe of what had happened. Snape's was a scientific mind, that was certain, so Harry was not entirely surprised to see him so thoroughly fascinated with such unprecedented events.

Harry looked back down at Remus' body, his chest lifting ever so slightly under the blankets as he breathed-- and once again the anger inside him began to swell.

Remus had been fortunate. Too fortunate. Someone had intended him to die last night. Indeed, he should have died last night were it not for the strange and unforeseen circumstances. And how ironic it was that in the end, the thing that had cast such a melancholy shadow over his entire life was the very thing that had saved his life.

Even though Remus still wasn't conscious, Harry insisted on staying at the hospital to keep Remus company. The room was quiet for a lengthy spell, Harry hypnotized by the rhythmic rising and falling of Lupin's chest and the strange look of calm on the man's weathered face. "Any leads?" he asked, still stuck in his gaze.

"No," said Sirius, "it could have been any of them."

"The Ministry should just arrest them all right now," Hermione said.

Sirius sighed. "We've been through this."

"I know," she said bitterly, "but it's the truth after all. We all know it."

"And we all know the Ministry needs evidence," Sirius reminded.

"What better evidence is there than common sense? Besides. . ." she took a breath, "I think I've found a pattern."

The entire room froze.

Sirius, Professor Snape and McGonagall all approached her, their tall frames towering over her.

"What did you say, Miss Granger?" Snape pressed.

"I said-- I said I think I've found a pattern."

"You think," Snape repeated with a definite sneer.

"Well, let me show you," she said quickly, whipping out her wand. She threw a quick wink at Harry, "I learned this one from Professor Flitwick. You'll love it, it's wicked!"

She swished and flicked, muttered some unfamiliar incantation, and in midair appeared beautifully swirling bright blue letters that spelled the names of all the victims thus far, including "Remus Lupin":

Mildred Reafsnyder

The Edinburgh Owlery

Giles Garring

William Weatherby Jr.

Aida Devereaux

Remus Lupin

"Nice," Ron whispered.

"Thanks," she said brightly, pulling out a well folded piece of parchment. "Now, it's not concrete evidence, mind you, but it's certainly better than hearsay. It just proves that every one of these victims had at least one of the known death eaters with a vendetta against them. These people aren't just random victims-- they were direct targets."

Harry smiled at Hermione's confidence, especially since the adults quite visibly had no idea what to make of what she was saying.

"First, we have Mildred Reafsnyder. Philanthropist who donated thousands to the Defense Against the Dark Arts League. As a result, it appears the Reafsnyder had a lot of, shall we say, bearing with the League's proceedings. It's generally acknowledged that in 1983 she was the one responsible for having the League expose Augustus Rookwood as a loyal supporter of Voldemort and had him kicked out of his office at the Ministry."

Ron shuddered at the name, but Hermione carried on. "Next was the Edinburgh Owlery. It just so happens that before it was an Owlery, it was a humble little dwelling wherein lived a man by the name of Antonin Dolohov. According to Ministry of Magic records, Dolohov was taken into custody by Aurors in 1981 and it was proved that he used this dwelling as a sort of Death Eater hub: a place to send and receive vital pieces of intel information--"

Harry saw Snape nod at this statement.

"-- and once he was exposed, the Ministry approved the building of this Ministry of Magic Owlery. A sort of slap in the face to Dolohov, if you will-- a mockery of his own thwarted center of communication.

Next, we had Giles Garring, the Parchment and Quillery shop Owner. And a m-m-mudblood. I did a little research and it appears that Garring attended Hogwarts when he was young and was relentlessly taunted for being a "m-mudblood" by a certain Slytherin in particular: Walden McNair. McNair kept his true identity a secret--he was a mudblood too-- but Garring knew this and proclaimed it in front of the entire school one day when he'd had enough of McNair's bullying, leaving McNair perfectly humiliated. Apparently McNair isn't the sort of fellow to exactly bury a grudge.

Let's see. . . next is William Weatherby Jr., a Muggle, of course, and it is presumable he didn't even know what Death Eaters were. His father did, however. Before Weatherby went into professional Quidditch, he played for Ravenclaw at Hogwarts. A certain Death Eater named Mulciber played for Slytherin. Weatherby was everything Mulciber could never be as a Quidditch player and, according to Hogwarts records, Mulciber lost every last game he ever played against Weatherby. Weatherby's less than humble attitude about certainly did not help matters. Why would anyone murder a man because of something as petty as that? Who knows. But Mulciber is certainly a man capable of it.

Then, of course, there was Aida Devereaux. Famous French alchemist and Defense Against the Dark Arts activist. She has a clean slate other than the fact that she married a Muggle. She married a Muggle, by the way, despite the constant proposals of one Death Eater Mr. Avery. Her elopement to the French Muggle left Avery in despair-- especially since the papers were filled with such articles as "Avery Left in Lurch" and "Avery Loses to Muggle". There were rumors that Devereaux had accepted Avery's last proposal to marry him 'only as a joke' and then eloped with the Muggle. It is, of course, possible this is indeed true. . . at least, according to Avery it is.

