3

The New Prophecy and Baby Goliaths

.

.

.

Within sixty hours of the prophecy spewed...er...given to the three A's – Albus, Aberforth and Alastor, gigantic strides had already been taken by the Coven. They had managed to hit Voldemort where it hurt, really. So far as they knew, a massive, if not major, part of Voldemort was dead. His most feared weapons – Dolohov, Greyback, Malfoy, McNair and the Lestranges were dead. So were Avery, Rowle, Gunther – the former two had been interrogated and then killed. With the Department of Mysteries finding and eliminating the spy within their midst, Augustus Rookwood, it was one of the most successful hauls by the Law – represented either by volunteers or by the unaccountable or Unspeakable Department. By all accounts it was a massive blow to the terrorists.

While Voldemort still had pureblood houses with considerable monetary resources like Nott, Rosy, Wolker, Tripper, Dyer, Carol, Winking and Cayne to fall back on, along with a host of others like Teddy, Smashford, Stooney and Ohwhen, the ones killed were the real generals. Those were both his chief financers and most effective killers. Losing them left him with a bunch of ineffective dunderheads like the spy, Pettigrew, for the most part.

As it happened though, the Dark Lord was blissfully unaware of these incidents. He was instead sitting at the Head of the Table, as was the custom, in the meeting room of the Kole Manor.

"Ah...Ashford, what news do you bring?"

It was ironic how the Manor's Lord was reduced to a messenger boy.

"My Lord, I met the Orwell and Goring-Hildred families, as well as Fenton. They have refused your grace. Every single one of their associates – the Chambers and Jenkinsons as well – has turned down your offer of power."

"Hmm... I didn't expect them to do so. Did you evoke the old bonds you had with their community?"

"I did my Lord. Well, I took a few along. They replied violently. I was the only one left standing, as a warning to you."

"Warning for me?" asked the Dork...er...Dark Lord in mild amusement. "Violent, were they? Well, let us just send our bluntest weapon at them, why don't we?"

Ashford looked on eagerly as his Master called for Walden McNair. Voldemort called once. And he called twice. And he called thrice. It was a bust. Well, never mind. I can always torture McNair later, mused Voldemort. He called one of the other blokes who were trained to handle the trolls and the giants for him, Shockross.

"Take Gruldtong and Burgtrok and descend on the Blasting Boroughs," the snake-man hissed. "Take some more new recruits to help you."

His minion grinned happily. Voldemort was still a bit apprehensive and dismayed. This minion's trainer had said that he 'lacked malice'.

As the innocent little Death Eater (who was bereft of malice even when he sent bone-breakers) lumbered off with the two giants, and a mountain troll for good measure, Voldemort watched with a sense of foreboding. This really wasn't the best crop of enforcers he had. He had to let off some steam to calm his head. He realised that Kole was still in the room.

"Ashford, you did say that you failed, didn't you?" The minion grimaced in anticipation of what was to come. "Crucio!" screamed Voldemort gleefully. There really was no better way to vent some anger as compared to some good, old-fashioned torture.

Two hours before Voldemort started his terror business plans for the day, Albus Dumbledore was seated in a chair in the secret chamber which was an extension of the Headmaster's office, resplendent in electric orange robes with alternating electric blue and green tiger stripes. He was awaiting Alastor, the four Potters, three Longbottoms and Abe, as well as the two Unspeakables that Alastor had hustled into helping them. On the bed in that chamber was Severus Snape, completely in stasis and without any sense of the world or even his self.

It was the sad reality that Severus, a budding student that Albus had kept an eye out for when he was engaged in the war against James and company, was in this position, solely because of the decisions that he had taken.

Albus knew that his policy of giving the Death Eaters a chance of redeeming them was not as accepted as he would like it to be. He didn't go for universal acceptance. He, however, was not blind to the fact that every person was a result of his or her choices. Redemption, as he saw it, was not blanket forgiveness. He truly believed that doing unto another as one would have others do unto oneself, forgiving people traversing the wrong path or taking the higher moral path would really shame such delinquents into reforming themselves, into feeling remorse. Unfortunately, this method did not seem to yield results in the war when people were dying – at least they were not yielding results as fast as the people around him wanted. It wasn't enough for him to turn his back on his beliefs, but it was still enough to make him want to question them.

Severus, and James, Sirius, Remus and Peter, went a long way. Neither side had been composed of saints. If the latter four banded together to cause Severus trouble, the Slytherin too, on his part, retaliated worse than he got, and often with Dark curses, no doubt picked from the brains of the very people who had lured him to Voldemort's side. Severus too was not innocent. Sirius might have taken the fall for instigating the ill-fated meeting between a transformed Remus and Severus, but the truth was that Severus, who had snooped and poked and prodded the Black outcast and even cursed him in the back, was just as culpable. Albus had used that incident to practically blackmail them all into mutual exclusion and ignorance, as at the time was necessary. It was rather ironic how the girl over whom he had held Severus' status as a Death Eater was at the centre of that drama.

Before he could realise that his thoughts were leaving the prior track, Gilbert Oxlade, the fourth Headmaster's portrait announced the visitors.

"Please, do come in! Make yourselves comfortable! Care for a sherbet lemon?" Appearances had to be preserved, in spite of whatever maudlin thoughts occupied his mind.

"They have to be killed," the Unspeakable spoke without preamble. "At the very least, Voldemort has to be. There is no arresting him." The taboo had no meaning at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had abused it so much that nobody from the Death Eaters bothered to turn up.

Dumbledore was honestly thrust onto the backfoot with that. "I am assuming that you can explain, so I will request you to do so."

The Unspeakable retrieved a slip of paper from his sleeve pocket and thrust it into Dumbledore's face. Of course, to Corvus' companions, it wasn't any new information at all.

The genial, old, sherbet lemon-gobbling, kooky, jovial Headmaster of Hogwarts read the slip and turned paler than his beard. Horcruxes, mused Dumbledore detachedly, that thing made Horcruxes. He isn't even human anymore.

And that was absolutely momentary. In the very next moment, as he looked back up to face his visitors, his demeanour and persona changed to the Defeater of Gellert Grindelwald, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW and Order of Merlin, First Class, the most powerful wizard of his age.

"How do you know?" he demanded, once he had controlled his anger and brought his power to heel.

Prior to the meeting, the Coven had decided to be frugal with the truth. They would say enough to let Dumbledore know what was going on, if only peripherally, but Regulus would remain a jealously guarded secret. As much as he was a powerful wizard, and to an extent an ally, he had also intended to make the Potters and Longbottoms bait without divulging everything to them. Even worse, he had attempted to manipulate Lily regarding Snivellus.

"As regards to familial matters, I, Dorea Constance Black-Potter, Daughter of House Black, Lady of House Potter, invoke the magic of the geas of secrecy." A small pulse of magic and an equally miniscule flash of light engulfed them. "The new Lord Black, Sirius, in a bid to rein in the delinquents of his House, summoned them to the ancestral seat and coaxed information about their Master from the Death Eaters. Bellatrix Black-Lestrange, her husband and brother-in-law, who were both connected through her marriage into the Lower House, Lucius Malfoy, again under similar circumstances, and Regulus Black, had the familial judgement called on them. These were executed through Familial Judgement."

Dorea paused as Albus closed his eyes in genuine sorrow.

