Harry Potter and the Dark Mark

Chapter Thirteen: Knockturn Alley

It drowned in the shadows of southwest England. To Muggles, the Estate appeared to be nothing more than a phenomenon of perhaps the northern lights with yellow and white streaks racing across the night sky. But to Harry, those lights were the ghoulish glow emanating from within the gothic windows of the Malfoy manor, a place that rose into the clouds with soaring spires and was kept under constant watch by perched gargoyles.

Rita sat behind Harry on the Firebolt, Harry's invisibility cloak pulled tight around them, the rushing, bitter wind engaged in a constant battle to rip it away from them. An uncontrollable shudder ripped through him as he brought his broom lower and lower, the realization of what he was doing finally catching up to him as he did so.

It was, of course, a smooth landing, right in the manicured gardens that lead up to the mansion's massive front doors.

"Sure beats the way I fly," said Rita as they swung their legs from off the broom, their bodies close to each other with the invisibility cloak still tight about them. They stood at the entrance and craned their necks at the doors that towered above them.

"Shall I knock," asked Rita with hopeful humor.

Harry did not answer.

Rita nodded, "Right. Well... are you ready?"

"Yeah..." He watched as Rita took out her wand and pointed it towards him, "Wait-- you're sure that this is, er, the only way to--"

"Look my boy; it's quite possible that even Hogwarts isn't as secured a fortress as the Malfoy manor. Now on the count of three, one..."

Harry closed his eyes. He had been shrunk before, last year while he, under the lead of Snape and Ariah Warwick, had spent a night in the Cove of the Caledonian Forest Fairies. That made it a bit easier to deal with this time, although it was not nearly as fun as it had been the year before: he wasn't in the luxurious Cove, this time he was at the doorstep of the Malfoy Estate.

Suddenly he was hit with an unpleasantly familiar queasiness to his stomach. Wind rushed around him and his stomach felt as though it was rising up through his throat and, just before he was ready to throw up, it all stopped.

He was out of breath, and it took several minutes to gather his bearings. The world stretched above him for miles, the cracks in the concrete steps had now become great craters in the ground that it would take ages to cross. He looked around for Rita and in doing so found a life-sized green beetle at his side.

He screamed for about ten minutes, and it was a good thing he was the size of a bug himself so the Malfoys couldn't hear. The bug with the furry feelers and practically fluorescent orange eyes did the unthinkable and began to talk.

"Oh calm down Harry, it's just me. Now come on, climb on my back and let's get inside, get our story and then get the hell out of here."

Harry's heart was rattling out of its cage, but he nodded. "Y-yeah. Y-you said it."

So he did, very hesitant about the entire decision, but knowing full well it was too late to do anything about it. Rita's wings began to flutter, making a high-pitched purring sound, and they were soon off the ground.

Rita easily slipped in through the crack in the side of the door, and they were in the Malfoy's manor.

She landed with ease and Harry hopped off. Within moments, Rita had transformed back into her normal self. In a heartbeat she'd whipped out her wand and whispered the reverse incantation and Harry felt that familiar rush around him. Not caring how winded it left him he threw the cloak around them and they stood together in complete silence for several moments, listening carefully, praying that no one had heard them.

The quiet was nerve-racking.

"Come on," whispered Harry.

Their steps were small at first, hoping not to make noise on the wooden floors (Damn those Malfoys!). He was crestfallen at the very least to discover that the manor itself was terribly impressive. Enormous paintings hung on the walls, elaborately embroidered rugs sprawled the entire length of the drawing rooms and wealth emanated from every last square inch of every room they crossed.

"Where do you think Mr. Malfoy's study is," whispered Harry.

"Haven't the faintest," Rita breathed. She pointed up the staircase (even the staircase was exquisite with two staircases on each side of the room that climbed upward and met each other at the top.) "I'm guessing all the bedrooms are up there-- but I supposed they're called chambers in a place like this."

"Hang on," said Harry, his eye caught on something off at the end of the dark hallway. It was a very large painting of a man, no doubt an ancestor of the Malfoys, but there was a very definite horizontal line cutting directly across it-- as though it were two panels connected to make one painting. Harry edged towards it and, just as they were nearing it, the bottom half slid outwards and open, Lucius Malfoy himself stepping out.

He hurried past them, the smell of tobacco very strong on him and Harry could feel Rita tense up next to him. The painting panel closed back up almost immediately, sealing off the entrance to whatever lay below.

