Unforeseen Trials (Completed)

"Describe your ordeal, but a little slower this time, Terry."

The soothing voice of the mind-healer with a handlebar mustache and kind eyes asked once-more.

Next to the healer an auror chewed gum loudly while staring at him with a strange look on his face.

From next to him his barrister grabbed his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze under the hard table.

" They're going to question you rigorously, Terry but you will be fine! Your gift for the mind arts will guide you!"

"We've been through this twice before, Rupert."

Andromeda Tonks' voice was unyielding, causing the auror next to the healer to frown.

"The boy's previous statement was not given in the presence of an auror, Madam Tonks." The auror barked out with the same sense of self-righteous importance that could only be pulled off by someone who worked for the government.

He resisted the urge to peek into the mind of the thin man donning the plum robes of the auror corps knowing that the symbols on his shoulders identified him as an Auror Captain.

" Don't take unnecessary risks."

"May I remind you, Mr. Clarke that Mr. Boot is not obligated to speak with you, or anyone else from the ministry. He is not suspected of committing a crime and is a victim himself. The ministry has their statement, the Boot family would like to move on to healing. This is a courtesy, we can stand up and leave at any time."

"It's alright Lady Tonks. I don't mind repeating myself."

Andromeda looked as though she wanted to protest but held her tongue.

He paused briefly to collect his thoughts, staring straight ahead into the two-way mirror across the room, knowing that his parents as well as a slew of Ministry officials were waiting on his response… again.

"I received a letter from Marci -"

"Marci Beaucourt, the French witch you were dating." The auror interrupted, causing the kind mind-healer to glare at the unwelcome guest.

"Please limit the interruptions, Duncan." His barrister chided, the creases in the older man's forehead making themselves known once more.

"Yes, we were dating."

Is dating? Was dating? He no longer knew.

' Maybe when this is all over we can grab lunch in Paris, try that café she was always going on about.'

"I was at breakfast with my family when the letter arrived. After we finished eating I excused myself before making my way to the beach for some privacy."

"This is where you were abducted?" Auror Clarke chimed in once more.

"Do you want to take his damn statement or not Duncan?" Tonks spat back in annoyance.

"I'm not sure." Terry professed. "It all gets a bit hazy for a while after that. The next clear memory I have is being caged in a cold, wet basement."

"Yes, we know all that." Clarke said irritably. "What we lack is details. What sort of scenery did you have?"

He had spent days rehearsing this next part. Sergei had insisted upon it.

"I was locked in a cell for several months, sir. All I saw was my captor, and occasionally other prisoners."

"Could you see outside your cell?" Auror Clarke pushed.

He hesitated for a brief second.

" The auror's will ask if you saw any landmarks. Tell them you had a small window that when the weather permitted, allowed you to see a large willow on the shore of a pond where the hounds would take comfort from the heat."

"There was a small window in his cell, Mr. Clarke." Tonks responded with a hint of venom. "If you had bothered reviewing his previous testimony you would know this."

"I want to hear this first hand, Andromeda." The man shot back.

"The memory has been verified with the ministry, Duncan." She countered with a bit of force.

' Lady Tonks really is a Black.'

"There was a small window in my cell." Terry replied, repeating the words of his barrister. "On clear days I could see a large willow tree in front of a small pond."

He smiled weakly. "Whoever kept me had a pair of hounds who liked to lay in the shade."

He felt the energy in the room shift. That piece of information; the willow, the pond, the hounds; hadn't come-to-light in his first interview.

In front of him Auror Clarke had turned around to stare directly into the two-way mirror for a long moment.

"Why didn't you bring this up during the first session?"

He could feel the auror's passive legilimency aching for a look into his mind, he granted the man access before he could detect Terry's occlumency, flooding him with images of the memory he had spent two days memorizing.

He shrugged. "I didn't think it mattered."

"What can you tell me about the person who took you?" He added softly. His tone changing in an instant from nearly hostile to an attempt at comfort.

A contemplative expression settled on his exhausted face.

"He was younger, he couldn't have been more than ten years older than me. High cheekbones, dark hair, brown eyes."

At this point Terry shut his own eyes, as if he were picturing his captor in his mind.

"He smelled like pipe tobacco, his teeth were slightly yellow."

' He's not very good at occlumency.' He thought to himself.

Even after months of disuse Terry could nearly pick up the man's surface thoughts.

He suppressed the urge. The mission. That's what's important now.

"You mentioned in your initial statement that you conversed with other captives as well. Did you recognize any of them?"

He frowned - he had been over this twice before, first with his barrister, then with the healer.

"The Patil twins were being held there for a while." He said sorrowfully, hot tears running down his face.

"They'd - they'd beg him not to touch them, but he always would." He cried, his hand wiping tears from his cheek.

' If Padma had only been honest!'

"What happened to them?"

Tonks frowned; "you're asking my client to speculate, Mr. Clarke."

"I know that, Mrs. Tonks." The man snapped back.

He continued, interrupting them before they had a chance to carry on with their bickering.

"I don't know. I heard their screams." He added with a slight tremble in his voice. "There was nothing I could do!" He finished with another sob.

He didn't, neither did Sergei. All they knew was that Voldemort had had both girls at one point in time.

"Was there anyone else?" The auror continued.

"Another classmate of mine arrived a while before I escaped. Penelope Clearwater."

The room went silent once more as a contemplative look crossed the auror's face. "Do you know if she's still alive?"

He paused. Penelope Clearwater was dead, Sergei knew that much.

"She was when I escaped." He stated bluntly.

"You did nothing to help her?" Clarke chided, clearly expecting more of him.

' What's his problem?' He yearned to reach out and touch the man's mind; importance of his finale be damned!

Terry looked down in shame for several seconds, resisting the urge to reach to give in to desire as he prepared himself for the next part.

When he looked up the anguish was written across his face.

"I had no wand! No wand and he was coming! What would you have me do? He was coming sir!" Terry started frantically, his eyes darting around the room in fright. "What would you have me do?" He repeated in derangement, standing to pace the room, his fingers intertwined behind his head.

