Chapter 14: Masks of Betrayal

She scratched her head in confusion as she re-read Elizabeth Atwood's essay on security wards.

' Is she really this stupid?' Septima thought, before another thought occurred to her; 'Or does she think I'm this stupid?'

A slight look of anger passed through her face before quickly fading. The assignment had been to make a simple adaptation to an existing medium-area security ward, not use her sisters work from two years prior.

She sighed in frustration, making a note to call for a disciplinary hearing for the child, academic dishonesty would not be tolerated.

Wards were a subtle art; combining patience, creativity, and an extreme level of control over ones emotions and magic. They were time consuming, dangerous, and - when done right - beautiful.

Few had the ability to properly cast - yet alone create - a unique ward scheme.

She did. As did Bill Weasley, the Dark Lord; and, to her delight - Harry Potter.

Septima felt a tug on the back of her mind as the paperweight on her desk glowed a light pink.

' Speaking of wards…'

"Come in Luna!"

Her door squeaked quietly.

She smiled serenely at the young girl in front of her.

Despite the straggly dirty-blonde hair; protuberant silvery eyes that carefully masked an underestimated intelligence; and an odd appearance that included a necklace made of butterbeer caps and earrings made of radishes, Septima had always had a soft-spot for Luna Lovegood.

Perhaps it was because they both grew up without mothers, that she had always been so protective of the child.

"How can I help you, Luna?" She asked, the slightest hint of worry in her voice - the young 'Claw had, on more than one occasion, been the victim of bullying; a practice she had worked hard to eradicate since taking over as Head of House.

Luna seemed to gaze intently at something behind her, before snapping her attention back to the Runes professor.

"The Headmaster wishes to see you, Professor. He said it is urgent."

Septima frowned; an urgent meeting with the aging warlock was hardly something to look forward to.

"Thank you, Luna, would you like me to walk you back to Ravenclaw Tower? Or are you fine on your own?"

The young girl simply smiled dimly before silently turning on her heel and skipping out of the professor's office.

The hazel-eyed beauty took a deep breath, calming herself while schooling her features into an unreadable mask.

There was no reason to be concerned - at least not in theory -the Headmaster routinely met with his four deputies.

Still, as always, she reached into the hidden drawer on her desk, removing the emergency portkey Bellatrix had provided her with years prior.

' Better to be safe than sorry.' She thought as she began the long-journey across the castle and to the office of Albus Dumbledore.

The generally time-consuming task was shortened somewhat by the use of a few well-placed secret passageways, and in no time at all the warding professor found herself in front of the ancient wizard who had once struck fear into the hearts thousands.

"Septima." He greeted; the morose tone of his normally jovial voice setting her on edge instantly as she fingered the small talesman in her pocket.

"Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice."

"Of course, Albus." She replied, a hint of genuine concern in her voice. "What can I help you with."

The headmaster sighed, standing up abruptly; causing his long, grey hair to partially cover his weathered face.

Brushing aside the loose strands, he began to walk towards her with purpose.

"A few hours ago, your fiancée was attacked by an unknown assailant while visiting Diagon Alley."

Her hazel eyes widened in surprise; "is Sirius okay?" The concern in her voice was real - the last thing she needed was all of her hard work to go to waste.

"It appears as though he will make a full recovery; he is, however, in a medically induced coma while the healers at St. Mungo's tend to his injuries."

Septima closed her eyes as she let out a relieved sigh. "With your permission, Headmaster, I would like to visit him, no."

A quick nod of approval was all the answer she needed before grabbing a handful of floo powder and stepping into the fireplace.

"He's in a coma, Ms. Vector, so I'm not sure what you hope to accomplish." The rude healer stated as she led her through the lobby and into the wing of St. Mungo's reserved for nobility.

"Lord Black is my fiancée, Healer Vassar. I do not need a reason to visit him, especially after the ordeal he has gone through." The haughtiness, she had discovered, came naturally to her.

The healer started to compose a response but thought better of it before leading her into Sirius's private room.

"What can you tell me about his condition?"

At this, she appraised the professor with a cross look. "I am not at liberty to say; however, when Lord Black wakes up he is welcome to fill you in."

The healer could tell her, of course - they were engaged after all - but they both knew she was under no obligation to do so.

' At least not yet.'

Septima eyed the woman in front of her with thinly veiled disgust. Helena Vassar, nee Franks, had been two years ahead of her at Hogwarts, and like herself, had grown up a halfblood in a society dominated by those purer then themselves.

Unlike Septima, the woman had neither the looks, nor the cunning, to improve her status.

"Very well, Madam Vassar." She added with an edge, stressing the fact that she was, and always would be, beneath her; "leave us."

For his part, Sirius looked as though he was resting peacefully, the only outward sign that he had experienced any trauma being his labored breathing.

His peace was no doubt the result of the various potions he was obviously under.

Septima glanced around the room, quickly locating her fiancé's medical chart in the back-left corner.

Taking out a small dagger and vial from inside her robe, she cut a small incision on Sirius's inner left thigh, just out of eyesight.

Making sure to collect the blood in the vial she had snatched on her trek through the hospital.

St. Mungo's, for all their brilliance in securing their rooms against unauthorized magic, was horrifically ignorant of how simple muggle methods could beat even their strictest protections.

Taking the vial over to the sealed medical records, she carefully poured the man's blood on the appropriate seal, causing it to vanish instantly, only to be replaced by a detailed medical report.

"… ruptured kidney… concussion… lacerations to the abdomen;" she mumbled softly, frowning in worry at the last bullet point "… memory charm."

That last line caused her to pause.

' If its been detected, it will be reversed.' The best mind healers in Britain worked in these walls, it wouldn't be long before the charms were failed.

They had been able to stabilize Sirius after a decade in Azkaban, after all.

And years of her work would be ruined.

For the first time since she started playing her little game, Septima Vector didn't know what to do.

Covering her tracks, she hastily left the room. She needed to meet with Bellatrix; and soon.

He grimaced in pain as he reached for the pair of potions that had accompanied his breakfast.

The remnants of the previous night's lesson with Snape cut through his soul like a knife as he slowly downed the second of the two potions.

"What's he doing to you down there?" Terry asked through a mouthful of quiche.

He hated Snape.

He hated that he had to get used to torture just for a chance at survival.

He hated that he spent his free time preparing for a fate he likely couldn't overcome.

He hated that his fight with Daphne wasn't his biggest concern in life.

But you can't outrun fate.

True or not, Voldemort wouldn't leave a prophecy to chance, and if he wanted to live, he'd first have to fight.

He shivered in pleasure as the potions started to take effect, alleviating his pain.