On her part, even though she had told him the lie that they had all, including Regulus, had agreed upon, it was still verifiable. Lily had, after ten minutes of calm pondering, pointed out that the magical deaths and births registry would deem Regulus Black dead if Sirius disowned him magically and cast him out from the Black family. Sure enough, a line had scratched through the younger Black brother's name. A new name, at the very end of the book had appeared – Regulus Myrridin.

Each magical child was considered a child of Merlin, and until the name was accorded by the parents, the final name was always noted as Myrridin. This usually changed within a few minutes. As Muggleborns were only noted at the instant of their first accidental use of magic, which usually occurred after the age of four (generally true for all magical children), the Ministry detected it in the general area before investigating. It wasn't similar to the taboo, till the wand-maker sold the wand after casting the trace charm on it. Every wand sold to an underage magical held the trace.

Albus, on the other hand, was truly saddened. The five Death Eaters in question had trodden the wrong path and had paid the ultimate price. While the terrible secret had been uncovered, it still had involved young Sirius having to kill his own younger brother. This was why he hated wars. They pit brother against brother and destroyed families, as his had been.

"Is Sirius well?" he asked.

"He is holding on," Dorea answered. Vagueness always helped when one did not intend to disclose the whole truth.

Albus dropped the matter instantaneously. It would do no good to ignore the outcome, as it was. "What were these items?"

"We recovered and destroyed three – the locket of Salazar Slytherin, the cup of Helga Hufflepuff, and Tom Riddle'sdiary."

Dumbledore's eyes widened suddenly and comically at that. "He made one when he was Tom Riddle?" he muttered faintly to himself. There was no answer to that, nor was one expected at that moment. He was deep in thought, and nobody else deigned to interrupt. Albus Dumbledore was a pacifist that they couldn't truly agree with, and the Unspeakables also held his skills at mind and memory magics and the more arcane magics like Prophecies in disdain, but absolutely nobody disputed his brilliance, experience and knowledge. They rightly surmised that he was piecing together several bits of information, adding this new information to the mix, going off tangent to touch on subjects relevant or otherwise and coming up with something new and important, while also drawing on his knowledge about the thing that used to be Tom Riddle.

"He cannot stop at four," Dumbledore said at last. "Arithmentically, it won't make any sense whatsoever." Nobody commented that making even one was senseless. "He would have gone for two, to make three parts. With three Horcruxes destroyed, we can rule that out. The next is seven."

"So you are saying there might be three more?" asked Charlus.

"Two more," Dumbledore corrected. "He actually cannot make six so fast, isn't it?" The question was directed to the Unspeakables, who nodded. "He will go insane." He then stopped to ponder and wonder, before realising, "He isn't sane!"

"So five it is," Frank summarised. They didn't need Voldemort to have any clemency on grounds of questionable sanity. "We need to look for two more. How though?"

"Ah, I may have a better source than you have had, now that we know what Tom has been collecting," Albus said with a smile. "Not many know that your House ghost, Alice, was the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw."

And that was one source they could have never even guessed at.

"That is most interesting, Headmaster, but I believe we all should get to the matter we have gathered for," Aberforth declared decisively, having hitherto been silent.

"Indeed," acknowledged Alastor.

Corvus took centre-stage. "You all know the original Prophecy, I hope." He received nods from them all. "This was a very vague Prophecy in several ways." He explained the more pertinent fallacies of applying the prophecy to the situation with Voldemort. "Should Riddle have found out about it, it is obvious that Riddle would have chosen to act – simply because that is exactly what megalomaniacs do. I can categorically say that the results would have been disastrous in at least ninety four percent of the situations we could construct based on current trends, the Houses we expected to survive, the political fallout of any action that that side might have taken and so on."

"Pretty slim and grim," Aberforth commented.

"Very," agreed Corvus. "Unfortunately, the probability of disaster was just as high if it had been dismissed out of hand."

"What?" his audience exclaimed as one.

"Indeed. The war has dragged on interminably, and it is costing us our economy, markets and most importantly people. We would give the government eighteen months, at most, before it would capitulate. Assuming a few heavy blows to either side, that number would deviate by three months."

The older people couldn't help but wince. They had survived Grindelwald – technically a far more successful Dark Lord in terms of scope, spectrum of attack and influence – only to stare into the eyes of almost certain defeat to this necromancer.

"However," continued Croaker seamlessly, "the recent actions have changed the situation drastically. With major human assets to his side being eliminated, and the destruction of three of his soul jars, the balance has swung almost squarely in our favour. As you may not know, the destruction has also diminished his magical power proportionately."

There was a sense of deep relief which Albus was very hard-pressed to share on one account. The human assets were still losses. Even though they could probably not be redeemed, they still were people. It chaffed a bit at his morals, but he chose to not express that, particularly when he saw Abe and Alastor congratulate the Potters and Longbottoms. His closest people were chinks in that armour for his arguments.

"By our calculations and projections, therefore, it would be best to hasten the defeat. It will be necessary to draw him out. Keeping that in mind, we have reconstructed the prophecy, rebalancing the vagueness with a little directness, discernible only to those who would study such magics." Croaker then looked to his superior to divulge the new prophecy.

"Please note the specific word changes." Corvus tapped a small device that was to be used to simulate Sybil Trelawney's voice.

"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO DESTROY THE DARK LORD APPROACHES... BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM...BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES...HE THAT ATTEMPTS TO FLEE FROM THE ORDAINED, ULTIMATE DEATH AND DESTRUCTION...SHALL CONFRONT THE ONE ON THE DAY HE FIRST AROSE...LIFE AND DEATH SHALL CYCLE BY FATE'S DESIGN...AND THAT STRIKE AGAINST THE ONE CHOSEN TO BE DEATH'S HAND SHALL DECIDE ALL...FOR EACH ALONE CAN DESTROY THE OTHER...AND NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER EXISTS...THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO DESTROY THE DARK LORD APPROACHES..."

"It is appropriately vague in all aspects barring the hint to make him think that it is him, and the day for him to attack, December 31st."

Frank and Lily had been independently noting and comparing the two prophecies.

"You have completely changed the very matter of the prophecy!" Frank noted.

Corvus, from under his hood, gave Frank a frank look of annoyance for stating the obvious. Aurors he sneered mentally.

Lily on the other hand, gave a more in depth analysis. "It is much more than that. As such, it is as Corvus said – a very unsubtle shove for Riddle to move against us, but wrapped in only linguistic vagueness, which comes from the cycle of life and death thing. 'Power he knows not' is replaced by 'fate's design' and 'death's hand' – that will add to the intrigue for Riddle, though I doubt he fears any form of divinity or final punishment. So that will be something he'll summarily dismiss.

"The next lines give a tone of finality, again enticing him. He will be supremely confident that no one but him knows about the Horcruxes; even those allowed to handle it will be dead or so declared. It paints a target on Sirius' back however – he will want to know what Sirius knows before killing him for taking his monetary support away, so he will have to be protected.

"Anyway, back to the prophecy; he will be arrogant enough to think that since he actually cannot die. We should be ready for different sorts of resurrection rituals, then, in my opinion. Were I him, I would most possibly ask my stupidest but most obedient servant – or servants – to follow a set of instructions to the letter to bring him back. Again, that would be a demonstration of his power and immortality."

It didn't normally happen that two sets of brothers would say exactly the same thing, particularly given that one set was almost perpetually at loggerheads privately, but it did. "Merlin's bloody balls!" swore Albus, Aberforth, Alastor and Oswald in unison. Lily had the uncanny ability to think and bind several facts and situations together.