That's probably his study-- there must be a way to get down there. Harry was beginning to walk towards it when Rita nudged him. "Look."

She was pointing back towards Lucius who had hurried to the massive front door entrance. The sound of the door screeching open was very audible as was a new voice to the room.

Harry and Rita were both interested at just who would be calling on the Malfoys at eleven o'clock at night. They tip toed back towards the main entrance, and the new voice was now much easier to make out.

But Harry stopped dead in his tracks.

His eyes were lying to him. They had to be. Because Lucius was firmly shaking hands with someone he knew all too well.

"Good Evening, Arabella. I do thank you most sincerely for coming on such short notice."

Arabella. Figg.

She unfastened her long gray cloak and removed her hat, revealing a very unfriendly, very stern face.

"This way, Arabella. Have a seat, won't you? I'm sure you must be tired."

"Thank you. Yes, this journey has unfortunately confirmed the fact that I have finally become just another fat old witch."

"Harry? Are you all right? You don't look so well..."

Rita's urgent whispers brought him back from his momentary stupor, forcing him to accept the cruel reality playing out in front of him.

"Rita... I know her..."

"Who is she?"

"She's... she's a Hogwarts Professor..." his voice trembled, thinly veiling the rage in it.

Rita gasped.

Harry's eyes were burning through the cloak, and he listened acutely to each word they spoke, his blood sizzling all the more with every passing moment.

Lucius' hair was studiously pulled back and he sat across from Arabella, leaning back in his chaise, legs crossed.

"Surely you're thirsty," he said, flicking his wand so a pitcher of pewter appeared. "I had some refreshments prepared for you."

She thanked him and poured herself a glass as Lucius made some very insincere comments about how well she'd aged.

"Lucius, I know you did not urgent owl me to discuss the grace of my handling the aging process." She put down the glass. "What is it you want?"

Lucius leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "Your reputation precedes you, Arabella."

"As does yours, Lucius."

"These have been... difficult years for all of us. The old days are gone. The days when your name was venerated amongst us-- a legend of sorts. Truthfully, I see you are in many ways like myself and everyone else like us: trapped in a lie, having to bow to the useless Ministry and all those supporting it: Fudge, and of course, Albus Dumbledore..." there was a nefarious cruelty in the way he spoke Dumbledore's name-- a wickedness matched only by the heartlessness in his eyes. He rose to his feet, carried away in his own passion.

"Albus who has imprisoned you to live amongst the Muggles. We have been humiliated long enough, Arabella. Too long has our Lord suffered, and too long have we along with him. And now that our forces are growing in number, we are close. Close to finally doing away with all those in the way of the Dark Lord."

Arabella remained stationary. "You've certainly been making a point these past months with the Dark Mark sightings."

"Yes... indeed... and that brings me to why I've asked you here tonight." He sat down again. "Your knowledge of the Dark Arts is legendary, Arabella. And I appeal to that knowledge tonight."

"Speak plainly, Lucius: what is it you need of me?"

He was quiet. "There is a very old whisper... that even the strongest of charms can be countered."

"Yes..."

"But the way has long since been... lost. Perhaps forgotten, perhaps kept secret, perhaps cast away before our earliest writings could record it... but the whisper still remains. Therefore, it is only natural that I should turn to you in settling the matter once and for all. If there is a spell to do the job, you are surely the one who would know. And that is what I ask you tonight."

Arabella was leaning forward, her face perfectly vacant. Harry felt his heart pounding against Rita, the beating of his pulse deafening his own ears. He was sweating under that cloak, his anger a fiery with rage.

Finally Arabella spoke and Harry's fists tightened with every word that came out of her lips.

"Well... as is the case with whispers, there is usually some degree of truth behind them. Most less than others, but in the case of the Book of the Intrata, the whisper is quite true."

"The Book of the Intrata," repeated Lucius.

"Yes. The Intrata is a book that dates back well before any Ministry, any law or regulation on the uses of magic, yes even before your bloodline, Lucius. It contains in it spells long banished that have since entered into legend."

"Tell me," Lucius begged, "you must! Tell me, if such a book is still in existence! Where can I find it?"

Arabella laughed. "The book? Yes, yes I know there is at least one in existence. But it is my regretful duty to inform you that I do not know it's exact location.."

Lucius lowered his head in defeat.