"You have no idea, mate."

Terry began to respond but was cut-off by a desperate looking Septima.

The woman with the kind eyes and carefree smile wore a set of worry on her pretty features and looked disheveled.

"Good morning, Harry." She said, her smile more than a little bit forced. "Would you come with me?"

Harry stood up, briefly sharing a look with Terry before turning to follow Septima, struggling to keep up with his Runes professor as they exited the great hall and into the castle at-large.

"Is something wrong, Septima?" A tinge of anxiety in his voice, her demeanor having set him on edge.

"It's Sirius, Harry. He was attacked."

Harry stepped out of the floo and into the near-empty private lobby of St. Mungo's.

"What happened?" He asked as they passed through security.

Septima stopped, placing both hands on his shoulders as she looked him in the eyes.

He would have found the entire scene over dramatic and humorous, under different circumstances.

"We aren't sure. The second he woke up he asked for you."

They continued silently towards their destination, stopping in front of a set of thick, oak doors, his professor motioned for him to continue.

"The wards are keyed to you and you alone for now." She said, seeming a bit put out. "But do let me know how he's doing, will you?"

He nodded silently before stepping into the room, feeling a jet of warmth flow through him as the wards accepted his magic.

The room itself wasn't overly extravagant; a pair of nightstands flanked either side of his godfather's rather large bed, the bed was paired with an uncomfortable looking chair in the corner - the sound of a wireless crooning gently from its perch on the windowsill.

"Harry!" He said faintly.

Sirius was pale and sickly looking, appearing nearly as bad as when he'd first met him for lunch two years prior.

He must've let the worry show on his face, causing Sirius to speak up.

"Rupturing curse to the kidney combined with a myriad of nastiness, all courtesy of Antonin Dolohov." The pronouncement lacked the man-child's usual carefree tone.

"Death Eater?"

His godfather nodded his head. "One of the worst… I killed his wife in battle during the first war, his cell was a half dozen or so down from my own in Azkaban. He always did say he was going to kill me."

The seriousness in his godfathers statement was another reminder of the savagery of the last war.

The bad guys lost family members, too.

"What makes him worse than the rest?"

"What do you know about Death Eaters, Harry?" Was the reply he got.

Harry paused; 'what do I know about Death Eaters?'

He thought hard for a moment; 'They follow Voldemort and execute his plans.'

His ignorance surprised him.

"Not much."

His father's best friend stared intently at a spot on the wall behind him for several seconds before seemingly coming to some sort of conclusion.

"Death Eaters, for the most part, Harry, fall into five distinct categories."

His voice seemed to gain a bit of strength as he began his lecture.

"There are the passive supporters; those that support most of Voldemort's political aims, such as pureblood supremacy, ending restrictions on possessing certain items, or using certain magic."

Harry could emphasize with that, between his flying carpet and all the books he owned, combined with the spells he had practiced, Harry could earn himself a healthy vacation in Azkaban.

But hating someone based on blood had never made sense to him.

"For the most part, this group is left unmarked; they're the leaks in the ministry who alert Malfoy of an upcoming raid, or the bartenders who let the soldiers use their floo."

He nodded in understanding, patiently waiting for his godfather to continue.

"Then there's the ideologues; those who believe in the doctrine and are willing to get violent to enforce it.

They prey on muggles, woman, children, and anyone else weaker than themselves. They're attitudes don't mean they're skilled, just dispensable. In battles, they're the first to die; Voldemort's hope is that they thin the heard or take out a serious threat or two along the way."

' Infantry.' He thought to himself, reminded of the foot soldiers his muggle teachers had taught him about in primary school.

"The third group." Sirius continued, no longer paying him any attention; "are the intellects."

"The intellects act as a sounding board for the Dark Lord; they're men like Augustus Rookwood; they provide Voldemort with knowledge, or the resources needed to mount a successful campaign."

Sirius paused to look at him. "If you're careful who you trust, you probably won't have to worry about the first three groups too much, Harry." His godfather said, a tinge of pride in his voice.

He nodded in affirmation. "What about the fourth group?"

"The savages." He said in disgust.

"They're like the ideologues, but violently competent. They're the members of the inner-circle who rape, kill, and torture for fun. They will kill without remorse and take great pleasure in doing so. This is the category Antonin Dolohov falls under."

He found the entire topic unpleasant.

"Why did you want to speak with me, Sirius?" He asked, remembering why he had come.

Their eyes met.

"I was nearly killed a few days ago, Harry." He stated seriously, taking a sip of water from a goblet on his nightstand.

"By an internationally wanted terrorist, in public, in broad daylight." The bluntness of his godfathers words caught him off guard.

As if sensing his thoughts Sirius admonished him. "A war is coming, Harry. It does no good shielding you from it." He said, pausing to take another sip of water.

"I need you to know, Harry." His godfather started softly. "That if anything should happen to me, you will be emancipated, and you will be in charge of two 'Ancient and Noble' houses; do you understand what that means?"

He gulped. He would have twice as much voting power as anyone else.

' Time to utilize Terry.'

He hated the thought of it.

The gravity of his situation had suddenly hit him like a bludger.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, focusing intently on the setting sun over the Strait of Dover, back at Flitwick's.

He had been so naïve then.

He found his center, and for a long moment he was at complete peace, causing a pleasant calm to overwhelm his senses; he felt the emotion fall from his face.

"The fifth kind of Death Eater, Sirius?"

His godfather stilled.

"The kingmakers, Harry. They combine intellect with cruelty; these are the best Voldemort has to offer, one kingmaker can shift the balance of the war. They're your Bellatrix Lestrange's, Lucius Malfoy's, and Severus Snape's. They're the Death Eaters Voldemort cannot function without; the spies who provide him with sensitive information and the generals that make his ideas come to life. Be careful who you share information with, Harry."

The comment made him think about his lessons with Snape.

"Snape's 'training' me, you know."

Sirius nodded sadly; "a necessary evil. One of the benefits of training with Snape is that he trains the Death Eaters, so at least you'll know what you're up against."

Harry grimaced as he thought about the cruel lessons but nodded his head in resolution.

"How can we trust Snape to train me, and not report to his master?"

His godfather eyed him sagely. "You can't." Sirius's response was direct and obvious, but in a grim way, he was glad for the honesty.

"Keep your circle small, Harry, and don't tell anybody about our conversations. Somehow the Death Eaters knew how to find me."

For the first time his calm, serious demeanor cracked.

"They found something, during their examination of me."

His godfather sounded fearful.

Sirius paused - as if remembering some long-lost secret; distinctly reminding him of their first meeting.