From under his hood, Croaker considered the young muggleborn. Her husband was earmarked because of his similarly logical mind, a novelty for a magical, but more for his natural affinity for Defensive Transfiguration, Spell Modification and Wards. He was also a fairly powerful fighter. He, with the right training, would rise high within the Unspeakable ranks, either in the field or in research. This girl was wanted for her Charm-casting, and sheer brains – she was rumoured to be the brightest since Rowena Ravenclaw herself. Right now he had had more proof than he would have asked for, though he wouldn't mind a bit more from the husband. He wanted her, and if possible her husband as well, on his team as soon as they could be brought in. Then again she was to have a kid, so he couldn't employ her at that moment.

Croaker's wish for some proof of special ability from James was granted almost instantaneously.

James had a proud yet thoughtful mien as he heard his wife enthral people with her logic. There was something that was knocking at the periphery of his thoughts and he wanted to clarify something. With his best 'sheepish-layman-with-a-sort-of-good-idea' look, he addressed the Head of the DoM and asked, "Uh...Mr. Corvus, sir, I have a doubt, if I may ask." At the other man's nod, James continued, "These Horcrux thingies...are they used in the resurrection rituals?"

"Why do you ask, young man?" He had to be a bit condescending. It was necessary to hide his interest in Potter.

"Well, Lily told me about the muggles testing bombs and ammunition and performing controlled explosions of missiles, you know? If it is the case that the Horcrux, a token of the necromantic magic that HE has performed, has to be used – or to be perfectly clear, used up - won't he lead his followers who haven't been given the honour of holding such a thing with them to any other device he may still have? So like a controlled explosion, we could have a controlled resurrection. We won't have to find the devices left. He will do it for us."

Yes, Croaker decided. I do want both on my team. This one can think out-of-the-box.

Lily, who was stood next to James, beamed at him.

The others could only look at them in astonishment. This was a very easy way out, if done properly. Corvus could already paint the situation in his mind's eye. All they would have to do was rig the target place enough to blow apart as soon as the Dark idiot entered. Special wards to trap souls were already known to them, ever since they had started experimenting with the Veil and the Dementors. Also there were those wards used to trap poltergeists in vicious hauntings. This really could work.

"It is something to think upon. It offers up some interesting possibilities," Corvus finally said, apparently noncommittally, but Alastor knew his brother enough to know that he was fairly excited about this idea. A spike ran through him. He bloody well wasn't going to lose Potter to Tinkler! He would have to take some deterrent action against his brother and his accursed department if they tried to step into his territory.

Augusta finally broke through these academic musings. Bloody Unspeakables, she growled to herself, always finding something academically interesting in even the most morbid things. "At the moment, Mr. Corvus, we think it seems good," she said a bit decisively. "I hope that you hash it out well before you feed it to the captured Death Eater. Can we, for the here and now, turn to that source you were talking about, Albus?"

"Indeed, Augusta," Albus answered politely.

Helena drifted in through the walls as Dumbledore called her. "I heard you, Albus," she said in her cold distant voice. "You want to know the most well-known and documented Founders' effects, I gather."

"Yes, Milady," Albus replied politely.

"Salazar had a ring, Albus. I last saw it three years before you started Hogwarts, on the hand of one Caractacus Gaunt. There is of course Godric's Sword. And the Hat, of course, you know of."

"I have not been touched by that foul descendent of Salazar who's so hell-bent on destroying Salazar's true legacy!" The Hat indignantly screeched.

"Who is Salazar's descendent?" Even in curiosity, Helena's voice was detached and cold, as if she were nothing but an ethereal logbook of all that she knew and yearned to know.

"You know him, Helena," the Hat jeered. "Tom Riddle; he was your charming friend, wasn't he?"

Helena blanched – well, she turned opaquely silver anyway. "No... he... no!"

The audience frowned, but Alice most of all. Her Ravenclaw wit asserted itself as she was the quickest to connect the dots, as it were. "You told him about the Diadem, didn't you?"

Helena's silver face assumed a cruel scowl. "I should have thought that it was all a ruse for the Diadem!" she spat.

"And yet you chose to divulge it to Tom!" the Hat jeered. "You never really were worth the Diadem you so coveted!"

He (for the Hat did consider itself as a 'he') had a grudge against the snot-nosed girl ever since she suggested the secrecy enchantment on him as a form of revenge for not telling her how the sentience in him came to be, when Godric had not created it that way. By his count, he could have given an indication about the several instances when worrying trends and darker tendencies were prevalent in young minds. Her suggestion was not well-formed, and had thus become a blanket enchantment that disallowed the Hat from speaking out anything about the student unless the matter was known to everyone around him, much to the chagrin of the sentience that gave him thought and a mind.

"You accuse us of greed, yet you gave a murderer its whereabouts!" Alice speared the ghost with her words.

It was not intentional, but the young Lady Longbottom and the Sorting Hat tag-teamed Helena Ravenclaw.

"Murderer?" asked Helena weakly. She sought to hold onto her greatest secret jealously, nevertheless.

"Yes. That is what your charming fiend of a friend is, Helena, A MURDERER!"

"You always were a foolish girl, Helena. Broke your mother's heart, you did. Killed her, your actions did," The Hat accused. "Maybe that's why you were drawn to a killer like Tom Riddle?"

"And yet you delay us," Alice viciously hissed. "You hold on to your secrets while people are killed!"

"He only found out new knowledge, girl! It doesn't matter to me what he did! He pursued knowledge, and it doesn't matter to me what kind of knowledge it was!"Helena retorted angrily, her silver cheeks now splotched with opaque patches. "I don't have to be insulted by the likes of you!"

"And that's exactly why you weren't worthy of the Diadem. You treasure knowledge, but not the wit and wisdom that your mother supplemented it with. You are a shame to her legacy!" The Hat was really enjoying sticking it to her.

Dumbledore had not stepped in while the Hat and Alice raked Helena over the coals and roasted her. He wasn't very happy about using his powers as the Headmaster in this situation, because it seemed for a while that Helena would not only see reason, but would also reveal more upon knowing Tom's true colours. Her obstinate defiance riled him, however.

In a slow, deliberate, controlled manner, which still reeked of power and menace, Albus thundered, "I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of this school, order you, Helena Ravenclaw, to reveal all that you know about Tom Riddle and all that you told him."

And so Helena had to tell him everything regarding that matter. It was particularly interesting to note that Helena was enchanted by Tom's sweet-talking because he had found her weak point, her greed for knowledge. Not enthusiasm or obsession; greed. Had Helena all the knowledge in the world, she would hoard it and keep the rest illiterate if she had the chance. It was why she coveted the Diadem, as a means to ensnare all the knowledge for herself. It contained all the knowledge that Rowena had. It was like her personal pensieve, a means to access knowledge which was a load even on that witch's eidetic memory. Helena, in fact, had the makings of a Dark Lady.

By this time, Nearly Headless Nick, The Fat Friar and The Bloody Baron had appeared in the Headmaster's office as well. "Headmaster, if we may," The Baron asked permission to speak, his scowl still firmly in place.

"Indeed," Dumbledore answered.

"We have known for some time that Tom Riddle was not the good sort, but we have not had proof. Do you remember the time he asked you for a job?"

"Yes Milord. It was in 1957."

"Quite right," The Baron acknowledged. "Since then, the idiot last spawn of my brother's line has not returned to this Castle."