"I think that's enough for right now, Mr. Clarke." Andromeda Tonks said coldly, helping a still hysterical Terry to his feet. "You can make a request to continue this line of questioning at a later date, if you'd like. But my client is done for the time being."

"Your posture is offensive." She snapped, prodding him in the small of his back with her wand.

Harry frowned, but complied. Standing tall he straightened his dark navy robes as his gaze washed over the groups of lords and ladies all wearing the same well-practiced smiles, making promises they had no intention of keeping to people who knew they were being lied to.

Formal Wizengamot gatherings were among the most dishonest events in their society.

The press ate it up, of course. Rita Skeeter was never more than ten meters away, listening to his and Tonks every word, writing an article full of lies weaved with rumors created in her imagination, no doubt.

The dueling champion looked nice in her ruby red robes, her natural shoulder length black hair hanging loosely while her naturally violet eyes scanned the room for any signs of danger.

It hadn't been long since Tonks refused to be seen in public in her natural form, yet alone out in society.

Whether it was a conscientious move on her part or not he did not know. Death had a way of shifting priorities, he wouldn't be surprised to learn that she no longer cared about the thoughts of others and stopped putting in the effort of altering her appearance.

His eyes landed on the middle-aged redhead headed his way, the young assistant that could easily be mistaken for her son not far off her hip.

The Minister of Magic had gained weight since taking office, while the shit-eating-grin on Percy Weasley's face told him he obviously relished the faux power that came with the twenty-four hour a day job, fending off suitors for the Minister's time with a disturbing sense of glee.

"Minister Bones." He said with an easy smile, his lips lightly brushing against the knuckles of the older woman.

"Lord Potter." She replied formally before turning to Nymphadora Tonks.

' Interesting.'

"We're excited to have you, Miss Tonks."

Tonks eyed the minister stoically. "I'm excited to begin, Minister."

Amelia Bones rolled her eyes. "You're excited for battle, Miss Tonks. Nothing more."

Tonks made to protest but thought better of it, shooting him a glance from the corner of her eye as if she was addressing him.

"The Order's gone, I have nothing left. The Ministry's my only option, now."

Minister Bones nodded her head in understanding. "I felt the same way when I lost my family during the first war."

Her voice reminded him of the tone Uncle Vernon would use every time he'd invite a potential business partner over for supper.

"The Auror Corps gave me a sense of purpose. The trials that followed were cathartic, they allowed me to move on." Amelia said with conviction. "Don't let their loss prevent you from becoming great."

"I'm not going to make your mistake, ma'am." Her voice was steady and sure. "I'm going to kill them all."

Minister Bones eyed them tensely.

' Does she see Tonks as a possible threat?'

Somewhere between the losses of Dumbledore and Bill, Tonks had lost faith that they could win this war. All that remained was her lust for battle.

He'd bet the contents of his vaults she wanted to die on the battlefield.

" Does that sound like something the light would do?" Theodore Nott's mocking words from long ago echoed in his subconscious, momentarily clouding his mind.

The thought fled a moment later. There is no light. There is no dark. There is only the individual, and the choices they make. It was the individual that controlled the nature of magic, not vice-versa.

The individual was rarely dangerous. The same choice made by hundreds of individuals, however, that had potential.

Tonks' hatred for the people responsible for killing the people she loved had manifested itself different than most.

Tonks and Daphne were alike in that manner. Left unchecked who knows what sort of trouble they would find themselves in?

' Or find myself in.'

He seemed to nurture people's more violent tendencies.

The bloodshed levied by the people in his life had paled in comparison to his own sadistic traits.

Should they survive this war the Bones administration would find a way to neuter him for his methods lest he gain too much power.

' There's a novel idea.' He thought with mirth.

He had never given much thought to what came next. The assumption being he'd become another casualty of war.

' That's not true.' A voice in the deep recesses of his mind prodded.

The voice repeated itself, louder this time, forcing Harry to consider the notion that at one point in time he had wanted something else.

Minister Bones continued to converse with Tonks, his thoughts drifting back to Flitwick's spell lists. There was no intent to sacrifice, not then.

" Incremental improvements, Harry. Anyone can perform a spell, but have you mastered that spell? Can you tell me why 'wingardium leviosa!' with a flick causes your teacup to float? Can you diagram it out? Can you find ways to adapt the spell without changing its nature?

Don't just learn to perform these spells, Mister Potter. Find ways to use them in your daily life. When you can perform the spell with ease try shortening your wand-work and whispering the spell, then eliminate the words and wand work all together."

It will take time, it will take patience. Stick to it, eventually your knowledge of magic will outpace us all!"

Professor Flitwick had harvested a thirst for knowledge deep within him. He had merely shifted his focus to the more destructive aspects of magic, forgetting its beauty, its purpose.

He shifted his focus back to the conversation in front of him, a plan hatching in his mind.

"Minister Bones, can I have a word?" He butted in, interrupting without much care.

Occlumency kept his voice calm but inside he was a wreck - he could be brought before the wizengamot for what he was about to suggest, but there was precedent.

"Of course, Lord Potter."

He dismissed Tonks with a look, much to her chagrin.

He raised his wand, receiving an immediate reaction from Minister Bones' security team and Percy, only to be waived off by the Minister.

"Relax gents, if he wanted me dead, you couldn't stop him." Her glib tone made it sound obvious, was he really that much more advanced? Even more so than the Minister of Magic's personal security team?

"If you desired discretion, Lord Potter then maybe we should have left the room?"

He shrugged. "They can't see or hear us."

She accepted his response without protest. "Why are we here?"

Cantankerous Nott had been an unpleasant, if not effective History of Magic professor in his short tenure at Hogwarts. He had even touched on the controversial topic of Minister Bagnold's "Day of Healing."

"I have no intention of sitting out the remainder of this war." He started bluntly, not knowing what else to say. "Neither does Daphne or Tonks."