"Someone obliviated me, Harry." He said, softly; an edge of fear hitched to his normal cadence.

"There's a kingmaker in our midst's." Sirius then handed him a small, crystal vial.

"Don't show that to anyone, Harry." The finality in his voice left no room for argument.

Showing himself out the door he was greeted by a nervous looking Septima Vector clutching a copy of 'Transfiguration Weekly.'

"Did he tell you what happened?" She asked, her voice laced with concern.

He fixed his features into a frown, remembering what Sirius had told him seconds earlier.

"No." He let out a frustrated sigh. "All we talked about was quidditch. He's still complaining about Puddlemore's play at keeper this season."

An amused smile tugged at the brunette's lips.

"Sounds like Sirius." She said with mirth. "Let's get you back to Hogwarts."

He was just finishing up dinner in Riddle's room when the door creaked open.

Despite his dour mood, he smiled at the well-groomed blonde that stepped through the entryway, before standing up to greet her with a hug in the middle of the room.

She smelt of cherry and a hint of vanilla as they both allowed the embrace to linger.

"How's Sirius?" She whispered into his ear, her voice soft and full of concern.

It surprised him, the effect those two simple words had on him, and for the first time in nearly a month he let his shoulders sag and his face show concern.

With anyone else he would hide behind a confident smile and a simple retort; but not with Daphne.

They were too similar, and she knew him too well; but more than anything, he wanted to share that side of himself with her.

"He's weak and contemplative." He answered honestly. "But he should make a full recovery."

Her lips upturned to reveal a beautiful smile that accentuated her high cheekbones and sculpted jawline as her green eyes sparkled in the torchlight.

"He's strong." She answered immediately. "There aren't many people who could survive what he's gone through."

Her confidence in those she believed in. That was one of the things he had missed the most in their weeks apart.

While Gabrielle was confident, it always came off as a facade, as though her own level of confidence rested solely on the re-assurances of those around her.

Daphne Greengrass didn't need such petty re-assurances. For better or for worse, Daphne believed what she said; whether she turned out to be right or not held no bearing on her persona.

"He is." He responded, remembering his conversation with the man from that morning. "The attack has taken a toll on his attitude, he's far more contemplative than I've ever seen him."

It was strange, he thought to himself, how quickly the pair had rediscovered their familiar cadence.

"How so?"

" Keep your circle small…. There's a kingmaker in our midst…"

The words of his godfather permeated his thoughts.

' Do I tell her?' He thought, his eyes subtly seeking out the as-of-yet unopened box Sirius had given him.

"It's family stuff." He said apologetically.

No further explanation was needed; family trumped all in pureblood society, Daphne knew that.

Sensing the finality of his statement, Daphne smiled grimly, changing the subject.

"I recognized the potions you were taking this morning, are you okay?"

He grunted. "Snape is teaching me to 'fight through the pain.'" He said, his displeasure penetrating his voice.

To his mild surprise, Daphne nodded her head in approval.

"Good. You don't escape a real fight by stepping out of a circle."

She paused, glancing around the room in a nervous manner. Her mannerisms caused him to frown; Daphne got like this when she had something to say that he may not approve of.

"You're going to have to use that method on me, you know."

It was a statement, not a question, and he found himself at a loss.

' Could I hurt Daphne like Snape hurts me?'

The truth was he didn't know; he didn't want to know.

Could he direct a torrent of anger and hatred at her? Could he torture her, even if it was for her own benefit?

He shouldn't have to find out.

"You don't need to go through that, Daphne."

The answer sounded weak coming from his lips, and they both knew it was a lie. She had been on this path since before he even knew about magic, there was no way she was going to back down.

"Of course I do." She dismissed. "I'm going to kill her, I doubt it will be easy."

He didn't need to ask who she was talking about.

"I'm not sure I can cast those spells on you, Daphne." His response was honest and full of emotion. "I don't want to see you in pain."

Her eyes narrowed and her body language screamed aggression. "I didn't know you were that selfish, Potter." She spat. "If you can't bear to see me in pain then we're doomed if we ever need to fight."

She was right, of course. There were aspects of magic that were fueled by raw emotion and power, he was handicapped if he couldn't cast them on a whim.

She let him think as they sat quietly, enjoying each other's company for the first time in weeks.

"I saw you finished your poison." He commented sometime later, changing the subject to something less gruesome.

The thought nearly made him laugh. He was attempting to lighten the mood by talking about the poison his nearly fifteen-year-old girlfriend had brewed for fun, in her spare time.

The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on him.

"Parysatis's Poison." She said with pride. "The effects are quite visual."

Daphne proceeded to tell him, in great detail, about the poison concocted by the wife of Artaxerxes II to murder Stateir.

The subject didn't really hold his interest, but he found himself enjoying his girlfriends enthusiasm nonetheless.

"Why did you brew it?" For years he had wondered why she was so intent on brewing a poison. Surprisingly, it hadn't been a subject they had broached.

His girlfriend shrugged. "You never know when you may need a good poison." She paused for a second in contemplation. "I may use it on Avery, Malfoy, and Goldstein if McGonagall doesn't do something about them."

The trio of names caught his attention; two of the three had clear Death Eater ties while the third had been a thorn in his side since first year.

"What did they do?"

Daphne shivered slightly, a cruel smile washing over her beautiful face.

"I came across Avery teaching those two how to perform an obliviation in an unused classroom a few days ago… I told McGonagall, though."

He calmed himself, refusing to let anger overtake him. "We need to keep a closer eye on them."

Daphne gave him an emotionless nod. "Them and Astoria. Her relationship with the little shit puts her in too much danger."

She stepped quickly into the sparsely decorated lounge.

"You're late, Daph." Her sister teased from a small, round table in the center of the otherwise empty room.

The story was the same each week.

Every Tuesday she would receive an overly polite note from her sister inviting her to dinner that Thursday evening, forcing her to respond in kind.

When Astoria had first started sending her those little invitations she couldn't help but be annoyed - it wasn't as though they didn't talk with each other face to face on a daily basis.

But after a few weeks, she couldn't help but come to look forward to the beautifully written invitations; the dinner - the pageantry - had brought the two of them closer.

She smiled softly at her sister; who would always be the first to arrive, only to kindly point out Daphne's own tardiness when she inevitably turned up five minutes later.

Every week they went through this routine.

"I hope you weren't waiting too long."

"Only a few minutes." The brown-haired girl waved off.

Her sister looked physically better than she had in weeks. While always positive, the younger Greengrass didn't always look the healthiest.

Astoria's appearance made her smile, Daphne couldn't help but envy her little sister; despite her illness the girl never lost her caring demeanor.