She laughed again. "Come now Lucius... your faith in me is admirable, but I have been out of the wizarding circle for many years. Remember, this is my first year amongst wizardkind in over thirteen years. Can you think of no one who would know where such a book is?" She lowered her voice and Harry had to edge Rita closer to hear them.

"I'd put my Galleons on a certain man in the Knockturn Alley. You know as well as I the sort of, er, loose information that floats around those streets..."

Lucius nodded, smiling this time. "Yes... yes, of course..."

"And, in case you don't know exactly where to begin your search, might I recommend ... " she pulled out a quill and scribbled down something on a spare piece of parchment, and slid it to Lucius who let out a slow, and strangely satisfied smile.

"Of course... of course."

Arabella sighed. "Now, if there'll be nothing else, I must get going. I have a mountain of parchments to correct."

"Yes," said Lucius, "And anyway, I think that you have given me precisely what I was asking for."

Arabella nodded. "I'm glad you think so." She tightened her robes. "Goodnight, Lucius."

Lucius followed her to the door and Arabella paused just before she stepped outside. "By the way, you might want to speak with your son about his homework. I hope you understand that our little meeting is not going to change the fact that he is hardly passing my class. Goodnight again."

She disappeared out the door and Lucius closed it, standing still for quite some time. He was staring down at his piece of parchment and laughed slowly, ever so slowly. He stuffed it into his cloak, and then broke out into a brisk walk across the foyer.

"Borgin, you old devil. I should have realized that you'd know about this."

He disappeared up the endless staircase, leaving Harry and Rita quite alone. They were both breathing hard and eventually met each other's gaze.

"Did he say... Borgin? As in... Borgin and Burkes?"

"That's right... Mr. Borgin... in Knockturn Alley..." he flashed back to his second year, the Mr. Borgin's old twisted face as clear as though he'd just seen him, "he and the Malfoys go way back."

"Harry..." she said cautiously, "are you thinking what I certainly hope you're thinking?"

"I think so..." His mind was racing at a million miles per hour, mostly lingering on the vile truth that Arabella Figg was a bloody traitor. But as devastating as that was, even more pressing was what would happen if Lucius got hold of this book... it would spell disaster for sure. Whatever he and the Dark Lord were planning, it had to be foiled.

As far as Harry was concerned, there was no choice but to get to that book before Lucius.

"I'll meet you at Knockturn Alley tomorrow morning at exactly eight am."

By the time Harry was scurrying up the stone steps to Gryffindor tower, the horizon was already turning pale blue. It was a Saturday morning, and not just any Saturday, but a Hogsmeade Saturday which meant that there was almost certainly going to be excited third years already hopping about the common room. He slid into the common room, sighing with relief that only one or two third years occupied the sofas, and he flew up the steps to his dormitory...

"Wot yer doin up 'n about so bleedin' urly?"

Seamus' eyes were half closed with sleep, hair wild and his speech was just as slipshod as his steps were as he stumbled towards the lavatory.

"Same thing you are," said Harry quickly, hopping into his bed, thankful that Seamus was half asleep so he couldn't notice his hair wet and sticky from perspiration.'

"Aye... I've gotta piss like a racehorse..." and he stumbled away.

Harry lay very still in bed with a sheet pulled over him, his pulse still racing, his body sweaty and steamy from running. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep, and waited for the dorm to finally start to rise.

Ron was talking to Harry from the minute he woke up and rolled over onto his side, not realizing that Harry wasn't answering with so much as a grunt. "...but you know Hermione, she'll get over it. She takes things so personally sometimes, and besides I think it's that time of the month for her. Did I tell you that last week she called me a tosser, right there in front of Professor McGonagall, and that she hoped I'd get the wrong end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt? All I'd done was laugh when she tripped over a loose stone in the great hall and, bam, she was all narked! Women. But, you gotta admit, Harry, she's got a lot more insight into this whole thing that you and me. She's really determined to... well, she calls it "de-coding". And you when Hermione starts on something, she won't rest until she's done come hell and high water, right Harry?" Ron's voice paused. "Harry?"

Harry felt Ron's hand nudge his shoulder, and Harry pretended to be irritated with the disturbance.

"Oy, Harry! Come on mate, get up!"

Harry moaned and made a great show of trying to open his eyes. "Ron..." he said weakly, "not today... I feel like I've been hit by a furnuculus charm."

Ron stood overtop Harry for several moments without saying a word. And then, without warning, he ripped the sheets from overtop Harry, exposing his clothes.