Minister Bones's demeanor became much more guarded while her green eyes momentarily glazed over, a subtle sign that the Minister was engaging her occlumency shields.

' Good.'

"You and Lady Greengrass are technically too young to join the auror's however I believe if you were to sit for your NEWT's we could make an exception and the two of you could join next summer's class."

He dismissed the idea. Tonks joined the auror's out of desperation. She couldn't afford clemency.

But he could.

"Out of the question." She hardly looked surprised, though he noticed the small bit of hope hanging in her eyes had been extinguished.

"The Order of the Phoenix is dead, the economy has collapsed." He started, counting off the tragedies on his fingers as if to drive home the brutal truths.

The war effort had bankrupt the country. Without an infusion of gold Minister Bones was in trouble.

"You want to avoid taking a loan from the Americans, and I want myself, Tonks, and Lady Greengrass to live long, happy, lives after this war."

Bones cut him off, looking surprisingly non-pulsed about the situation.

"Five million galleons a piece and the Black, Greengrass, and Potter families will receive no punishment for actions taken against Death Eater's or their allies in this war."

He nodded. This is exactly what he wanted.

"We will want to be made aware of information as it comes in as well."

She nodded. "We have a deal."

"Send me the paperwork so it can be filed with my lawyers."

She nodded agreeably before seeming to hesitate.

"There's a few things you should know." Amelia Bones started, her nerves setting him on edge.

"Daniel Avery has been arrested for the murder of Anthony Goldstein." He nodded sharply, Luna Lovegood had seen the man with Goldstein shortly before he had been murdered.

"Not surprising." He responded bluntly, hoping she'd moved on.

"No…" She started again, trailing off slightly. "But his mind has been altered and there is no memory of the event."

He paused to process the information.

' Did someone set him up?'

He had no time to process that new piece of information before Bones was speaking once more.

"Terry Boot was found as well… alive."

He felt his occlumency collapse under the weight of the revelation.

"What?"

His undignified response perfectly expressed his mood. Terry was dead, a casualty of war. He had come to accept that.

"Where is he?" He asked, a sliver of hope hanging in his mind.

Minister Bones fidgeted with her hands for a moment and he felt his stomach drop.

"Lord Boot brought him home yesterday."

He struggled with his emotions for a long moment.

' What was Edmund thinking?'

"Where was he found?"

"Wandering Diagon Alley by a classmate of yours; Seamus Finnegan and his little sister."

' Wandering an alley? How did he get there? Nobody finds that suspicious?'

"Why was he allowed to leave St. Mungo's?"

The ministry could hold those suspected to be a danger to themselves or others for up to a month. Terry, ironically, had taught him that.

"Terry is a minor." Amelia said, seemingly following his line of thought. "He was questioned for twenty four hours and the ministry found him to have no mental side effects." She stated, her tone making it clear she didn't entirely believe the findings. "As a minor, as a future Lord, the Ministry has no recourse in the matter."

' Why would Edmund do this?'

He mentally added visiting the family to his list of things to do sooner rather than later.

"What's the ministry doing about the death at Hogwarts?" He asked, circling back around to a topic he could control.

"We have placed a squadron of auror's at the castle for the time being."

' Auror's? Really?' The ministry, by their own admission, had a plethora of internal threats. Now the ministry wants those threats to protect the school?

A look of confusion crossed his face. "The board of governors hasn't approved this." He stated bluntly.

Hogwarts was a private school established for all practitioners of magic, to be certain, but a private school nonetheless. It was not designed to be a pawn of the ministry.

Minister Bones was about to start before steadying herself. The Potter's may not have a seat on the Board of Governors, but both the Black and Greengrass families did.

' So do the Bones for that matter.'

"You can't circumvent the board, Minister."

Her eyes narrowed but he wasn't intimidated. The ministry had just accepted a fifteen million galleon bribe from him, they needed him.

"Lord Potter do you have a problem with protecting our children?"

He smiled. "Not at all, Minister Bones. Which is why I recommend hiring professionals who can't be swayed by Voldemort to guard our school."

They stared at each other for a long moment.

"There will be a board hearing on the matter next week, Lord Potter. You can try and sway the board at that time."

He made a show of looking around the grand ballroom, marveling at the expensive cocktails and fancy finger foods.

"Don't forget to send me the appropriate paperwork, Minister. I'd hate for this to be the last social function the Wizengamot is able to hold."

The red haired woman eyed him with a bit more venom than she had a few minutes earlier, offering him a sharp nod of the head before turning on her heel and walking away.

He sipped a glass of the house claret, his vigilant eyes admiring the curvature of the Garonne all the same.

It was unseasonably hot in southwest France, with the temperature rapidly approaching eight degrees, providing him with an excuse to hold this meeting outdoors.

As his eyes admired the river, they drifted towards the eastern bank, searching the balconies and tree tops for any sign of Remus.

Wondering from just how far his father's old friend was accurate, his emerald green eyes settled on an unassuming blonde woman sipping a tall glass of something white, a fox scarf draped around her elongated neck.

If Marcel DuPont intended to ambush him in Bordeaux, Tonks would be his closest form of backup; Daphne, he knew, was watching from the balcony under his father's old invisibility cloak from somewhere above.

" Seven meter's out, eight o'clock."

Harry didn't acknowledge the werewolf, casually turning his attention to a conservatively dressed elderly man approaching him from his left.

" He's alone, far as I can tell."

From under his jacket he fingered his wand, wary of the infamous necromancer.

The lanky man with salt and pepper hair offered him an unsettling smile, showing off a row of crooked yellow teeth.

"You have nothing to fear from me, Lord Potter." The pale man stated.

In an instant the man's wand was in his hand and on the table before Harry had had a chance to blink.

His wand still directed at Voldemort's personal necromancer, Harry reached out, pocketing the other man's wand before beginning to layer a series of privacy wards.

" No threat that I can see." Tonks's voice held a tinge of disappointment at the relatively peaceful nature of the meeting.