She quietly conjured herself a comfortable chair, before slightly altering Astoria's for her; layering in a more advanced cushioning spell, throwing in a slight massaging charm for good measure, causing the younger girl to groan in delight.

"Thank you."

"Of course." She said dismissively. "How's Draco?" She started, no need to beat around the bush; Theo had told her that Draco had asked Astoria to the Yule Ball, and that she had said yes.

Pansy Parkinson had apparently been livid.

"It's Draco now, is it?" Her sister responded in amusement.

"He's taking you to the ball, the least I can do is be polite."

She didn't want to be polite. She wanted to warn Astoria, tell her what she had seen.

But she also remembered her father's wishes, and despite her misgivings, she would follow his directive; if push came to shove she could handle Draco.

Astoria smiled, brushing a strand of loose hair from her face.

For the first time she noticed the ornate diamond encrusted silver bracelet - complete with the Malfoy family crest - hanging from her wrist.

"Draco says his grandfather gave his grandmother this bracelet the night they stepped out publicly for the first time." Her sister replied to her gaze.

Draco's grandfather had been one of Riddle's original Death Eaters; a disgustingly violent man who was celebrated in the Prophet for his philanthropic ventures after he died of Dragon Pox.

" Abraxas Malfoy, Ophelia, his death was no accident."

She smiled internally. Bellatrix Lestrange really had told her Aunt everything.

Daphne looked up, indecision playing in her mind.

' What do I tell an infatuated third year?'

"Astoria; you know he's just using you, right?"

She didn't want to break her sisters heart, but she deserved better. Astoria deserved someone who cared for her, not someone seeing her because his father told him to do so.

"I know."

The response shocked her. She knew?

"What do you mean, 'you know'?"

"I'm not stupid, Daphne." The edge of a growl entered her sisters voice, reminding Daphne of her mother; another exceedingly empathetic woman who, when pushed, could roar like a dragon.

The situation reminded her of those arguments she'd share with her mother as a child.

"I never said you were, Astoria. But you're letting Malfoy use you for information about our family."

Astoria looked mildly upset at her statement but remained composed.

"Draco may have been using me, but I believe he genuinely cares for me now." The lithe girl sounded so confident.

"How can you be so sure?"

Astoria looked her in the eyes, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Our conversations have become far more conversational, over the last few months. There's no malice in his voice or on his features, and more indecision in our interactions." She started. "He's had opportunities to ask me deeply personal questions about our family, or to dig for information, and he has purposefully passed them up."

A devious smile crossed her faces; "you're not the only one in the family who knows legilimency, Daphne."

In that moment she desperately wanted to share what she had seen; to warn her of Avery, Goldstein, and Malfoy.

But she knew it would fall on deaf ears - if Astoria had made the same accusation about Harry she wouldn't believe her, and the two sisters were both too self-assured to be talked down without firm proof.

So, Daphne smiled back at her sister, giving her the impression that she approved and changed the subject, though the thought of the disgusting prat was never too far from her mind.

She would have to talk to Harry about this; Draco Malfoy, and his family were exceptionally dangerous, and they had set their sights on her family.

He laughed at Terry's antics as he took a sip of Earl Grey.

"I wanted to impress her parents." He said with a shrug and a smile. "I'm hoping they appreciated the effort."

Harry rolled his eyes; "I thought you rich purebloods all spoke multiple languages."

Terry smiled; the 'Prophet' had filled the first three pages with a breakdown of the Wolfsbane potion, its effects, and most importantly - Melisa Boot, and her company.

When the markets opened the price per share of ' Potent Potions' would soar, providing the Boots with an enormous financial windfall.

' Don't forget about your own windfall.' He smiled; he had asked his financial advisor to invest a small amount in the company; with the approval of Wolfsbane, he could net a nice profit.

"I learned Greek and Italian - neither of my parents spoke French." Terry replied, disrupting his musings.

The pair sat in silence as they finished their breakfast.

"Thank you." Terry said sincerely.

He smiled warmly; "of course."

"My father said it looked as though Professor Tonks was enjoying herself."

And she had. The young dueling champion wouldn't shut up about getting the better of Malfoy.

"Theo says his father will sign the measure once it hits his desk; which should be by the end of the week."

"It's about time you get something useful from the prick." Terry grumbled. "You're wasting your time with him."

" You're the one who insisted that I make alliances; and you're the one who encouraged my relationship with Nott."

Terry sighed; "and I still think it can be valuable, but not if you're not more forceful. You have too much political clout that you're not using; if you wanted to you could threaten to call for a vote removing his father from office."

"And where would that get me, Terry? If we were to kick out Nott, Malfoy would likely be the replacement." He responded.

"Or Bones, or Dumbledore… Anyone can choose to run." Terry countered flippantly.

"The dynamics of the Wizengamot are changing, just look at Dumbledore's failed attempt to raise taxes! If he can't garner support, then there's no sure thing, do we really want to put that position up for a vote?"

"I wonder what he's going to say?" A loud voice from down the table shouted, cutting off Terry's opportunity to respond was Michael Corner, who's off-hand comment drew the rest of the houses attention to Dumbledore, who was standing at the podium.

"Good morning, students." The wizened warlock stated softly.

The greeting elicited a half-hearted response from the students, many of whom were still trying to adjust to the first Monday in December.

"As many of you may have noticed, Professor McGonagall has been absent since Friday evening."

Apparently not many had noticed her absence, and the hall broke out in whispers, most turning towards the Gryffindor table where many of their classmates were sporting sad, nervous looks.

Harry couldn't help but feel a kinship towards the house of the lion in that moment, having experienced the loss of his own Head of House, and mentor, Filius Flitwick a few years prior.

"As of now, Minerva McGonagall has been listed as a missing person by the Ministry of Magic."

Unshed tears sat in the headmasters big, blue eyes as he spoke about his Deputy Headmistress and former protege.

"While the investigation is ongoing, I will pull double duty as both Headmaster and Transfiguration professor!"

His enthusiasm sounded forced, and the attitude in the great hall remained morose.

"Professor Babbling, in the meantime, has agreed to act as head of Gryffindor for the foreseeable future."

Harry glanced at his odd arithmancy professor, trying to imagine him as anything more than a barmy old man obsessed with numbers.

"Poor chaps." Terry stated from next to him.

He nodded his head in agreement before standing up to follow his classmates to potions.

It was a quarter after eight in Sofia when the 'Daily Prophet' arrived at her penthouse in the 'Ivan Vazov' neighborhood of Bulgaria's capital city.

' Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress Missing!'