"Your brother?" asked James in surprise.

"Yes boy. In life I was Baron Sol Slytherin, a title accorded by the then muggle rulers. Salazar was my father. Sir Nicholas here is, or rather, was, the last of the line of Gryffindor. The Fat Friar, as you know him, and is widely mistaken by many muggleborns as the one from some stories about a thief, was the older of the two children that last bore the Hufflepuff name. Helena you know about. We became the House ghosts because we were the ghosts of people born in those lines!"

"Oh," everyone said in unison.

"I digress. That day, The Friar and I were patrolling the corridors. This evil child that has ruined our name stopped twice on his way to and from your office."

"He did? Where did he stop?"

"Yes. There is a room on the seventh floor near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He stopped there and disappeared within its bowels. Even we couldn't enter it while he occupied it," answered the Friar. "He paced up and down that wall three times, as we know, to access the room. Legend has it that that was where Salazar and Godric would hide things they were tinkering from their wives and friends. Godric, it turns out was a broom-racing junkie and had coaxed Salazar to help him refine the design."

"And that is where the problem arises, Albus," Nick continued. "That Room has no limits to the versions of it. I believe it can provide an answer, solution or help for anything within reason. Should this Riddle boy have wanted a very unremarkable place to hide something, where it could be easily ignored, it would have given him that."

Albus actually groaned with the others as the implications of that hit home. "But there are so many possibilities!"

Sir Nicholas and The Friar gave him crooked smiles as the Baron said, "That is where you and we," here he gestured at all four ghosts – though Helena looked like she wanted to do anything but what she was going to be volunteered for and to be anywhere but where she was, "come into the picture. We are the imprints of the blood descendents of the Founders, still tied to the school. A part of the magic that keeps us in this state is the same as that of our erstwhile living bodies. Should you open yourself to all the wards of Hogwarts and we connect to them as well, Hogwarts will...possess...you, for lack of a better word, and use your body and magic to cause the expulsion all the dark objects stored within her."

There was no reason to dilly-dally over the matter. "Lily, Alice, understand that I only ask this of you because of your condition. Please return."

"But what about feeding the new prophecy into Snape's memory?" Alice protested. "And surely you can trust us to help?"

"I believe that we can postpone the updating of that Death Eater's memory with the new Prophecy till later. As Madam Longbottom said, we have to still perfect it, though we are very close," Corvus declared. This was something he had never known before about Hogwarts, and with the possibility of a magical sentience, and of a Horcrux being destroyed, he wasn't going to let it go. "This, right now, is a more important situation."

"I haven't done this before, Alice," Albus temporised, "and I am very sure nor have any of my predecessors for many centuries, for otherwise it would have been passed on to each successive Headmaster along with all the other rites. So we don't know what will happen. Understand that this is no slight to your loyalty or ability, but rather an old man's attempt at precaution."

Dorea, Augusta and Charlus gave Albus approving looks, which their respective daughters-in-law caught and therefore the Headmaster's words were accepted. Lily had a little something to keep Albus on his toes, however.

"In that case Headmaster, could I see Severus and have the required five small vials of blood?"

Dumbledore fought hard to keep the grimace off his face; he really did. But it still showed as a small frown. He hadn't thought of that, and now wished that he had. It was what he had been thinking about before his visitors came in. However, since that was on the agenda anyway, he had no choice but to acquiesce.

Once they had the blood, Lily and Alice both left via the floo. It was a matter of curiosity for Albus, for Lily left with the line, "Hickory Dickory Dock!" while Alice followed up with, "A Mouse ran up the clock!" The venerable old Headmaster could only look in bewilderment at the two ladies' families. It was Charlus who answered.

"Everyone has something that is questionable to the minds of everyone else. James has a questionable sense of humour. You have a questionable sense of fashion," Charlus explained grimly. Dumbledore frowned. He liked his orange robes! "My daughter-in-law has a questionable way of setting password codes for individuals, charmed to recognise their voices. It is a recent improvement to the floo." He then followed his wife and Augusta through the floo. They were tasked with coordination and protection of the Potter and Longbottom children-to-be.

Corvus smiled as Croaker whispered, "I can see why you want them both." Of course nobody else heard that whisper nor saw their smiles.

Albus soon invoked the spirit of Hogwarts – a vague term for the sentience that had become associated with the wards – along with the four House ghosts. For the next hour and half, the five visitors, two Unspeakables, one Headmaster and four ghosts roamed around the castle as Hogwarts herself guided them through Dumbledore, leading them to all sorts of Dark Objects hidden within the castle. The castle guided them to a girls' bathroom haunted by a ghost as well, but Dumbledore could not actually speak and the rest were unable to understand or detect anything. So after five minutes of bewilderment there, it was abandoned.

Sure enough they found a lot. Tom had made a Horcrux out of the Diadem. He had also placed the curse of the DADA position on an object that actually was his – the shield he had been awarded for framing Hagrid. There were several more of assorted types. Clearly, summer jobs at Borgins and Burke's were also summer sales. A Vanishing cabinet which Croaker travelled through to the very shop was also destroyed, as was its mate.

A tired, but very pleased Headmaster sat down with a snifter of firewhiskey in his hand. "Today was fruitful."

"Indeed," Corvus replied. By all means, Voldemort was a person considered to be half-dead.

Any further discussion on the matter was cut short when Padfoot the Patronus gambolled in. Sirius' voice was frantic. "Help us! Come to two miles east of Gillespie Road Station. They have got two giants!"

James and Frank, Alastor and Abe looked at Dumbledore, who was spent and now worried. The Headmaster was spent, and in spite of his prodigious power, was at the moment going to be useless in a fight. Yet he alone had the experience to actually take down giants and was at the moment present.

"You go on and help them control," Dumbledore ordered. "I will go and get a booster from Poppy." Frank, James, Alastor and Abe left at once. The former two mightn't have been Order operatives any longer, but no one ever withheld help.

Albus on his part attempted to stand, but collapsed. This was going to be difficult.

The four men appeared about a few hundred metres from the battle. Sure enough, two giants and three trolls were causing as much havoc as they could – and they could do that, a lot. They broke into a run. Apparating any closer to a battle was actually inviting death. Spells kept flying around randomly and there was always the risk of apparating into the path of one.

Sure enough, the Blasters Borough community, a group of wizards who had tried to remain neutral, but had helped people affected by the war a lot, were under attack. This was a safe haven for victims and injured people, and it was an unwritten rule of combat that such places were never to be attacked.

They could see Sirius and Moony fighting with Fabricglass and von Press, formerly of the community, and now Death Eaters. Voldemort had seduced them with the promise of money and fame. With the new blandness that accompanied the need to put them out of commission, four piercing hexes flew to their heads and three connected. They were soon retired from any sort of deployment and sent on to the afterlife. The problem was the fact that a new imbecile that they hadn't encountered before was managing the Giants and Trolls. Fabricglass and von Press were older, more experienced fighters. The ones they were leading seemed to be schoolboys.

These were not to be underestimated and killed. They were to be stunned and sent to the Ministry holding cells. Unfortunately, these recruits were also often rash and far too good at sending overpowered hexes and missing the target or causing far more harm in a rush of adrenaline. And that was exactly what happened when one of them landed a bludgeoning hex into Alastor's face, tearing away his nose and right part of the jaw and putting him out of commission.