He hated the expectations these meetings brought; the long drawn out, inconsequential small-talk over lunch, pretending to give a damn about the person sitting across from you before finally getting down to the point of the entire affair.

Why go through all of that for no reason?

"Why am I here Lord DuPont?"

The man's sharp hazel eyes bore through him with a sense of amusement.

"I was told you were more like your father." He said whimsically. "But your temperament reminds me of your mother." The necromancer said, taking a seat while helping himself to a glass of his claret.

DuPont took a sip with a frown. "It's not the worst house red in the city." He said in a tone that suggested otherwise. "I was under the impression you could afford something better, no?" He said, gesturing towards the glass in front of him.

"Order your own damn wine." He snipped before finding his center. He wanted small talk, fine.

"You knew my mother?" He quipped in faux interest.

The only time this man ever met Lily Potter was from across the battlefield.

"Off the battlefield?" He said casually, as though reading Harry's own thoughts. "Once."

What passed for a smile came over his features. "She attended one of my seminars at Beauxbaton's during an exchange after her sixth year." He started. "I am fairly certain she attended it just to attack my research on soul magic."

' Maybe this will be more direct than I thought.'

"That's why you're here now, Lord DuPont, isn't it? " He said, refusing to ask more about a young Lily Evans. "We are here to discuss Voldemort's remaining horcruxes, aren't we?"

"Horcrux." Marcel DuPont corrected him. "There's only one left now."

Despite the seemingly insurmountable task ahead of him, Harry smiled; finally some confirmation.

"Because seven horcruxes would have provided the most arithmetic stability." He said bluntly. Tom Riddle could never have passed up that opportunity.

"You sound like him." DuPont stated matter-of-factly before adding "except not as smart with arithmancy."

His face fell as he saw his mistake. Six horcruxes plus a piece of soul left within himself.

Harry's mind raced back to his first year and the procedure that required oaths of secrecy and specialists.

" Someday you'll understand."

Dumbledore's long-forgotten words echoed in the recesses of his mind.

He had been a horcrux.

' Voldemort made a mistake.'

Six horcruxes plus the remaining soul in his body, that would have been arithmetically sound, but dividing his soul into eight slices?

"When the dark lord was convinced that multiple horcruxes was the best strategy to achieve immortality I recommended no more than two horcruxes. When it comes to soul magic it is better to error on the side of caution, I warned. It appears I was correct."

' That's working under the assumption that splitting your soul is a worthy effort in the first place.'

The old necromancer smiled viciously. "For some reason people think they know more than me when it comes to this magic. They do not."

Harry paused to refill his wine before quickly switching it out with Tonks's own wine from several tables away, unwilling to take the risk that the deceptive old shit was as harmless as he seemed.

"What sort of effect has this had on your lord?"

DuPont didn't take the bait, taking nearly a minute to formulate his answer.

"I'm a man of magic, Lord Potter. You of all people should be able to understand this?" He started, his voice quivering for the briefest of moments.

"I've never directly killed an innocent man -"

Harry cut him off. "If you want some sort of sanctioned deal, DuPont, I cannot offer it."

Marcel waved him off. "Understandable." He started. "But in exchange for the information I provide to you I would like an unused property with some privacy and some acreage to retire on in secrecy."

He nodded his head slightly. He had no shortage of property, and if the information proved to be useless he'd kill the old bastard himself.

"The dark lord is effected deeply by his lack of soul." Marcel began, slipping into lecture mode.

"One of the many things that differentiates us from those filthy muggles, Lord Potter, is the presence of a soul."

Despite the circumstances and tone of the meeting, Harry found himself paying rapt attention as the world's foremost mind on soul magic began lecturing him on a theory that was punishable with jail time if word got back to the International Confederation of Wizards.

"Genetic drift and mutation, Lord Potter, have set us on a superior biological path than our muggle counterparts. We have evolved a need for something more than flesh and bones - a soul." He pontificated, the volume of his voice rising slightly as his raspy-ness filled with intense passion.

"Souls provide us with the emotional power we need to fuel our magic. Without a soul, we are incomplete. Without a soul, we die."

"Voldemort's dying?" He stated, DuPont's lecture running through his mind.

The elder man shrugged as he finished his own glass of wine before grabbing a slice of bread and giving it a dab of olive oil.

"I doubt it. He still has two pieces of his soul left. The absence of a portion of his soul, however, has left him emotionally and magically unstable. He's more difficult to predict than you can imagine."

He let the information sink in as he caught sight of a bored looking Tonks.

"Where is Voldemort's final horcrux?" He asked resolutely.

DuPont frowned slightly. "At Hogwarts. Where? I do not know. Bellatrix's spy did not know."

The identity of the spy, was the real information.

' If I could identify them…' He could begin to undo the damage they caused.

"Who is Voldemort's spy?" He said, his voice dipping several octaves.

"I do not know." DuPont said softly. "A young woman that is all I know."

He sat silently for a moment, reviewing the information in his head.

"A woman?" He said, skepticism etched across his face.

"A woman." DuPont repeated between sips of wine. "I'd bet my vault on it." His response was so self-assured he couldn't help but believe him. "Bellatrix always preferred women. She does not get along with men."

Somehow he doubted Bellatrix got along with women any better than she did men.

"Let me know if you learn more." He started to walk away but thought better of it, turning around to face Marcel DuPont once more.

"When Voldemort attacks Hogwarts; if you let me know his plans, I'll give you your retirement."

She watched quietly as her son squashed several links of sausage between two pieces of toast and took a bite.

His less-than-perfect posture, smile, and insightful conversation gave him the appearance of normal, nothing more.

While his posture was relaxed, his left heel tapped the floor nervously. Much like it had when Ed had first taught him to fly when he was nine. Her Terry had always been afraid of heights, his nervousness, she hypothesized, contributed to that disastrous afternoon.