The headline caught her attention during a sip of her espresso causing her to swallow hard before allowing a small smile to creep across her face.

While Minerva McGonagall had been one of her spies targets, she hadn't expected Septima to act so quickly.

' I wonder what changed?' She thought to herself as she perused the first three pages of the periodical.

There were hardly any facts, it would seem; so that ghastly Skeeter woman had filled in the gaps with three pages worth of speculation on her fate.

The woman deserved to die for her reckless reporting. The bug-eyed woman's series of articles on her disappearance shortly after the fall of her Lord had proven that much; but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. The damn woman was far too entertaining to eliminate.

She turned her attention towards the bland tawny owl clutching an equally bland package wrapped in brown paper.

Neatly unwrapping the paper, she was met with an envelope; and a small, marble statue of a familiar tawny cat.

A cruel laugh escaped her lips, causing the Dark Lady's guards to jump slightly in terror.

' That solves that mystery.' She thought to herself, caressing the small statue gently, rubbing its cheek with her left thumb as she read the accompanying letter.

She snapped out of her revelry, an idea popping into her mind.

" Bilyana!" She yelled, summoning one of her assistants. "Fetch me a quill and some parchment!" She demanded in Bulgarian, an amused smile on her lips.

If the dumb bint hurried, Skeeter would receive the package by night-fall.

She'd have to steal the memory of her receiving this package from the disgusting witch before she killed her.

Bilyana was back with the quill and parchment in under two minutes, three minutes and a quick set of instructions later that same tawny owl was headed back to London.

Bill scratched a few words onto a piece of parchment before pausing to rub his forehead in frustration, as he felt the makings of a headache coming on.

He loved working for Gringotts as a cursebreaker; the challenge, travel, pay, and respect he received from his peers fed his sense of self-worth while also providing him the opportunity to live a comfortable lifestyle.

He could do without the paperwork though.

Shutting his eyes, the eldest of the Weasley children leaned back in his chair, causing the first two legs to lift off the ground.

A few seconds later he returned to his normal position with a sigh, eager to finish his paperwork before lunch.

He worked silently for a few more minutes before noticing a faint, golden glow coming from the snow globe of a dragon chasing a wizard around a field - a gift from his brother Charlie.

Opening his desk, he removed a blood-red ledger, checking the latest entry.

53.7306° N, 1.2345° W

He frowned.

"Hey Rafael!" He yelled across the office, disrupting the work of his colleagues as they shot him frowns from around the room. "I'm going to take an early lunch."

Gathering his wand and his ledger, Bill quietly left Gringotts and made his way to Diagon Alley's apparation point.

It was the third time in as many weeks that Augustus Rookwood had visited that part of Yorkshire, and he was curious to see what kept drawing the man back to such a place.

As he reached the busy apparation point, the red-head disappeared with a soft * pop* before reappearing in the backroom of a noisy pub a half-second later.

Gathering himself, he felt his ledger emit a lukewarm heat against his right breast.

' He's somewhere around here.' He frowned; tracking charms could only do so much.

Stepping out into the elements he shivered as the frigid wind from the North Sea swept across him.

' Welcome to Little Hangleton!' The sign read in bold, black lettering, as snowflakes fell onto his nose before immediately melting, the result of a heating charm.

' What the hell is Rookwood doing in a muggle town?'

Taking a right, he felt the ledger warm slightly, as he made his way down the winding road, and up towards the rolling, snow-covered hills.

He groaned as he trekked through the elements and into the hills, his ledger warming with each step.

Then he saw his target. One hundred meters or so ahead of him, a tall man in heavy robes was walking briskly towards… emptiness?

Then he disappeared.

Bill ran towards his target as the man made his way through a set of wards.

Removing his wand from its holster on his wrist, the cursebreaker was about to begin running some diagnostics before thinking better of it. 'No need to announce my presence.'

The wards were no-doubt designed to inform the keeper of his disruption.

Checking the time, he sighed, realizing his lunch was nearly over.

Making a snap decision, Bill apparated again, this time to Ottery St. Catchpole and the Burrow.

He walked briskly through the light snow covering most of the garden, and towards the door of his childhood home.

"Bill!" His mother shouted in delight as he stepped through the door. "What a lovely surprise!"

"Hi mum." He said with a sheepish grin as Molly Weasley chattered on about the length of his hair.

"I can only stay for a few minutes, is your floo secure?"

Molly looked put out at his proclamation before answering his question; "the headmaster secured it himself."

He nearly laughed in amusement at the irony.

"Would you mind if I borrowed it for a few minutes?"

Not waiting for a reply, he grabbed some floo powder, calling for the headmaster as he threw the dusty powder into the fireplace.

"Albus!" He shouted as his head floated in the headmasters fireplace.

He ignored the judgement from the portraits on the walls as they chastised him for his manners, opting to wait politely for Dumbledore to make his way into his office and towards the floo.

"William! A most pleasant surprise." The headmaster called out in delight. "What brings you to my office?"

"Rookwood."

At his statement the elderly man's face got serious and his wand was quickly in motion.

"What about him?" He asked when his wand finally stopped moving ten seconds later.

"He's gone to the same place three times over the last three weeks; a small muggle village in Yorkshire, Little Hangleton."

The old man's eyes dawned in recognition as he stroked his beard in thought.

"Where does he go?"

Bill got the feeling that Dumbledore was looking for affirmation as opposed to information.

"I don't know." He confessed. "I followed him up into the hills, but he disappeared. I thought it best to alert you."

Albus eyed him through his spectacles, a contemplative look on his face.

"Keep monitoring him, and don't touch those wards; I will be calling an Order meeting for early next week, do let your parents know."

Bill nodded his head in agreement, recognizing a dismissal when he saw one.

Removing his head from the fire, he looked at his mum and relayed Dumbledore's information as he moved towards the door.

"When did you begin calling the headmaster by his given name, William?" His mother retorted before he could leave.

"When he asked me to." He said, pushing some finality into his voice, causing his mum to end her line of questioning; he loved her, but she had a habit of sticking her nose into places it didn't belong.

As he reached the doorway he stopped, turning back towards his mother; he hadn't been by in weeks, and now he swings by for five minutes to use her floo at lunch?

He sighed. With all her children either at Hogwarts or living on their own, his mum had been dreadfully lonely.

"Would you mind if I stopped by for dinner tomorrow?"

The middle-aged witch perked up in excitement. "You're welcome whenever you want, Bill, you never need permission to stop by." She said with a wide smile, which he returned enthusiastically before exiting the Burrow and apparating back to Gringotts.

Harry shut his book with a dull *thud. *

"I'm bored."