"Oh God," James moaned. It was a truly horrendous sight, and James was also splattered with his mentor's blood. Luckily Frank still had hold of his senses and he activated the portkey which took Alastor to the Hogwarts infirmary. Dumbledore insisted that every Order member have it on them.

"Good grief!" he muttered as he banished the punk that hexed Mad-Eye into the nearest building. The kid obediently crashed into the wall and crumpled down without consciousness. "By the end of this war, Mad-Eye is going to have a new face fixed!"

By this time, a newly cleaned up James had regained his senses as well. It wasn't worse than when Moony was angry and slashed Padfoot very hard. The dog had yowled for months after that. "I will bet you five galleons," he rejoined as he now randomly cast animate to inanimate transfiguration spells. Chairs and stones couldn't fight back. The Boroughs had taken a nasty hit, what with Flappesthwaite, Vermington and Sailor having lost their lives, and Ponsonby and Flame gravely injured. The new additions had helped, but for some it was a case of a little too late.

It was into this that the newest in the cadre of Marauders brought out a completely unbelievable solution. Fabian had transfigured a tree into a gigantic catapult. Gideon was using this to aim several large jelly-like pellets into the mouths of the trolls and giants. He was actually hitting them with large boulders (real ones, not the ones that James had transfigured from the rookie Death Eaters) to get their attention, and as soon as they turned around and roared, he was putting in the jelly globs.

"Why are you feeding the trolls?" Moony asked in utter incomprehension.

"And the giants," Sirius added.

"Just wait and watch," Marlene added as she arrived with a large consignment of the jelly.

Sure enough, when the three had fed one of the behemoths enough of whatever the jelly was, there seemed to be the effect that they wanted. They began to shrink. And they began to de-age.

"It works!" The twins and Marlene were exultant. Within the next five minutes, Shockross had toppled off Burgtrok's shoulder. Sirius and Remus caught him in mid-fall and stunned him. He had to be interrogated. This one had apprenticed under McNair. Soon enough, the five humanoid beings had transformed into babies – very ugly babies at that.

"What was it?"

"Well, you see," started Fabian

"The Giants and trolls," continued Gideon.

"They don't get affected by spells..."

"...or hexes..."

"...or any wand magic..."

"So Marlene suggested..."

"...that we put magic inside them..."

"...so we made shrinking solution jellies..."

"...which they ingested and..."

"...have become babies..."

"That is bloody brilliant!" Sirius agreed, awestruck. He then kissed his fiancée. Unfortunately, it was at this time that there was a horrible smell and one of the giants started howling and crying.

"What a mood killer!" both grumbled once they had finished retching.

"What the fuck is that?" Frank asked as he approached the still standing humans. He was inside a bubble-head charm. Everyone else quickly copied that.

James, too, appeared beside Sirius, his breath protected by the charm as well. "That is one dirty giant baby."

"No Prongs; that is one dirty baby giant!"

James looked at the group, stunned. Nodding, Fabian agreed, "There are three trolls-babies and one more of the giants as well."

Everyone else looked just about ready to cry. This was going to be messy.

"There were Giants, weren't there?" Albus Dumbledore had recovered as soon as he could and had rushed to help. He was instantly assaulted by the horrible, rotting smell.

"Yes. 'Were' is the operative term. Now you can help with the clean-up!" Abe grunted. Albus, whose eyes were watering as he tried to waft the smell away while simultaneously casting the bubble-head charm, now joined the others as they near-about wailed at that prospect.

.

.

.

The Controlled Leak and the Penultimate Strike

.

.

.

Four days; it was just a matter of four days during which the face of the war had changed. Where once the signs in magical Britain were showing that a majority of the peace-loving population was primed for an exodus, those in the know now knew that everything was rapidly changing for the better. While the absence of several of the more dangerous raiders in Voldemort's ranks was not remarked upon because they were known to have long periods of absence between raids, the fight against the trolls and the giants and their controllers had boosted the morale across the country. What else could it have done? It wasn't everyday that the behemoths turned into bawling child behemoths. So when it was captured in cameras and the pictures were published, the sheer absurdity of the situation raised morale and also garnered quite a few laughs. People saw it as a light in the overwhelming darkness. And unlike it being the train at the end of the tunnel, this light would actually be brighter the better one inspected things.

Of course, it wasn't universally approved.

Bulltong, the leader of the herd of trolls was extremely angry that his mate and his son had both been turned into babies. Rearing one with the mate's, Drubkag's, help had been a bad enough experience. Adolescents were a problem no matter the species, and he and the herd would have two additional ones within a few short years. Raising both back again was going to be more trouble that he had bargained for. So of course, he had bashed up a few Death Eaters and left with his herd, without even a grunt of goodbye. He could have waited for Voldemort to simply counter the potion, but he was impatient, angry and foolish. Of course he was. He was a troll.

Voldemort was unhappier still, because he had lost all the giants from the new tribe he was courting. That meant that the new tribe was more likely to eat his messengers instead of listening to them. Worse still, several of the existing members of the Giants Corps were having second thoughts about joining Voldemort. This was only compounded by the fact that he had lost the entire herd of trolls.

In addition to this his best lieutenants too had been killed, he now knew. There was no way that Bella would not respond to his call. When nearly fifteen or so more didn't, he realised that they too had been taken out. Money and murderous intent was what they provided. It was all lost. He was therefore forced to beat a tactical retreat for what amounted to over a week since the attack on the Blasting Boroughs.

The matter with the giants though hadn't made anyone as happy as Hagrid. He was overjoyed. Dumbledore had given a werewolf a chance to learn at Hogwarts. Giants were not capable of casting wand magic – or any magic at all for that matter – but they had a person in place to take them closer being able to mix with another civilisation that co-inhabited the earth with.

Hagrid the half-giant was currently channelling his inner Molly Weasley with the two 'cute' babies, almost at the expense of his friendship with Aragog, who was opposed to this rearing of 'monsters'.

There had never been a greater case of the pot calling the kettle black.

"You can't have them here, Hagrid!" the gigantic arthropod protested with furiously clicking pincers. "This forest is not big enough for all the creatures and those monsters!"

"Don' yeh go an' call 'em monsters, Aragog!" scolded Hagrid. He never advertised his ancestry, but he wasn't going to take anybody calling the giants monsters.

"They are monsters, Hagrid! They are like food but too big. We will be food for them instead!"

"Humans aren' food, yeh great insect!" growled Hagrid. "And they'll not eat yeh!"

Aragog gave the arthropod equivalent of a huff. "You say that now. When those little beasts come around, you'll forget about the rest of us."

Hagrid had been wearing an apron as he was cooking his dinner when Dumbledore had come over to ask him if he could take over the guardianship of the two giants temporarily (this particular pink apron was closer to the size of a sail). When Aragog registered his last complaint, a very maternal look came over Hagrid's face and his anger melted away. In a manner totally reminiscent of Molly Weasley, whom he was channelling, Hagrid decided to tend to his 'child'. She would have empathised.

"Yeh don' havta worry, Aragog!" he consoled the Acromantula King. "Yeh were like a son ter me, more tha' a pet! All yer children are like me gran'chil'ren, yeh know?" He took to petting the Acromantula that was throwing a tantrum. "Those new sprogs will be jus' like yer brothers! And aren' they so cute?"

There was no way to know whether Aragog accepted that, but Hagrid became the proud Daddy of two Giant babies by that very night. He was promised help by the castle's elves and the professors in his house expansion plans. Aragog would just have to grin and indulge in sibling rivalry.