"Well you certainly don't look like it. And funny that you're already dressed." He leaned down. "Or is it that you're just getting in?"

Harry frowned, Ron's eyes bright and locked on his, not about to give Harry the opportunity to wiggle out of it.

"Come on, Harry. Spill it."

Damn.

Harry slowly rose his torso, and Ron took a seat next to him on the bed, the two friends head's close together so that an idle passerby could not catch wind of what they were saying.

"I need you to cover for me, Ron. I need you to tell them that I had to stay here on the grounds because I've got a touch of the flu-- that I wanted to have Madame Pomfrey give me a pepperup potion or something."

Ron folded his arms. "Why? What are you up to?"

"I... I can't tell you--"

"Oh? Well, you'd better tell me."

Harry opened his mouth, but was unsure of how to begin... he'd be angry no matter what...

"All right Ron, fine. Last night... I snuck out after everyone fell asleep. Remember I told you how I was sure that if only we could get the chance to spy on the death eaters, like Malfoy, we could find out what they were up to?"

"Yeah, and I also remember that I told you the idea was daft."

Harry nodded. "Well... now we know what they're up to."

Ron blanched. "Do you mean to tell me that you snuck into the Malfoy's mansion last night?!"

Harry shushed Ron, just as Dean walked by. Ron's voice lowered several octaves when he spoke again. "Harry! Have you gone absolutely barking mad?"

"Not yet," he said, "look, the more we wait around, the more people are going to die. They already tried to get Remus, who knows who could be next: Sirius, you, me, Hermione-- it could be anyone! So... last night... myself and Rita Skeeter--"

"RITA SKEETER?!?"

"--flew down to Wiltshire last night and snuck into the Malfoy manor."

"--you and RITA SKEETER flew from HOGWARTS to WILTSHIRE in only ONE NIGHT?"

"Ron, if you don't stop bloody shouting--"

"Well? How the hell else do you expect me to react? You're off your rocker, Harry! Really, you must be out of your--"

"Will you shut up and listen, Ron? It's a damn good thing we did, because right now the Death Eaters have something awful in the works."

Harry could see the change in Ron's face-- he was softening and a shade of alarm was coming over him. "What... what are they doing?"

So Harry told him, and for the next five minutes the only words that Ron had will to say were "bloody hell." Except for when Harry told about Arabella Figg showing up and being a traitor-- to that bit of news Ron was more creative and said, "That bloody cow!"

"So... Rita is going to meet me this morning... in about half an hour in front of Borgin and Burkes so that we can get the information before they do."

"What do you suppose they're going to do with it? With this Intrata thing?"

"I don't know, Ron, but I'm going to make sure they don't get the opportunity to do anything at all. Whatever it costs me, if I have to empty out my entire vault at Gringotts, I'll pay Borgin anything to give me that book before Lucius..."

Ron nodded slowly. "Right... okay, Harry. I... I still don't think this is such a smart idea, but then again..." he smiled at Harry, "you're not one to resist a challenge. And no one's going to be rooting for you more than me, you know that. I'll tell 'em all something-- and I'll see if I can't push that old bag Figg down the stairs or something, you know, give her a nice broken neck. Or maybe I'll save some time and just break her neck myself."

Harry laughed, gave a sigh of relief, and then quickly hopped up from the bed. "Oh... and don't tell Hermione anything until I get back, will you? I know she'll go straight to Dumbledore and spoil the whole thing. At least let me find out what I can..."

"And then you'll tell Dumbledore all of it, right?" Ron was frowning most severely at Harry.

"Yes, Ron, I promise. I'll tell Dumbledore everything I find out. I know that I can't bring them down myself, but I'm not going to sit by when I can help."

Ron was going to be late for the carriages, so with a final goodbye he hurried out of the room. Harry reached under his bed for a small canister full of floo powder. He hurried down to the common room, threw a quick look over his shoulder to make sure he was going unnoticed, and stepped into the hearth. He said Knockturn Alley as clearly as he could and threw the floo powder down at his side.

*

Although Harry remained convinced it was the worst way to travel, even the hot soot that was stinging his eyes was purely inconsequential at such a moment. The journey had landed him inside of an unfamiliar fireplace, and he hobbled out of it, searching about wildly to grab his bearings. It wasn't pitch black inside, but nearly so, and Harry had to follow what little light there was towards what he hoped was an exit.