The girl in the loose fitting green robes perusing the rooms small stack of books turned to face him, a curious glint in her green eyes.

"What do you suppose we do?"

He paused to take a look around their room, taking the time to admire the oak loveseat with velvet upholstery he was currently sitting on. It had taken him days to weave the cushioning enchantments with the enchantments to make it stain proof.

He tapped his fingers nervously on the table in front of him.

"How about we check out the Chamber of Secrets?"

She eyed him blankly for several long seconds, allowing the possibilities to play out in her mind.

"It's too dangerous." She finally responded.

He huffed in frustration, standing up to meet her.

"You've encouraged me to learn all sorts of magic, including from Voldemort, for years but you don't want to explore one of the few legends this world has left? I thought you wanted this, isn't that why you kept Riddle's identity from me?"

She smacked him, the sound reverberating around the stone room. "Don't you ever insinuate that I'm discouraging you from learning." She started.

He rubbed his cheek gingerly with his left hand.

She continued; "remember the locked drawer? You could have been killed."

He frowned as he glanced over the shelf containing vials of the poison Daphne had brewed.

Harry had been a novice when he had last tried to open the drawer, he had barely studied runes, yet alone ward schemes and theory.

He had been too impulsive, and it had almost cost him.

' Do I want to risk it?' He and Daphne had just made up, did he really want to risk another fight?

"I'm going to at least go and run some diagnostic spells."

Daphne growled, but followed him out of the room nonetheless.

The pair were given a wide-berth as they walked the corridors leading to the second-floor girls lavatory.

It was strange, he thought as they passed a group of fifth years who were shooting he and Daphne nervous looks as they walked by, to think that people were afraid of them.

They had never attacked or bullied a single student, yet rumor, their aptitude for dueling, and being placed in advanced classes had given them this reputation.

They stopped in front of a worn, wooden door; "you go in first." He commented. "Scare out anyone who's in there."

She smiled wickedly. "Will do."

He relaxed at her response; despite his assertiveness in wanting to visit the Chamber, he truly didn't want to risk another fight with Daphne.

The fact that she appeared to be eager to see Slytherins mythical chamber for herself calmed him.

A few seconds later she popped her head out, motioning for him to come in.

Stepping through the doorway he frowned.

The loo's at Hogwarts were generally well-maintained, but that wasn't the case for this particular lavatory.

Faded stall doors hung loosely on their hinges, a puddle of water sat undisturbed in the corner while two of the four torches in the loo were extinguished.

The entire room was eerie.

"What the hell happened here?"

Daphne shrugged; "Moaning Myrtle normally haunts this place. I don't think people come in here often."

He accepted the explanation easily enough; the last thing anybody wanted was an insane ghost rambling at you while you tried to use the loo.

Remembering Riddle's instructions, he made his way to the appropriate sink before taking a knee and examining the plumbing underneath.

He smiled as he saw a single, stationary snake engraved on the back of one of the pipes, he had been waiting for this opportunity for years.

Seemingly reading his mind, Daphne loudly cleared her throat.

He sighed as he removed his wand from its holster, moving it in a simple pattern before letting out a smile.

"There are no protective wards on the entrance." He stated in giddiness.

Daphne took out her own wand, repeating his spell.

' Did she really think I didn't check?' The lack of faith stung a little.

Begrudgingly he let it go, returning his attention to the plumbing in front of him.

The small snake was hard to pin down, wiggling just out of view every time he tried to get close.

From behind him Daphne wore an amused look on her face; causing him to redden in frustration.

" Stop!" He hissed, startling himself - he hadn't meant to switch into parseltongue, the change occurring naturally.

The snake stopped instantly, allowing him to get closer.

Concentrating on speaking directly to the snake, he spoke again.

" Open." He hissed.

The two watched in awe as the bricks separated, revealing a dark, dimly lit staircase descending deep into the bowels of Hogwarts.

Harry cast a few more spells to ensure their safety before stepping unharmed into the dirty passageway.

Daphne soon followed, and the pair slowly made their descent towards the Chamber of Secrets.

His girlfriend looked around the narrow passage in disgust; "scourgify!" She mumbled under her breath, cleaning a swath of the dirt and grime from the stairs in front of them.

Harry repeated her actions, cleaning each stair as they made their long descent towards one of the world's most fantastical legends.

Tom Riddle's research had referenced several scholarly essays on the topic of the founder's secret chamber and what Historians could learn. Everything from lost knowledge to a portrait of the founder himself was rumored to occupy the space, and that wasn't even including whatever Voldemort had left in there.

They stopped suddenly. The stairs having led them to a plain brick wall.

Remembering what he had learned about illusions, Harry crept closer, a feeling of dread overcoming him as he did so.

' This isn't right.' He told himself. 'We need to leave, NOW!' Harry paused muting the thoughts clouding his mind, not recognizing the ward scheme attached to the wall.

From his right he could see Daphne trembling slightly.

Furrowing his brow, Harry cast several spells, hoping to figure out what was protecting the Chamber.

His frown deepened as the wall in front of him rapidly changed from green, to orange, to blue.

He had never come across this unique set of wards and took a moment to examine the arithmancy powering the security measures, making sure to note them in his ever-expanding journal.

"It's an illusion combined with a severing ward and some sort of trauma ward… I think."

Combining the two individual wards with what he assumed was a custom-made trauma ward to create an entirely new scheme was clever - if anyone wanted to dissect the ward they would have to overcome the trauma ward, which was no small feat.

' I wonder if I put my occlumency shields on blast if that would neutralize the trauma ward?'

Daphne shivered as she raised a manicured eyebrow; "you think?"

He let out a groan, knowing what her response meant, this would end his trek for the day. "I need to do some research to confirm."

Daphne's green eyes shined with approval, lifting his spirits slightly despite the situation.

"Good." She stated simply. "We can comeback when you're certain."

Harry nodded his head in tepid agreement before turning on his heel. Despite the outcome, he found himself smiling as they made their way back towards the castle. Riddle's signature had been all-over that illusion, whatever he was hiding, Harry would discover it soon enough.

"Now close your eyes."

Sirius closed his eyes, making sure to control his breathing as he did so.

"Very good, now tell me about that summer."

Sirius took another deep breath, clearing his mind.

The process took several minutes, he never had been the best Occlumens.

Sirius had been working with Healer Adams for nearly a week now as he recovered slowly from the attack.

After several hours of probing, they had first discovered that his memory was altered in the summer of 1993, now they were trying to discover when, and more importantly where his mind was altered. Once they were able to accomplish that, the who would generally answer itself.