His smile was easy, true. But his absent hazel stare reminded her of when he was set to meet Marci's parents. He was a bundle of nerves, he said. Terry had her husband's knack for the mind arts, though he didn't normally use them in comfortable situations.

"When do you start the next part of the trial with Remus?"

' And his insightful conversation is singularly focused.'

Melisa delayed answering to take a look at her husband, sighing internally as he fumbled with his leather satchel, her bird-like eyes resting on an uncorked well of ink.

Silently she sealed the ink well, securing it in her husband's satchel as she returned her focus to the continuation of last night's topic of conversation.

"Thanks dear," her husband said as he planted a wet kiss on her cheek before making his way to the floo.

Healer Kroll had insisted that her son's narrow focus was completely normal, marveling at the resilience her son had shown on his long road to recovery.

" It will take time, Melisa. You must be patient."

A faint smile danced across her lips, Rupert had always been fond of her. Making himself available in her son's time of need was something she would never forget.

"Not until after the war, sweetheart." She said between a sip of earl grey.

Terry's mood seemed to sour momentarily before being replaced by indifference. "You're this close to a cure for lycanthropy? Why would you put that off?"

She frowned at his choice of words.

" Lycanthropy. It sounds like a terrible disease. That doesn't seem fair."

"We lack the resources to move forward at the moment is all."

Terry's heel began to twitch erratically as he stared at her blankly for a long moment.

Suddenly his heel came to a halt and he shot her a disappointed look.

"I didn't know you were a quitter, Melisa." He said bluntly, excusing himself from the table.

The late Lord Smith had said something similar after she had set aside her charms mastery to focus on advancing her reputation in potions.

Lord Smith never appreciated the "remedial arts," as he had called them. He never grew an appreciation for the precision needed for her area of expertise, preferring the instant gratification of wand-work to the patient art that could put a stopper in death.

Her father's words being thrown back in her face cut her like a knife, leaving Melisa speechless as her son walked away.

"… auror's are looking for the heir to the Yaxley fortune this morning…"

The news had her attention in a flash.

"… sources say the twenty-four-year-old is wanted in connection with the kidnapping of Terry Boot, the son of Chief Warlock Edmund Boot. As well as for questioning in the disappearances of Padma and Parvati Patil - daughters of Indian Ambassador Singh Patil, and Penelope Clearwater."

Septima shut off the wireless at once. Calmly rising to her feet Hogwarts youngest Head in nearly a thousand years gathered a quill, some books, and some parchment with a smile on her face before allowing her eyes to wash over the portraits of her predecessors -resting on the empty portrait of Albus Dumbledore momentarily, wondering which one of his frames he currently occupied.

Even in death, Albus Dumbledore was ever watchful, a thorn in her side.

Septima felt the lustful eyes of Armando Dippet as she turned to leave the historic office and couldn't help but let her mind drift back to Corban.

He was never meant to be his mother's heir, the death of his older sister Evangeline changed all that. Corban Yaxley; the accidental heir to a noble and most ancient house displayed all the insecurities she had come to expect in weaker men.

Her private quarters were portrait-less, thankfully.

Secure in her quarters, Septima Vector marched her way over to a wardrobe on the back wall of her living room.

Opening it with a slight flick, she summoned a bottle of Ogden's Finest and a single glass, pouring herself a few fingers worth before downing it in one go.

Corban could be a problem for her if he were to fall into custody of the ministry.

He'd be at the property in Nottinghamshire, high in the hilltops where he could see for kilometers. The unlisted property had served as a Yaxley safe home for generations, and had always been his favorite as a teen.

She frowned in irritation at the knowledge that as headmistress she could do nothing. Power brought attention and the need for allies.

For a second she realized the frustration of Dumbledore who, like her, had been stuck at a school unable to do what was really necessary.

Begrudgingly she penned a missive to Bellatrix, knowing her help would come at a cost.

' The price we pay for power.'

They stood apprehensively, staring down a narrow set of uneven stairs leading to merlin knows where.

"You're sure the stairway is clear?" Daphne's strong, confident cadence had been replaced in that moment by a degree of uncertainty and weariness born of the Chambers previous traps.

Idly he rubbed the scar on his left wrist before turning to face the Slytherin prefect, wand in hand.

He'd lost a lot of blood the last time he had explored a new area of the chamber, spending the night in his and Daphne's room only to be awoken by the sound of a rat scurrying across the hard stone floor some hours later.

After a few waves the blonde girl with a mischievous grin glowed a light pink.

Harry exhaled.

"Do me." He said with more confidence then he felt. It was unlikely that Riddle would use the same protections twice.

His statement had her raising an eyebrow in mirth.

"Really Harry, here?"

She said suggestively. Her voice carrying the sing-song tone of a mockingbird as her wand glided across his body, causing his face to flush a bright red.

She leaned in, planting a light kiss on the side of his lips. "All clear."

Harry stepped forward into the shadows and down the first step, effectively hiding his still-flushed face from view.

"Let's go." He said with more confidence than he felt.

He found his fingers intertwined with hers as they descended the ill-maintained stairs in relative silence, each displaced stone echoing in the dark, showing the depth of the chamber.

Slowly the staircase widened, and the teens found themselves on a large platform adorned with dimly lit torches.

Engraved on the wall to the front and above them was the Slytherin family crest; an elaborate silver frame containing a silver snake, alert and ready to strike, surrounded by dozens of emeralds with the name "Slytherin" enshrined in silver on a gold plaque.

Off to the right was a much wider marble staircase, aligned with large columns and torches descending in a downward spiral to the now-visible chamber floor.

Slowly they made their way around the platform checking for booby traps, the meeting with Marcel the week prior still fresh on his mind.

" Bellatrix always preferred women."

Had Avery been a red-herring?

If Bellatrix really did prefer women to men then it would make sense that she'd place her trust in one.

" He knows who killed her family." George's words rang out in his head once more.

"Clear over here!" Daphne said in satisfaction, turning to face him.

' Do I press?' Daphne's singular focus had been a hot-button topic for months, it needed to be addressed.