"And," said Sirius, "What about Remus?"

Hermione sighed. "Mr. Lupin. . . obviously, I haven't had time to really fit in that piece of the puzzle. But from what I've learned so far, it's obvious there is an obvious reason somewhere."

The company was quiet, Hermione's words still hanging very audibly in the air. Harry was most definitely impressed--Hermione's brightness never failed to astound.

"And," said Sirius slowly, "the next victim?"

Hermione's brow was furrowed. "Well . . . obviously we've no way of knowing who the next will be . . . but at least we've established that there is a connection between the victims so far and the death eaters. I mean, it's only obvious that these death eaters have a vendetta--"

"We're going about this backwards," Harry said quickly and matter-of-factly.

Everyone turned to stare at him. Hermione especially, who challenged him with a simple, "Oh?"

"Yes. We may have a motive, but what good is a motive when there's no evidence these men are the ones who did these crimes?"

Hermione apparently took this remark quite personally because her eyebrows met crossly and she positively shot daggers at him. "Well I haven't seen you coming up with any brilliant ideas! Mr. Harry-I'm-So-Bloody-Smart-Potter!"

Snape let go of what could only be described as a satisfied cackle at Hermione's outburst, and Harry fell perfectly quiet-- and remained such for the rest of the evening.

Her words had hit Harry in more ways the she surely intended. Aside from his hurt that she'd been so offended, it also cemented Harry's resolve to do something about the situation.

That next morning, after a turbulent night of restless tossing and falling in and out of nightmares, he Hedwig woke him with a playful nudge of her beak. What wasn't so pleasant was the cut it gave him across his arm from the sharp corner of the envelope she was carrying in her beak.

It was a letter was from Sophie.

Harry:

I am so sorry. I read about Remus Lupin in the Daily Prophet, and haven't been able to rest since. Oh I am so, so very sorry. How is he? I know you've been to see him. The Prophet was very vague about the whole thing which is endlessly frustrating! I want to go to St. Mungo's to see him for myself, but I'll have to wait and see what Dumbledore says about it. I told Dad about what happened, and he wanted me to send along his love because he really liked Remus that evening all of us went ice skating. And he knows how much Remus means to you.

Harry, please don't do anything rash. I know how angry you must be, hell, I'm bloody fuming mad. But please don't do anything rash. I'm sure Dumbledore knows what the best thing to do is, and he'll do it. I know you feel like you owe it to Remus to avenge him, but you don't owe it to him to go off and getting into trouble-- getting yourself hurt or... or worse.

Please write back a.s.a.p. and let me know when I can come to St. Mungo's.

I miss you and I wish I was with you right now.

Yours,

Sophie

p.s.: I mean it, Harry. Don't do anything stupid.

Sophie's letter was a plea for him not to react.

She knows me. She knows I can't let something like this go.

The day was a blur... nothing else mattered... not Quidditch practice, not a pop quiz in Potions... not even the sneering taunts of Malfoy about what happened to Remus... all Harry could think about was getting to the bottom of all the bloody bullshit.

In his bed that night, when the room was heaving with sighing sleep, he wrote furiously with his quill, holding back his frustrated tears from falling onto the parchment and blurring the ink.

Rita:

I expect you've heard what they tried to do to Remus Lupin.

Let's do it. Now. Owl me as soon as you receive this post and let me know where I can meet you.

They've gone too far.

When he awoke in the morning, it was to have two amber eyes looking down into his. Harry smiled at the sight of Hedwig and sat up in his bed. He went to ruffle her chest, but she remained staunchly unaffectionate.

"Well what's wrong with you," said Harry, frowning at her.

Hedwig seemed to frown back at him, and pushed a white envelope towards him with her beak. She gave an indignant squawk before hopping off the bed to sulk in the corner of the windowsill.

Harry:

Yes, I've been reading all about it in the papers. It's disgusting, this whole thing.

I'm ready if you are.

As I'm living in Strood, I do not imagine it would be entirely easy for you to come to my flat, so I think it would be best if I came to Hogwarts. You do remember my old means of travel, don't you? I made a solemn promise to Albus Dumbledore that I would no longer use my animagi for unsavory purposes. This, however, is quite a different situation altogether. It takes me a while to fly that way, especially in the night, but I will be leaving the minute you tell me where you will be waiting for me.

Harry was glad that Hedwig couldn't talk, because he was certain from the disdain in her eyes that she would have gone directly to Dumbledore to tell him what her master was up to. In a matter of mere minutes he had his reply ready.

Rita:

You know where the astronomy tower is, of course. The windows are open up there and I will be waiting for you after supper tonight: 6 pm.

-Harry

Hedwig was reluctant to take Harry's letter and gave him trouble as he fastened the letter to her leg. He frowned at her and pointed his finger at her sternly. "Now you behave yourself, Hedwig. This is for the good of all of us, you hear? I know what I'm doing."

She squawked in reply, and flew out the window.

She'll see. They'll all see. This is for the best.