"It was Harry's thirteenth birthday at Grimmauld Place." That's where the remnants of the charm could be traced to.

He imagined Healer Adams shaking her head in approval, a bright smile on her full lips.

"What did you get him for his birthday?" She asked softly.

The Obliviation Charm was one of the most commonly misunderstood charms he had come across. You couldn't just erase a memory from someone's mind, like most thought; rather those who had studied the charm new it was much more complicated than that.

When cast properly, the charm acted in two parts.

First as an internal notice-me-not charm, diverting his attention away from the affected memories. Second the charm then slightly alters the desired memories, just in case a discovery is made. The latter acted as a fail-safe against the former, giving the charm an added layer of protection.

"Several books, a set of dueling robes, some sweets."

Sirius paused, he knew there was something else there.

' There was another gift.'

Sensing his frustration, Healer Adams cut in; "who else was there for Harry's birthday? Can you tell me that?"

The entire session reeked of deja-vu; he had been stuck at this point for days.

He took a deep breath, taking his time to search for the answer.

' We were at Grimmauld Place; me, Harry…' He thought hard, his brow furrowing in frustration; he knew who he thought would be there but making guesses would only hamper his recovery.

Memory charms were difficult to undue. Once the specific event was identified, the healer would have to slowly work to undue every aspect of the charm; one wrong move and Sirius could lose his mind for good.

He took another calming breath.

' Me and Harry…' He thought as he felt something tug at his mind.

Following the tug, he saw Remus.

"Besides Harry and I, Remus Lupin was there in shabby grey robes. I handed him a sack full of galleons and told him to buy some new ones. He initially refused, but Harry told him couldn't be seen in public next to someone dressed so shabby."

"Very good, Sirius." The soothing voice of Healer Adams seemed so distant.

Staying in his meditative state, he saw another flash; a young woman with long, pink hair in stylish black robes.

"Nymphadora Tonks, my cousin, the duelist was also there." He added. "I remember telling her that her robes were a little too form fitting for my liking. Septima mocked me over that comment for a week!"

The realization hit him like a pile of bricks, crashing into him and making him lose his focus.

Opening his eyes, he saw Healer Adams smiling at him, her curly red hair glistening in the sun.

"I had just given Harry tickets to the London Invitational."

He shivered involuntarily. ' Is that where it happened?'

The mind healer gave him a large grin; "I think that's enough for today, Lord Black."

"Do you think I'll make a full recovery?" He asked hope permeating through his voice.

He didn't like the fact that someone had tampered with his mind. The thought scared him; if you couldn't be safe within your own mind, could you be safe anywhere?

She nodded her head in affirmation; "you have isolated the main events, it won't be long now."

He let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Rose. I'd be lost without you."

The middle-aged woman blushed prettily at the compliment. "It takes a strong man to go through the process of healing his mind."

It was his turn to blush as the attractive witch packed up and headed towards the exit.

Neither noticed the rat that followed Rose Adams out the door.

She sat motionless under a disillusionment charm in the back, left corner of her room, giving her a perfect view of the door.

She was waiting for Septima to show up to this urgent meeting she had called.

' She's late.' She thought angrily.

Several minutes passed before the rotting, wooden door opened, revealing the hazel-eyed Head of Ravenclaw.

"You're late." She admonished.

Septima didn't immediately respond, trotting purposefully towards her, greeting her with a passionate kiss.

She felt her lovers tongue slide across her lips, begging for entry.

Septima Vector was just an angry third year when Bellatrix met her; a bundle of talent alone in the world, surrounded by destruction, begging for someone to show her the way.

Look at her now.

"Sorry." The beautiful woman responded a minute later. "Dumbledore has asked me to replace McGonagall as Deputy Headmistress, I got held up over paperwork."

She frowned internally. She never knew what the woman craved more; her, or power.

Outwardly she smiled, Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts - not a bad accomplishment for a woman still in her twenties.

"What about Snape?"

It was no secret that Dumbledore trusted the man completely, while Septima's promotion was a pleasant surprise, she had expected Snape to be in the better position.

"Severus is a capable wizard, but a poor professor who most of the school abhors. I was the logical choice."

Her smile widened; Septima had positioned herself masterfully.

' She's learned well.'

"Very impressive, Septima." She said, deciding to pay her spy a compliment. "I enjoyed receiving your statute, it was a nice touch."

Septima blushed, "thank you."

"You said you had information for me?"

The slightest bit of indecision passed over the features of Septima Vector.

"Sirius knows he's been memory-charmed."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

' I was dragged to Hogsmeade for this?'

"Yes, I know. My cousin will have to be eliminated."

Septima gave her an angry look.

"And waste two years of my life? We need to find another way."

She contemplated her words; leaving Sirius alive would risk exposure but keep their plan intact.

' It's not worth the risk.'

"You'll just have to convince Potter to name you Lady Black."

"You cannot be serious!"

Bellatrix smiled, she couldn't resist the taunt.

"No, I'm Bellatrix!" She said in a cruel, mocking tone, raising her wand to Septima's throat.

Septima didn't flinch, meeting her challenge.

The woman was fearless.

"Your position at Hogwarts is more important than the Black gold. Now do you have anything useful for me, or not?"

She harrumphed.

"Harry and Greengrass believe they know where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is, I thought it could be useful."

Bellatrix's blood ran cold.

' How the hell did they know that?'

One of the Dark Lords most treasured secrets was known by Potter and Greengrass.

"Did they say how they came across this information?" She asked; her voice a deadly calm.

Her change in demeanor caused Septima to take a step back involuntarily.

"Someone named Riddle told them."

She shivered again; 'did Dumbledore tell them?'

Then another, more devastating thought occurred to her. 'Did Ophelia save those memories?'

' Of course she did.' She realized. Those memories were priceless in the right hands; if Potter and Greengrass had access to them…

"Thank you, Septima. You may leave."

The younger woman frowned; "my other assignment is going well. Don't you want to hear about that?"

The woman was so needy, always seeking approval.

"Tell me in a letter." She snapped, before composing herself.

"You've done exceptionally well, my love." She added, her voice much softer as she kissed her lightly on the lips. "Now I need you to go."

Poor Septima lost her entire family in the waning days of the war. Bellatrix honestly had no idea who killed her family; her forces, or the Ministry's.

But she had taken the child in, given her an outlet for her anger and her need to prove herself, teaching her everything Bellatrix knew.

Much like Ophelia Greengrass had done for her.

She frowned. She would have to be more cautious than dear Ophelia.

As Septima reached the door, Bellatrix called out one last time - the question having escaped her lips before she could temper herself.