It was, and Harry fell outside. He took three big gulps of fresh air before pulling his traveling cloak around him closely: the last thing he needed was to be recognized in the middle of London on a day when he was supposed to be up in Hogsmeade. He was in Diagon Alley, not Knockturn Alley (Bloody typical) and his eyes poured over the heavy droves of pedestrians darting through the street. He slipped into their flock and followed them down into the Knockturn Alley.

They Alley was decidedly sparser that Diagon Alley, a good ten degrees cooler and seemed to be covered over by menacing rain clouds.

Someone recognized him.

"Harry! Harry, over here!"

Rita was leaning against a lamppost, her eyes wide and eager.

"Sorry," said Harry as Rita dusted off his cloak, "I had to wait until all the lads were had left for Hogsmeade."

"No time for apologies," she said quickly, "anyway, I just got here myself-- just in time to see Lucius Malfoy leaving Mr. Borgin's shop."

Harry's heart sank. "You mean he's already been?"

"Yes, and that's why we need to hurry. Let me do the talking, all right?" She grabbed his hand and hurried into Borgin & Burke's full speed ahead.

It was uncomfortably warm and musty inside, which made his cloak all the more cumbersome.

"By Merlin's beard... it's Miss Skeeter. This is indeed a surprise. It has been a long time."

"Two years."

"I'd heard a rumor that you'd taken a turn for the better."

"You mustn't believe all you hear," she said with a wink.

"Yes, so I've been learning today."

"Oh?"

"Another patron who'd quite had me convinced he'd made an about face was in not too long ago."

"Case in point."

"Indeed."

"What is it he wanted, out of curiosity?"

"Perhaps it's best you tell me what you want."

"What I want? But I want what he wanted."

Mr. Borgin's eyes grew wide and he leaned forward. "But... why?"

"Trust me on this one."

"Trust a journalist," he laughed. "Well, my memory isn't all it used to be."

Rita threw him a bag of coins. "I'm sure you can jog it."

"I think I might be able to at that..." he took the coins and tucked them away. "What do you know about protective charms?"

"Everything."

"Even how to counter them?"

"You can't counter a protective charm."

Mr. Harris raised his brow. "Are you quite sure?"

Harry saw Rita falter. "Y-yes. Quite certain..."

"Then I suggest your knowledge of the, er, darker arts needs a bit of... brushing up."

Rita was quiet. "Then... there is a way?"

"Oh yes... indeed. There is an ancient book that contains numerous, er, useful spells, and in it is the one that seems to be so very sought after as of late. It is a spell that, when performed, counters even the most powerfully protected of people, places, things-- anything. Of course, performing such a spell is no easy task. And if it is performed, there is no way to stop it... well... almost."

"And... where might one be able to find this spell?"

"Alas, I do not possess it. It's so ancient... and of course you know that when the Dark Lord disappeared, the ministry made numerous raids. Such so called "Evil" spell books were burned and outlawed and kept in a vault in the Ministry of Magic. It is the only place that I know of where such things can still be found-- bound and protected in the Ministry's vaults."

"The Ministry's vaults?" Harry couldn't help but step into the conversation, "can't you be more specific?"

Mr. Borgin studied Harry with his foggy gray eyes before continuing. "Of course I can," he said slowly, "but why should I? Especially to a kid and an out of work reporter?"

"Because," said Rita curtly, "we can make it worth your while. Very worth your while." She pulled out another coin purse, this time un-tying it and letting the fat, round galleons fall onto the table-- making music that Mr. Borgin obviously liked since he began to smile and picked up the coins into his hand greedily.

Merlin's beard! There must be fifty galleons there! Where on earth did Rita Skeeter get fifty galleons from?

Mr. Borgin was delighted. "Yes, well, I suppose now that I put my mind to it I do remember..." He tucked the coins away and leaned over the counter, his voice a mere whisper. "The Department of Mysteries is on the ninth level at the Ministry. I know a man who, several years ago, told me that when the Dark Lord came to power, the ministry raided and burned any and all spell books they deemed as 'evil.'" Borgin laughed. "Such a wonderfully general word, isn't it? Well, these men also told me that the ministry did, naturally, keep a few copies in tact and those are kept in their department of mysteries. I don't know exactly where on the floor it is, other than it is with the rest of the banned material."

"And... you're certain of this?" pressed Harry.

"Yes. Quite certain. I assure that had I such a book in my possession, well, I would surely not have to work here. I can tell you that there are certain ones who would give anything to have it."

"Including the man who was in here just before us?"

"Especially him."