"We need to meet with Draco Malfoy." He stated before he could fully vet the idea in his mind.

Daphne's face contorted into one of annoyance. "I thought we were done talking about this?"

They had been, but things had changed. "That was before the meeting with DuPont."

Daphne scoffed, brushing him aside with her right hand. "Why? Because he has a feeling?"

He kept control of his rising emotions, used to the game by now.

"Because he has known Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange for decades!"

The topic of Bellatrix Lestrange hadn't come up often since Daphne's walking into the woman's trap two weeks prior. In fact the only sense he had gotten that Daphne had been at all affected by the ordeal had been with which the frequency of her practice sessions had increased.

She stared harshly back at him. "She told me Malfoy acted alone."

' She hadn't mentioned that.'

"And you believed her?"

She broke eye contact momentarily.

"And you believe DuPont?" She countered, avoiding the question.

"DuPont has something to gain by telling the truth, what does Bellatrix get out of this?"

She stared at the ground in a rare moment of confliction. Daphne was bad at admitting defeat.

When she looked up her body language expressed doubt, but she wore a determined look on her face.

"Tea. We can do tea next week."

"I'll let George know." He said as they reached the bottom of the grand staircase, only to be greeted by a large stone archway leading to a chamber of still water littered with thousands of tiny bones.

" This is it?" Daphne said unimpressed.

Her voice sounded like fog in the recesses of his mind, his ears picking up a faint voice in the back of his head.

" Intruderss." The voice hissed.

Harry was reminded of the phantom voice he had heard periodically on his previous trips, fertilizing a thought in his subconscious, a thought seemingly confirmed by the plethora of animal remains in a stone atrium surrounded by open-ended pipes.

The entire structure reminded him of the groups of pipes beneath the Dursley's sink, but on an incredibly large scale.

Salazar Slytherin had built his chamber to house a snake, a beast that could live for a thousand years at that.

' A basilisk. He went with the basilisk.'

A passage from Riddle's journal he had read while tucked away in Riddle's study third year finally made sense.

" Runespoor? Basilisk?" Ravenclaw's ancestor hadn't been sure beyond the fact that his beast would be a snake.

Riddle had been postulating which snake the Hogwarts founder had been housing underneath the school.

A runespoor couldn't survive a millennia, a basilisk could.

"Daphne." He said, the fear in his voice penetrating her ongoing diatribe.

She cut off her ranting mid-sentence, her beautiful green eyes as big as saucers. Around him ripples of water began to appear alerting him to the first signs of danger.

"Harry!" She shouted, providing him a milliseconds notice.

He dove to the right, into the knee high water, narrowly avoiding the venomous meter long fangs of the snake lunging at where he once stood, spraying the immediate area with still sewage.

Rolling to his side, he noticed, to his horror, that the basilisk's large body had nearly encircled the chamber, all but cutting off their ability to escape.

He fired off several conjunctivitis curses towards where he hoped the beasts deadly yellow eyes would be while he grabbed Daphne's hand as they burst through the opening and into a large pipe.

They ran through the pipe, chests puffed out they sprinted through the innards of Hogwarts, the massive snake on their heels.

He was a hair faster than Daphne, he noticed. A feat he credited to his longer legs and years of running from Dudley Dursley, Piers Polkiss and the gang.

The pair weaved through the interconnected plumbing, trying to lose the beast on their backs to no avail.

As they ran the pipes contained less grime and even showed a vague light. He figured they were making their ways back towards Hogwarts proper.

The further they ran, the slower they became. Without a reliable map of this part of the chamber or a way out they would soon become victims of Salazar Slytherins great beast.

"Over there!" Daphne shouted in desperation, directing his attention to a crevice in the pipe.

' Ask and you shall receive.' Harry felt himself exhale as he squeezed his body next to Daphne's as they made their way through the narrow passage.

"Don't let the venom touch your skin." She stated from in front of him. "Or your clothes, for that matter, it's very corrosive."

Despite the situation he let out a small smile, he loved the way she ranted when she was nervous.

"Don't forget its deadly eyes." He interjected as they approached an opening.

"Yes." She responded. "You can't forget those."

They were in the dark, dank pipes once more, their footsteps echoing with the crunch of bones breaking under their feet.

"What do we do now?" He asked, curious as to her approach to their situation, one which despite the obvious danger he found incredibly interesting. It wasn't every day you stumbled across a near-mythical creature.

She remained silent for several seconds in thought.

"We're going to take that crevice back to where we came and leave."

"What about the snake?" He countered.

She looked at him and even in the dark he could see her eyebrows gently raised, a sense of slight annoyance written across her face.

"Just hiss at it."

"Simple. I like it." He forced out. Unwilling to admit to her that if it came to that they were likely dead.

"If it comes to that, be prepared to respond with fiendfyre." He said instead.

They made their way through the crevice once more to be greeted with an empty pipe.

Slowly they worked back to the atrium, neither saying a word.

A splash of water told him it was too late.

He could see the scales on the snake's large, dark green head as it made to lunge at Daphne.

"Stop!" He hissed frantically.

The basilisk recoiled in surprise. "You speak?" It said as it turned its head towards him, eyes closed.

Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"I do." He responded lamely.

The snake's massive forked tongue slipped in and out of its mouth, taking him in, as though determining his worth.

"You taste like the others."

Next to him he was aware of Daphne's looking at him with a sense of curiosity as he conversed with Salazar Slytherin's snake.

"Have there been many?"

The snake stared at him for several long moments.

"Master, young master, and now you, young human."

The snakes tone was almost pained as he spoke.

In a millennia the great beast had only seen himself and Tom Riddle. Thinking back to what the snake had said, he wondered if snakes got lonely.

"What is your purpose?"

The snake's giant tail had moved to a less threatening position, allowing Daphne access to the staircase.

"To protect the school." Was its reply.

"Are you loyal to Tom Riddle?"