It was finally the day, the second of December, when the plan was to be set into action. Corvus and Croaker had employed every magical method known to them – and they knew far too many – to ensure that they were dealing with Severus Snape, to start with. With the level of manipulation attempted on Lily, they could never be too sure.

Well, that was only for show. Everyone was entitled to taking the mickey every once in a while, and Dumbledore was becoming the unwitting victim. He, in fact, had come around to ensuring that everyone ended up punished having experienced the longest peaceful period since Voldemort's rise. He just favoured Azkaban.

The truth lay in the doctrine of constant vigilance. There were several methods of impersonation, and some were very difficult to detect. Their plan would be for nought if they didn't take due precautions.

Capturing Peter Pettigrew had been a piece of cake. Just a message that there would be a very important Order meeting that could probably take a day or two meant that the rat scurried out of whatever burrow he was hiding in. With Snape already in their captivity, the personnel within Voldemort's ranks were now in hand. If Peter returned a bit early, and Voldemort didn't like that and ended up torturing the traitor...well, nobody would waste their sympathies.

Just creating a memory of the meeting, where they would only talk about absolutely nothing was alright in Pettigrew's case. But it still took a long time, because they had to create a viable set of situations, complete with visual cues, an acceptable substitute for the voices of the people who were 'present' and so on.

Snape was a much more difficult task. What could a person do for four days? A person interacted with several people. A Death Eater interacted with other members of the unit he belonged to. There were thoughts about the food a person had consumed; thoughts about the past, whatever was going on...

The solution, however, was simple. It was so absurdly simple that it was ignored and dismissed initially as too obvious. Snape was a Potioneer. Some potions took days on end to brew. A simple claim of restocking the potion stock for the Death Eaters, or any experiments involved in creating a new potion (Snape was a creator as well) with forged observations and that would be all. In the end they only needed some Polyjuice Potion to enact those memories, and a few more situations to tie around the eavesdropping business.

All in all, the matter was tied up quite neatly. Now there was just the matter of the matters getting Voldemort's attention.

"Milord..."

Just one word it was, but it was enough for the Dark Lord Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, to know that his most dour new recruit, the talented young Potioneer, Severus Snape, had some special information. There were very few among his minions that Voldemort bothered to truly acknowledge. Severus Snape, for better or for worse, was one of them, primarily because of his talent and also, because of the man's blood status. In the rarest of his pensive moments, the Dark Lord felt a certain kinship with the other brilliant halfblood with the muggle father to emerge from Slytherin. It was also why Severus was a threat to him, by his warped logic.

"Come, Severus..." the fiend hissed, holding out his hand. Severus Snape kissed the hand, and then the hem of Voldemort's robes, before kneeling with his head bowed.

"Speak, my slippery friend," Voldemort commanded, as he stroked his familiar's head.

"Milord, I was in the Hog's Head, just an hour ago, to shadow any movements by Dumbledore in Hogsmeade, as you had commanded."

"And...?"

"Milord, Dumbledore was there this evening. He was interviewing a new professor."

Voldemort pinned his servant with a coppery gaze – how was he supposed to pin anyone with a steely gaze when he had red eyes? He angrily hissed, "Really Severus; when I asked you to shadow his movements, I didn't think you would give me such pitiful reports, unless it was for the DADA post..."

Seeing the wand being brought to bear, Severus hastened to answer. "Milord, it was for the post of the Divination Teacher." Seeing that it only served to further enrage Voldemort, he hurried on. "There was a prophecy, milord."

The wand stilled and then swiftly travelled back up Voldemort's sleeve. "A prophecy, was there? That is interesting." With nary but a thought, he brutally ransacked Snape's mind. The hiding place as a cloaked hobbling person, the Polyjuice transformation into a nondescript muggle when he was almost caught, the fact that Dumbledore had heard the prophecy and looked grim at the prospect, and the prophecy itself; everything was visible to Voldemort. It was essentially the same as the one originally constructed by the Unspeakables, with the words shuffled around only slightly for better effect.

"Interesting," muttered Riddle as he stroked a non-existent beard. "That is very interesting..."

Snape relaxed just that teensy bit. It was a tad too soon.

"Say, Severus," Voldemort started, as the wand came back into his hand and he rolled it between his fingers, "what do you think of this?"

"I cannot say, milord. I cannot profess to have any knowledge of the workings of prophecies."

"Yet you report to me about it..."

"Milord commanded me to report anything out of the ordinary!"

"Such insolence," Riddle hissed with an irritated cluck of his tongue. A mere second later, Snape was writhing under the effects of the Cruciatus. "Watch your tone, hereafter, Severus."

"I b-beg your-r merrrcy and pardon, Milord," Severus slurred as he fought to regain the control of his tongue.

"You have it, Severus. Otherwise you would have been dead," Riddle dismissively replied. "So, tell me, why did you think of this as important?"

Severus furrowed his brows as he thought of an appropriate answer. "Answer me, Severus," Voldemort ordered.

"Milord, Dumbledore was the recipient of the prophecy. I – I made the connection to you, immediately, and so can he." Voldemort's eyes flashed, and Severus hastened to explain, "I know some rudimentary French, milord."

A threat was what Severus was, the Dark Lord decided. Yet his hand stayed. The man kneeling before him was also clever, and only a fool killed the counsellor without hearing his words.

"So you believe that Dumbledore will bank on this?"

"In all honesty, milord, I think Dumbledore has had enough. He could just as well call you out for a duel and go down in a blaze of glory," Severus answered with some blatant flattery, "or he will, in an act of desperation, toss this prophesised saviour at you. Either way, everyone who knows Dumbledore knows that he will try to work up a scheme around this."

That was true. What was also true was the fact that Dumbledore would sacrifice someone from his Order, a bunch of delusional fools. Pettigrew would be necessary for this. He needed to know who would soon become parents, or indeed who were to be the parents of this prophesised saviour. And he knew of two couples who had thrice defied him. He still hoped to bring them over – they would be wonderful additions to his ranks, in spite of Lily Potter being a mudblood. But if they were to become parents, well, their deaths would be, as Dumbledore liked to say, for the Greater Good.

As for Severus... well, there was nothing to be gained from keeping the man alive. He had gone perilously close to his secret. Not even those whom he had accorded the honour of keeping his anchors knew their true value. Severus, though, was too clever for his own good. He would have to die. Well, there was a way to kill two birds with one stone. Potter and his gang had an old enmity. Severus could be tasked with eliminating them. If Severus lived, he would kill him. If they lived, well, that would be an excellent test for their induction, if they could defeat wizard handpicked and trained by Lord Voldemort himself.

The man, who was sixty six percent dead, had fallen into the trap, hook, line and sinker.

Albus Dumbledore was seated in his office, fiddling idly with the Hazel and Unicorn Hair wand that he had bought all those years ago from Ollivander's and the memories in his pensieve, thinking about where life was heading. At the age of eighty seven, he was not young by magical standards, but he wasn't old either. So what he was feeling could be likened to midlife crisis.

It had been just one situation. Just one situation where he didn't take enough precautions, behaved cavalierly, and nearly let the enemy know very, very sensitive information. Then he had to go and put his foot right into it by suggesting that the information be leaked. Thankfully, Abe and Alastor had been there at hand to set him to rights. What had transpired had set into motion events of such magnitude and in such a sequence, that he was no longer in control of things.