He and Rita shared a worried look.

"Thank you Mr. Borgin," said Rita graciously enough, and they turned to leave.

Harry and Rita were still and silent outside in the alley.

"They're going to break into the ministry, Rita..."

She shook her head. "The question is when? Tonight? Tomorrow? Next week?"

"I don't know... but whenever it comes, the Ministry has to be ready for them." He sighed. "I can't think of anything else to do but tell Dumbledore-- hopefully he'll listen to me this time and be able to do something about it."

Rita didn't say anything, but Harry was so numbed himself he couldn't blame her for being quiet.

"Well," she said, "at least we did what we came to do." She gave Harry a smile and patted his shoulder. "You should get back to school, don't you think? I don't want anyone catching you skiving off."

Harry had to agree. Not wanting to use any of the dodgy fireplaces in the alley, he figured he'd slip into Gringotts which was just around the corner and use their fireplaces--and that's when he remembered! Gringotts-- money.

"Hey Rita, where did you ever get all that money from? I counted fifty galleons on that table."

"There were sixty," she corrected happily, "and don't worry. I don't have two galleons to rub together, let alone throw sixty to a creature like Borgin. No, that was just a very clever charm I used during my, er, former career." She winked at Harry, "you'd be surprised how handy charms like that can come in-- you just have to make sure that you're out of town by the end of the hour because that's when the spell breaks and they know they've been had."

Harry managed to laugh weakly, "Then I definitely had better go." He extended his hand. "Thanks, Rita. I think that... we did pretty well together."

"Not bad," she said, "I normally work alone, but this has been quite the learning experience. Take care, Harry. I think I'm going to nosey around the other end of Diagon Alley for a bit to see if I can pick up anything else about what the Death Eaters are up to, but I'll owl you tonight regardless if I find anything else out or not."

"Thanks," he said graciously and then hurried off to Gringotts, rushing past the crowds of midday shoppers before they had time to recognize the lightning green eyes that tore through their midst.

*

Well, Harry's disappointment did not end with his not being able to get the book. He also couldn't tell Dumbledore what was happening because he was, according to Professor McGonagall, "away from campus," and would be expected back mid morning the following day.

Harry was desperate, "Professor McGonagall, this is serious. What I have to tell him... it can't wait. Can't you tell me where he is so that I can urgent owl him?"

McGonagall frowned. "Believe it or not Mr. Potter, but there are other things in this world that necessitate Professor Dumbledore's attention. Now, you may either leave a note with me and I'll see to it he gets it, or you can personally see him tomorrow."

Her firmness only made Harry indignant. "You have to urgent owl him for me."

She crossed her arms. "You may leave your message with me, Mr. Potter. I assure you that Dumbledore is much to busy at the moment for student correspondence."

Harry leaned forward, "What if I told you that the Ministry of Magic was going to be broken into by Death Eaters?"

Professor McGonagall's face was strange. Her mouth fell in obvious shock, but then something else came over it. An alarm, almost, laced with traces of anger. It frightened Harry, this look, and he ever so slightly took a step back in recant.

Her voice was low and firm when she spoke again. "Whatever you're meddling into, it's to stop immediately, is that quite understood Mr. Potter? It would do you some good to realize that, just maybe, there are indeed other people in this world who might actually know what they are doing."

This time Harry did recoil, taking several more steps backwards. He couldn't think of anything to say to McGonagall, so instead he turned around and headed towards her office door.

He was thoroughly deflated, and the walk back to the common room was a melancholy one to be sure. Hermione spied him in the hall and came charging after him. Her large eyes were hopeful and bright as she matched her steps with Harry's. "Hiya Harry," she said softly, "I was hoping to talk to you at Hogsmeade, but Ron said you stayed on the grounds, so..." she took a breath, "I just wanted to apologize for being so severe with you. I already had a chat with Ron, and I've been bursting to talk to you all day. I just had, well, a really rough week and I didn't mean to take it out on you." She sighed, "and I guess what they did to Remus just put me over the edge."

Harry offered her a faint smile, "Don't worry about it, it's forgotten. Besides I should have been a bit more thankful for all the research you've done... you're something else, Hermione."

"Yeah, don't I know it!"

Harry's gaze was to the ground as they climbed the Gryffindor tower steps, although he could certainly feel Hermione's eyes trace him up and down.

"Hey, you do look pale. Didn't you get a pepperup?"

Harry shook his head. "No... see... I wasn't actually sick."