Harry fought the urge to sprint towards the staircase as the snake slithered his way towards him, stopping only when its mesmerizing tongue was capable of brushing his nose.

"I am loyal to the school, and its inhabitants." It hissed once more.

"Tom Riddle was once an inhabitant here, he went on to do terrible things." He pressed. "If he came to you seeking entrance into the school, what would you do?"

The snake leaned in closer once more, invading his personal space while making him uncomfortable.

"If Tom Riddles intent is to harm the school or its inhabitants, I am required to protect the school."

He moved to answer a follow up but the snake was already halfway out across the atrium.

"Run along, young human, this is no place for a child."

Impatiently she flipped through the muggle magazine, her foot tapping the oak floor as she paused to read part of one article before hastily moving on to the next.

' Tempus.' Fleur thought

' 15:00.' She let out a frustrated groan. Was there anything worse than waiting for your Friday afternoon to finally end?

Setting her magazine down, she peaked her head out the door of her office.

"Maria?"

"Mademoiselle Delacour." Her assistant answered with a courteous smile.

"Would you mind grabbing me something from Leclair's?"

"Of course Mademoiselle."

The older witch didn't bother asking what she wanted, having gotten used to her order over the past several months.

As Fleur waited for her éclair, she slipped down the hallway towards the partners office, specifically her uncle Henrique's office, eager to follow up on her monitoring wards.

Disillusioning herself, Fleur made her way passed the tart at the front desk and to her uncle's plush quarters.

Making her way to the corner, Fleur pushed aside the picture of Henrique with her aunt Catharine, pausing to look at how happy she looked in that moment.

' Henrique doesn't deserve her.'

Tapping the tiny ward, a silver strand connected with her wand, making the tip glow for a brief second before she deposited the impressions in a vial and made to leave the room.

On her way out Fleur was tempted to hit the whore with a curse but restrained herself.

' Not until after I have proof.'

Returning to her office, an ecstatic look crossed Fleur's face. Next to a small plate with an éclair on it was her last fruit fly.

Quietly she activated the privacy wards surrounding her office before hesitating.

Steadying herself, she tapped the fly once.

A second later her office was filled with the sound of a woman's sigh, followed by silence.

The silence was broken a moment later by the slamming of a heavy door.

"Septima." The first voice said evenly.

"Bellatrix." She didn't react visibly, but inside she felt her heart break. The admission wasn't unexpected, but she had held out a desperate hope that her suspicion had been misplaced.

"Corban Yaxley is a problem." Her lover's voice rang out clear.

There was a brief pause and the sound of a glass hitting the table. "He is safe, there is no need to worry." Bellatrix sounded as though she were mocking the headmistress, making the veela in her stir defensively.

"He's a loose end." Septima said firmly. "I need you to take care of him for me."

A high-pitched laugh filled her office. "Do it yourself, you've done it before."

There was another brief pause. "This isn't like Goldstein." Septima started. "The headmistress of Hogwarts must remain at Hogwarts."

There was no ambiguity in that admission. She had the headmistress of Hogwarts addressing an internationally wanted terrorist in a familiar manner.

Even as a stream of hot tears fell down her face Fleur felt hollow. She'd gone searching for answers and now that she had been proven correct, she didn't know what to do.

She sat at her desk crying silently for several long minutes before her attitude slowly began to shift.

Septima Vector was Bellatrix Lestrange's spy at Hogwarts and she was going to have a man named Corban Yaxley killed.

The thought sobered her, she was the only one on earth who knew.

She had a role to play in this war. That thought filled her with a nervous excitement. Harry Potter would remember her bravery.

With a bit of daring she'd be famous as well.

A predatory smile crossed her face.

It had been far too long since she and Septima had had lunch.

Grabbing a ballpoint pen and summoning a more formal style of parchment, Fleur Delacour began drafting her invitation, a determined smile on her face.

The large circular room was well lit and smelled like toffee.

The smell of the candy reminded him of the candy shop he would frequent as a young child in St. Petersburg.

Antonin had had no money back then. His mother having been dead for several years by this time while his father rotted in Siberia. He was forced to steal candy if he truly wanted to indulge himself.

He wasn't a good thief, he quickly realized. He was slow, carefree, and not particularly afraid of being caught.

But he did get caught. Frequently.

Memories of the old shop-keep grabbing him by his scrawny neck and beating him with his cane flooded his mind.

"Where is our Lord?" Severus stated, beady black eyes scanning the room, stopping in kind on each occupant, starting with the necromancer and moving clockwise from Bellatrix, himself, and finally Lucius.

"He is attending to other tasks." Bellatrix snapped, her sunny disposition intact.

' Was he?' He couldn't recall a single time during the first war where a war council had been convened and Voldemort had not been personally involved in the plans.

Lucius made to respond but was cut-off by his sister-in-law, much to his chagrin.

"I have been charged with detailing our lord's next phase in this war -"

" We have been charged with detailing our lord's next phase in this war, Bellatrix." Lucius interrupted, causing Bellatrix to huff in frustration, but otherwise ignore the blonde-haired man.

"We will attack Hogsmeade in early spring." Bellatrix started, only to be cut off by Lucius once more. "An attack on Hogsmeade hardly seems worth our time, Bellatrix. Let the newer recruits take charge on that, allow us to focus our efforts elsewhere."

He couldn't help but agree with Lord Malfoy's assessment. Hogsmeade held less than a hundred permanent residents, most of whom lived above their shops. Levelling the village would cause public backlash at a crucial time. They needed to make a statement, Hogsmeade was insignificant.

A savage look came across the older woman's face.

"The attack will be a diversion." She said smugly. "That is all you need to know."

The room seemed to get smaller in that moment as Lucius and Bellatrix continued to stare unblinking at each other.

Antonin had to admire Lucius's fortitude. While he couldn't defeat Bellatrix in open battle he could distract her while Severus, the slippery bastard, took the bitch out. It wasn't hard to visualize.

Unsurprisingly it was the two-faced bat that broke the silence.