And after decades of being in control, Albus chafed at the restrictions put on him indirectly. First he had lost the Elder Wand at the hands of the last living descendents of its first owner. He had been told about Horcruxes only after three of five had been destroyed, and he could only help destroy one. A man he intended to use as a spy was now being used by other people on his side – the very people who had taken away his control. The several eliminated Death Eaters had led to a far more peaceful situation as had been absent since Tom arrived on the scene.

In all this, his opinion was neither considered nor asked for. In fact, at the very start, every aspect of his initial plan had been taken apart, roundly criticised and then consigned to the fireplace. If on one hand all that the people now in control had done was ineffective, he could have asserted his position. But now he was unable to do so. This caused him much internal strife.

And it also made him feel ashamed of himself.

This was war. It had no place for the beliefs of one person. For as long as he had fought against the darkness, starting with Gellert, he had believed that it was always important to look at the bigger picture. It always came before the individual. Why then, had he been exempting himself from the same? Was it not hypocrisy at its best?

Albus Dumbledore was vain, almost narcissistic. He was proud of his achievements off the battlefield, and rightly so. And in a sterling example of the dichotomy of human nature, he was also not so proud as to not accept being bested by someone else (if done really well enough to satisfy his ego and be bested only by a really good ploy), nor reject a flaw in his own character after it was forcibly shoved into his face.

He had learnt that he was not to be trusted with power. He could be trusted with guidance, yes; with power, no. And it was at this juncture that he realised that he had straddled the circles of politics and education for years, and practically failed dismally in both. Neither had he been able to leave a lasting mark on politics and change the laws which had long seen as oppressive, nor had he been able to influence the children under his care enough for them to spurn the dark, the bigotry, the hatred. He had failed as both a teacher and a politician.

If that wasn't enough, he had taken on the mantle of the war general as well, instead of once again realising that he was not cut out for that when he was unable to save people from untimely ends as they sought to execute his plans. Instead he had enforced his beliefs, which were worthless, as he now found, against the monsters they were fighting. He wasn't as stupid as to take the complete blame for their deaths – much of it rested with Voldemort. But he shared a part of it as well.

And now, once again, he was failing his people. Thirty eight years ago, he had come across a truly charming individual called Morfin Gaunt (yes, Albus Dumbledore was capable of sarcasm) during a visit to Azkaban, shortly before he had started the Order of the Phoenix with a view to building forces against Gellert Grindelwald. He had been interested to note that this man was Tom Riddle's uncle – a very preliminary glance into his feeble mind had told him that. The name, Tom Riddle had cropped up, and it had surprised him. However, he had left that for the time being.

The following year, the school had seen attacks on muggleborn students which had initially taken his attention away from the matter. But later on, he had found a suspect in Tom Riddle, Junior. He suspected the boy, whom he now knew to be an Heir of Slytherin to have murdered Myrtle Warren. He had unfortunately had no proof at that time, and then he had been engrossed in the oncoming fight against Gellert and in protecting British shores from his army. The matter had been delegated for later as it was important but not urgent.

Still, when he had heard that Morfin, who had been returned to Azkaban that very year just after the school year ended, was in poor health, he had rushed back and taken every memory of the man. The none-too-subtle signs of memory modification piqued his interest. What he had found shocked him. Tom Riddle had murdered his own father and grandparents. He had appealed on Morfin's behalf, but the bureaucracy blocked him just until after Morfin's death.

That incident spurred Dumbledore to collect as much information about Riddle as he could. It was a quest that he dutifully adhered to till 1957, when Riddle had last met him. Dumbledore's prodigious mind was at an impasse. What made him sit on the information for three decades at the very least?

With a firm breath to collect his meandering mind, he dived headfirst into the pensieve, with the unspoken vow to never fail his people again occupying his thoughts.

Half an hour later, he emerged from the pensive, flushed with exultation and self-deprecation all over again. It was the ring. It was all about the Merlin damned ring. Albus Dumbledore's last foray to collect a memory about Tom Riddle had been with a visit to Bob Ogden. He had long ago taken one wrong decision – to do what was easy instead of doing what was right. He had chosen to succumb to his fear and also the joy he would feel upon seeing Arianna for whatever fleeting span of time she could bear it. He had been unable to face the prospect of knowing who killed her and the hope that it wasn't him. If he had taken steps then...

"Bee in your bonnet, Headmaster?" asked the Sorting Hat, a frequent conversation companion.

"Old memories and temptations, my friend," Dumbledore answered, as he stroked the crimson and gold plumage of Fawkes the phoenix, who was crooning a soothing song.

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"Not at the moment, no," Dumbledore refused. "This is what we needed."

"A hint at least?" the Hat whined.

"It is my mistake born from my first brush with power that I have always been unfit to wield."

"This must be good."

"That is a matter of perspective, Hat. At the moment, though, I must attend to business." Dumbledore looked at Fawkes as he handed a short note for the bird to deliver to the Coven – not that he thought or knew of them as such. He was going to step away voluntarily from the wish to do everything by himself, and ask for help. He had not proven to be worthy of the power nor had he any proof of the ability to stave off the temptation.

A burst of fire startled the residents of the Potter Manor, where Charlus, Dorea, Lily and James currently were, as were Sirius Black and 'Eric Potter'.

"Isn't that Fawkes?" Sirius asked.

"That's him alright," his cousin agreed. "He has a note as well."

"What does it say?"

James frowned at the note as if it could explain and elaborate upon the short missive it carried if he frowned enough. "He wants Dad, you and me at Hogwarts. Apparently he has a 'matter of great import' to discuss."

"He isn't going back on the plan now, is he?" Lily asked with just a hint of her famous temper.

"The letter didn't say Lils," James replied honestly. James could sometimes be a mature man, but 'sometimes' really meant just that. He mouthed off to his pregnant, hormonal wife. "Perhaps you could try asking? It might get scared of your temper and blurt out..."

"What are you saying?" the redhead hissed. "Do you think I have a temper?"

"For a married man, James sure doesn't seem to have enough wisdom dealing with a fiery and pregnant woman," 'Eric' muttered. "Even I know, and I have had only one girlfriend, and well..."

"Reggie, please shut up. It's more fun to watch James being trampled under Hurricane Lily."

"Are you two done?" asked a sickly sweet voice near them. When had Lily moved so close, enough to jab her wand into their eyes?

Fortunately, Fawkes crooned and calmed tempers.

"Can you take us to Dumbledore's office, birdie?" Charlus asked the phoenix innocently. As he did so, he gave the bird (which was now purring like a cat) rubs and pats on its breast feathers, and looked at it with wide-eyed awe. Fawkes stopped to give off what seemed like an amused snort.

Immaturity surely ran in the family, if a man well past fifty thought it was funny to act like a kid aged four and his twenty year old son never seemed to grow out of that stage. Then again, it drew away fire from James and the two Black boys.

It took the three just a few more minutes before they latched onto the bird and took off for Hogwarts. Evidently Dumbledore was expecting them to answer by letter and come later on, for he was surprised to see them. "Thank you for arriving at such short notice."

"It's of no consequence sir. Any help that anyone can provide to the goal of obliterating Voldemort has to be immediately accepted," Sirius replied in a businesslike manner.

Dumbledore allowed himself a smile at the choice of words. He would have gone for 'ending the threat that Voldemort posed', but 'obliteration' worked better than any other in the situation they found themselves in. "Indeed," he replied pleasantly. "Let's get straight to business then."