"What?"

Harry put his finger to his lips and Hermione shushed immediately. He took hold of her arm, and pulled her into the common room. "I want both you and Ron to hear what's happened-- where is he?"

"Outside playing a round of Quidditch with Dean and Seamus, last I heard. Harry, you're scaring me, what's going on--"

The door to the common room opened and in burst a triumphant Ron, soaking wet from both sweat and rain, his face bright, beet red. Seamus and Dean trudged in after him, equally as wet, but looking thoroughly miserable.

"And don't you two try to cop out on me-- I want those five galleons tonight, got it? That's what you get when you mess with a Weasley! Up for another round tomorrow night, fellas?"

Dean and Seamus trudged up to the dormitories wordlessly, and Ron happily joined Harry and Hermione. "Hey, you two are talking now? Good, that means that we can all go get--"

"Ron," said Harry, "I want to talk to the both of you."

Ron's smile faltered, and both he and Hermione soon found themselves sitting in the furthest corner of the common room, sitting Indian style in a close circle. First he filled Hermione in on what had happened last night, and to his amazement she didn't blown a fuse. She objected, of course, to the fact that it had all been with Rita Skeeter, but other than that she was understanding as Ron had been. Besides, how could she be angry with Harry when all of her rage was now focused on Arabella Figg. Ron had been complimentary in his calling Arabella a 'cow' compared to with what Hermione had to say about her.

"And," pressed Ron, "What happened today?"

"Well, by the time I arrived, Lucius had only just left Borgin & Burke's. But we asked Mr. Borgin anyway, what he knew about this Intrata. He told us a bit of what we already knew, that the Ministry had banished all such spell books when the Dark Lord came to power, but he also said that a few such books were still in existence."

"Where," breathed Hermione.

"In the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries. He said that he didn't know the exact location of the Intrata book, but it would surely be found with other outlawed books."

The color was draining from Hermione's face. "You mean... Voldemort and his little friends are going to have to break into the ministry to get it."

"But we don't know when..."

"And once they get it," continued Hermione, "what would they do with it?"

Harry shook his head. "And what makes it worse is that Dumbledore isn't here for me to tell him about it. And when I asked professor McGonagall for help, well..."

"What did she say?"

"I told her that the Ministry was going to be broken into by death eaters, and she looked surprised-- but then she got angry. I mean, really angry and she told me that I should keep my nose out of things."

The friends could not speak for what felt an eternity.

"Really Harry, you couldn't expect Professor McGonagall to react any differently: she's been trying to keep your feet tied to the ground for six years now." He managed a light laugh, "It'll be fine, you'll just talk to Dumbledore first thing in the morning."

"Well," said Hermione, "almost first thing. Don't forget, you have your apparition exam at half nine."

Harry almost fell out of his chair. "Tomorrow," he repeated with languorous quiet, "tomorrow is the exam..."

.

"Harry," she said warningly, "you haven't forgotten, have you?"

Of course he'd forgotten. It had been the very last thing on his mind.

"No, I haven't forgotten."

"Good," said Ron with a laugh, "wouldn't want a splinching, now would we!"

Harry excused himself to use the bathroom-- everything he'd eaten the past week was creeping up his throat...

*

The nervous nausea didn't go away in the morning. In fact, it had intensified considerably.

Hermione joined him downstairs in front of the hearth they had used so many times. "Don't worry," she said, "you'll do fine."

"Yeah..."

"You will. And remember, Sophie will be there too so, that should be worth it alone, right?"

Sophie.

Harry smiled at the sound of her name-- and the smile felt foreign on his face. How long had it been since he'd last had a reason to smile... but seeing Sophie again, well, that was certainly a reason to smile. Even in the face of such impending chaos.

"Harry."

Harry and Hermione spun around, the familiar form of Professor McGonagall rushing towards them to take them to the Ministry. Only, she did not look at all pleased. Neither was she alone.

Professor Dumbledore was behind her, walking in great long strides as his robes flew behind him.

Harry was more than relieved to see him. "Oh Professor, thank goodness you're here--"

"Silence, Potter," said McGonagall immediately, cutting both his sentence and his rising spirits in half. She was rigid, eyes cold, and what made things worse is that Dumbledore looked the same way.

"Miss Granger, you will excuse us please. Mr. Potter, you'll follow us."

Hermione flashed Harry a look that begged 'what the hell is happening,' which is exactly what Harry wanted to know.