"If your target is Hogwarts." Severus started, his voice dripping with the bored sort of arrogance that only he could pull off. "May I suggest infiltrating before Corban Yaxley is found?"

There was something in the potions masters' odd comment that set both Bellatrix and Lucius on edge.

He let the anticipation in the room build, hoping for the tension to boil over, but it didn't look like it was meant to be.

A smile on his scarred face, Antonin broke the silence.

"What is so special about this particular Yaxley?"

It was Lucius that answered, his eyes trained on the deadly witch in front of him. "Corban is the only one who can identify Septima Vector as her spy in Hogwarts, now that she has killed Goldstein."

The reactions were such that Antonin got the distinction that Lucius had made a major revelation. The emotions around the room ranged from Bellatrix's simmering rage to the curiosity of Marcel DuPont.

"I have already met with the Headmistress. Arrangements have been made, Yaxley will be taken care of." Bellatrix said through locked teeth.

"Our target is Hogsmeade, the Dark Lord insists."

"Diagon Alley would make a better target." Lucius countered stubbornly, refusing to let the topic die. If we were to destabilize the markets further Bones would be forced to take out a loan from the Americans or risk financial collapse."

Bellatrix eyed him coldly. "Our lord has spoken. The target is Hogsmeade."

High in the hilltops the stars and the moon lit up the landscape surrounding Nottinghamshire for kilometers.

Peter took a deep breath, admiring the view for a moment before transforming into a large sewer rat.

He scampered along the cobblestone path before climbing the drain pipe to the window sill on the upper level.

Taking a deep breath, Pettigrew squeezed his way through the opening in the window and into the bedroom.

Transforming back into a human, Pettigrew removed the silver dagger from his satchel, his eyes resting on the sleeping man in front of him.

"Stupefy." He muttered, the curse leaping from his wand, stunning Corban Yaxley.

For a moment he contemplated disobeying Bellatrix and hitting the man with a simple killing curse before logic prevailed and he made his way over to the large bed.

Sweaty palms gripped the knife as he slashed downwards, the blade finding the soft-spot below Yaxley's rib cage.

Pettigrew was forced to push down on the man's bleeding chest as he tried to extract the blade, covering his hand in dark crimson.

He steadied himself once more before repeating his actions several times.

Breathing heavily the rat made his way to the washroom to clean himself up before casting the dark mark and scampering off.

"When do you start the next part of the trial with Remus?"

She tried to force a smile to her face. It had been two days since he first asked.

This had been the third time her son had asked Melisa that question since then.

Despite the reassurances from Healer Kroll that everything was okay, she had begun to worry about Terry's mental well-being. His rapid mood swings, short memory, and hair-trigger temper were so uncharacteristic she hardly recognized the sweet boy who would insist on helping her brew healing potions for the foundation.

She stood still in the kitchen, unsure how to respond. Instead she stood with her back to him, staring at the rain as it spattered against the window.

Melissa took a deep breath, that smile finally finding its place on her face and turned around only to take a step back in surprise, at some point Terry had closed the distance between the two of them.

He stared at her through round glasses and dull hazel eyes.

"I told you the other day, sweetheart. Trials have been suspended till after the war."

A look of profound disappointment overcame Terry at her statement.

"I remember." He whispered. "I had been hoping you would have changed your mind after our talk."

She shivered involuntarily.

"Why is it so important to you, Terry?" She asked, a sinking feeling beginning to form in her stomach.

He took a step forward and she took another step back, her heel colliding with the wall.

Her son put his hands on the wall behind her, effectively pinning her to the wall, leaving her no place to go.

A look of derangement came over him.

' He's not well.' Her wand was across the room, she noticed.

"Where are you keeping it?" He asked frantically.

' Where am I keeping what?'

His breath smelled like garlic and onions. "Terry." She said, a tremble in her voice. "What are you doing?"

He stomped his foot on the hard floor. "Answer me!" He shouted, his right hand stinging her cheek.

Melisa was so shocked by his violence she almost missed Terry repeat the question, this time more calm.

"Please, mom." He pleaded. "I don't want to hurt you." He said sincerely. "Where are you keeping it?"

"Terry!" She cried. "Where am I keeping what?"

She could see the frustration on his face beginning to build once more.

' He's not well.'

She needed to get to her wand before he went for his.

Melisa ducked under his left arm before she felt ropes wrap themselves around her as she fell to the ground.

"WHERE IS IT?" He shouted, his fist connecting to her chest with a sickening crunch.

She gasped for air as he repeated himself once more.

"WHERE IS IT?" This time she felt her nose cave in as warm blood pooled in the back of her mouth.

"I DON'T KNOW!" She wailed, thick blood spewing from her mouth and onto his face.

"WHERE IS IT?" He asked once more, his fist connecting with her jaw.

"WHERE IS IT?" Her son's fists reigned down upon her once more, her breathing becoming increasingly labored.

She was vaguely aware that she was choking on her own blood as she fought to maintain consciousness.

"WHERE IS IT?" The words registered somewhere deep within her, the last thing she saw before losing consciousness was her son's fist.

"There's been a call to the Boot residence! I'm told it's an emergency!"

Margaret shouted.

"Owens, you and Perkins are up!"

He sighed setting aside his magazine as he locked eyes with Perkins, the young redhead seeming eager to have something to do.

"Try not to look so excited Perkins. It's probably nothin'."

She rolled her eyes; "better than sittin' around."

He couldn't argue that.

"Boot Manor!" He yelled stepping through the flame. Next to him Perkins was doing the same on the other floo.

It took him a moment to process what greeted him.

In front of him the Supreme Mugwump rocked back and forth, crying in grief and covered in blood, a battered corpse in his arms.

"WHERE IS IT?" A boy bound in ropes yelled hysterically from next to him, his eyes darting wildly about the room.

"WHERE IS IT MOTHER?" He repeated, directing his words to the corpse in his father's arms.

"Perkins." He whispered, turning to face the ill looking woman. "Go get homicide."