"Let's," agreed the three in unison.

Dumbledore nodded absently, before giving a short prologue to the real matter at hand. "Charlus, please understand, that what I am going to show you was in my possession since the 1950's at the very latest. However, it was something I had hidden but not out of malicious intent. In fact, I had hidden the matter from myself as well."

"We would never believe you to have bad intentions, Albus. We may not agree on several things, but mal-intent is not something we would accuse you of," Charlus replied quickly and decisively. "At least we wouldn't believe you wanting to hurt someone purposefully, or with the intention to hurt them." In another time, under circumstances where they hadn't taken the steps they did, he would have murdered Albus Dumbledore for putting his unborn grandchild through hell, damn the intentions. But that was neither here nor there.

"Thank you. I believe I had bespelled myself to ignore what I am going to show you. You have followed your ancestry, haven't you?"

If The Potter was thrown off-track by this non-sequitur, he didn't show it. "Yes. I know of our Peverell ancestry." It had come up before.

"So you know of the other two items that formed the triad with the wand I used to have. One is in your family's possession."

"Yes."

James and Sirius were looking in much bewilderment at the two men, unable to understand what they were getting to.

"The third item of the triad is what I want to tell you about. It is his last anchor, I am sure of it."

Charlus sat up straighter now. He knew what Dumbledore was talking about. Voldemort had made the Resurrection Stone into a Horcrux. How would it affect things? More importantly, he read more into Dumbledore's actions. There was only one obvious reason why Dumbledore would want to forget about the Resurrection Stone. Everyone had regrets and he wasn't about to ask Dumbledore such a personal question.

Dumbledore seemed to understand what was going on Charlus' mind. "You are right."

"I suppose you must think of us as children and will probably scold us for interrupting when elders are discussing matters," interrupted James politely, "but...um... COULD SOMEONE BLOODY TELL US WHAT IS GOING ON? THIS THING CAN HELP US DESTROY THAT THING WHICH IS THREATENING THE EXISTENCE OF MY CHILD!"

Charlus threw his son a filthy look. "Sensitivity, James, is a quality that can be cultivated, or at least displayed even in its absence if one learns to shut up every once in a while."

"Well, congratulations Dad for being the epitome of sensitivity. But I will reserve my sensitivity till after Voldemort's obliteration, when he can no longer hurt my child."

Dumbledore was affronted by this behaviour, but at the same time couldn't fault the younger man. It wouldn't do to wallow in regret and delay the job they had to do and at the same time be offended by the impatience of a man who would be a father and wished to protect his child as best as he could. "I understand, James," he said softly, raising a hand to calm Charlus, who intended to chastise his son.

So without much further ado, he showed them two memories. One was of Bob Ogden, a Ministry employee from the 1920s, and his attempts to arrest Morfin Gaunt.

"Do you see that ring? That is the Horcrux that still exists. I am quite sure of it."

"What is all this? Who are they?" asked James.

"These are – were – your last relatives through the Peverells. They are also Voldemort's maternal family," explained Dumbledore. He ignored the inarticulate cry of disgust from his ex-student as he addressed Charlus again. "You recognise what sits on the ring?"

"Yes. Will the nature of its innate magic affect the magic now tied to it?"

Dumbledore's eyes dimmed alarmingly as he realised what Charlus was implying. That could be a massive problem. Would the ring trigger the Horcrux, or would using the Stone do so? Would Tom return if he was called back through the stone? Would using the stone to talk to any other person – to recall his little sister – have the effect of creating another Voldemort?

"It has to be destroyed as well," he concluded. "I do not see what could destroy a stone, however."

"You do know that lava is molten stone as well, don't you?" asked Sirius. He had been fairly quiet throughout. "If we destroy it using Fiendfyre, all the magic in it will be destroyed."

There was so much that he wanted to say in protest, so much to say that he wouldn't, that he couldn't let that happen. But what moral grounds did he have? Was meeting Arianna worth the risk of having another Tom running around? The time to make a decision, a very personal one at that, had come again. This time, he would not do what was easy, but what was right.

Dumbledore, Charlus, James and Sirius were sitting in the Headmaster's office, each nursing a glass of scotch. For the younger two, it was a matter of joy. The last possible Horcrux of Lord Voldemort was gone. Voldemort was now mortal – or less, since he had less than a whole soul.

They hadn't bothered much beyond breaking the curses initially, to get them near enough to cast Fiendfyre. The outer protections had gone down, and then it was just the box which contained the damned ring. Both Charlus and Dumbledore had already started giving the ring, which seemed to be calling out to them, very covetous looks. The first licks of Fiendfyre, which destroyed it, seemed to break the spell. All the same, the two older men were disgruntled by the fact that they could no longer access the magics of the stone. For Sirius and James, it was truly a case of ignorance being bliss.

They were rejoicing, but silently so, seeing how neither Charlus nor Dumbledore were truly happy in the slightest. The older duo was simply staring away into nothingness. "We shall both take your leave now," Sirius diplomatically (!) offered, pulling James away by the arm. Neither was in the know, but both were at least cognisant of the melancholy draped over the two war veterans.

They received an absent nod from Dumbledore, but that was it. Once they were gone, the Headmaster sighed. He knew what was coming. Truly, he did not know what he could say.

The two were silent for a while before Charlus asked a few questions that surprised Dumbledore. Charlus asking questions wasn't surprising, but the questions were. "What would you have done if the spell had not worn off, or if it did not receive the adequate trigger to be released? How long do you think it would have taken for it to wear off? How did it wear off?"

Dumbledore took a small sip before answering. "To all of them, I can honestly say that the answer is 'I don't know'. I can however speculate – but understand, it is only speculation. You destroyed The Wand. Other wands still work for their original owner. The Elder Wand, well you know its lore."

Charlus accepted the answer for what it was worth. He knew the pain that Dumbledore was experiencing. Adrian had taken the curse that would have killed him. Charlus had agonised over the 'what ifs' for years together, and it had nearly destroyed him. "I wanted to apologise to Adrian," he offered emphatically.

Dumbledore smiled wanly. It was very much like Charlus to offer an out to him in a way. "My sister Arianna for me," he replied, finishing off his glass soon after.

"Adrian threw himself in the line of fire. He might have lived instead."

"Arianna died in the first confrontation between me, Aberforth and Gellert," Dumbledore replied truthfully after a delay. "We never knew whose curse took her life."

"I could never look at Susan in the eye again, not till she slapped me silly."

"The guilt never goes away, does it?"

"It doesn't. Dorea and Susan made me swear that I would avenge him."

"It gave you purpose."

"Yes."

"Did you find who did it?"

"Vladimir Djekov, one of Grindelwald's imports from Romania," Charlus replied. "He died before I could get my hands on him."

"I never mustered enough courage to find out."

Dumbledore and Charlus chatted and drank the night away. This was the penultimate strike against Voldemort. The two had almost made it out of yet another war and had seen tremendous losses. When it all ended, they needed to have another of these sessions with Mad-Eye, Abe, Dorea and Augusta in attendance.

Elsewhere, the younger cadre of the Coven partied.

And elsewhere yet, a Dark Lord sat alone on his throne, ignorant of how tight the noose around his neck was, happily plotting a way to make a statement.

And there we are; something to bash Dumbledore with if you haven't considered it and like bashing, and a 'human' side to Dumbledore as a flawed man with good intentions, if you like that. Dumbledore really has very less scope for humour.