"My nephew Draco, how are things going with him and Astoria Greengrass?"

Septima turned around, offering her a perfect smile.

"They're attending the Yule Ball together, and Draco has given her the bracelet Abraxas gave Lucile Yaxley."

Their son Lucius was starting to become a thorn in her side as well with his clumsy attempts at extracting information.

"Thank you, Septima. We'll talk soon."

Bellatrix left the room ten minutes later, her life significantly more complicated than when she had arrived.

' McGonagall Killed by Lestrange!'

Read the headline of the Prophet on the first Sunday in December.

Skeeters article seemed to dampen the spirits of the normally boisterous student body. While not unexpected, the murder of their transfiguration professor had been unsettling, to put it mildly.

Around the Great Hall a kaleidoscope of emotions played out on the faces of the rooms occupants.

Disgust, sympathy, and, above all else, fear rang out among the hall.

If Bellatrix Lestrange could get to Minerva McGonagall, a woman who rarely left the safe confines of Hogwarts, who would be next?

Up at the staff table he saw a new emotion playout on McGonagall's replacement; anger.

Septima appeared to be angry at what she was reading in the Prophet, and he couldn't blame the new Deputy Headmistress - McGonagall was a wonderful teacher and a well-respected member of the community; for her to be murdered in cold blood, after all she had done for generations of Hogwarts students was unfathomable.

He was disturbed from his observations by a tap on his shoulder.

"Mr. Potter." A nervous looking Ravenclaw said. "Mr. Bagman wants to see all the duelists down at the quidditch pitch.

Across the hall he could see similar messages being delivered to Daphne and a handful of other students.

Harry smiled and thanked the small, pale boy before catching Daphne's eye and motioning towards the door.

"What do you think this is about?" Daphne asked quietly as they followed their contemporaries into the frigid December cold.

He cast a warming charm on himself as they stepped onto the magically snow-free stone path, heading towards the quidditch pitch.

"I'm not sure." He started, grabbing Daphne's hand is in his, allowing their fingers to entwine. "Tonks did tell us that there could be surprises."

She accepted his response, choosing to prepare herself mentally rather than give him an answer.

A low whistle drew his attention forward.

In front of him, the quidditch pitch had been structurally transformed from a thin, oval shape, complete with bleachers on either side of the pitch; to a circular structure surrounded by seating, and a number of monitors floating above to display the action.

A monitor outside the structure showed the circular arena had been partitioned into four distinct landscapes; a thick forest, an open field, several small rocks surrounded by water, and a ruined cityscape greeted the competitors inside.

On the outside of the arena, the thick snow danced in the wind, bouncing off an invisible set of wards.

The whole display looked like some sort of inverted snow globe.

Ludo Bagman greeted the group as they entered through the wards.

"Welcome everyone, to the battle portion of the dueling competition!" The former beater said with gusto, causing his fellow competitors to whisper excitedly amongst themselves.

"Today's competition is simple; last person standing, wins!"

Harry found himself grinning widely at the proclamation; ever since he had seen Tonks compete in a battle he had been yearning to try this type of dueling out for himself.

"The pitch, as you can see, has been transformed into four distinct arena's, the last person standing in each quadrant will be able to move about the arena freely!"

"What are the rules?" An athletically built Russian grunted out from a few meters away.

Harry recognized him as Petr Federov, the Durmstrang seventh year who should have been their champion.

At this Bagman shot Dumbledore a look.

"There shall be no immediately lethal spells, or the use of spells that cannot be reversed. There is a full team of healers on standby shall we need them, this event is meant to test your awareness and skills in a battle situation."

There was more than a hint of sadness to the headmasters normally jovial voice.

Federov accepted the answer with a nod as Bagman quickly explained the rest of the rules before assigning each competitor a quadrant.

Harry took his designated place in the third quadrant, nestled between a moss-covered rock and a swath of trees, taking his time to observe his surroundings.

He was situated on a small hill, providing him with a clear line of sight of the rest of the quadrant.

Along with himself five other people waited nervously at their stations, waiting for the horn to signify the start of the competition.

Of his five immediate competitors, Corine Bletchley posed the biggest threat; the seventh year Slytherin Prefect had come close to winning the sixth and seventh year dueling title the previous spring, coming up just short after a well fought battle in the final.

The others would provide little threat to him; Marietta Edgecombe could barely hold a wand while the other two looked equally incompetent.

" 3,2,1, BEGIN." Bagman's voice shouted, signifying the start of the battle.

Harry was immediately off, deciding to focus his efforts on Corine while letting the other three defeat themselves.

He moved swiftly to the right, partially down the hill and towards the thick forest where he had seen Corine on her platform just seconds before.

The trees blotted out the unnatural light, causing him to walk quietly through the foliage in near darkness.

The density of the forest filled the air with oxygen and the smell of mud and pine needles, he found the entire experience to be slightly disorienting.

' Maintain your focus, Potter!'

A twig snapped somewhere to his left, as a French wizard appeared a dozen meters ahead of him.

He remained out of site, pondering his next move.

He had been waiting for an opportunity to practice his long-distance casting, and the unsuspecting wizard had provided him with an excellent opportunity.

He continued to stalk his victim for several minutes, deciding to act when they stopped.

Harry paused briefly, formulating a plan in his mind before lying flat on his stomach and taking aim at the clueless bastard.

He had the higher ground and using the trunk of a thick oak tree as cover, Harry inhaled calmly, focusing his magic as Dumbledore had mentioned, and Moody had taught him.

' Stupefy.' He thought.

The spell, normally a thick, red light, came out as a narrower, finely tuned beam.

It rushed forward, hitting the poor sap straight in his chest, ending his battle before it ever really began.

He continued to make his way through the forest listening for any disruptions that may clue him into Corine's location.

He didn't have to wait for long as a puff of smoke appeared ahead of him and to the right.

Silencing himself, Harry took off at a sprint, hoping to pick off another victim.

He soon came across a creek bed where Edgecombe had apparently teamed up with the Durmstrang boy to attack Bletchley on their own.

The strategy was sound - neither could take the witch on their own.

They probably planned on using the same strategy on him.

Casting a disillusionment charm over himself, Harry waited for a quarter minute before losing his patience.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he animated the exposed roots of a tree to attack his housemate, while Bletchley finished off the Durmstrang boy.

The pair faced each other, quietly, a curious look settled on the ugly girls horse-like face.

Bletchley was tall and lanky, reminding him of his estranged aunt.

He smiled, moving quickly, refusing to start the battle on the defensive, he sent a handful of slashing curses and bludgeoning hexes at his opponent.

The Slytherin girl deflected each spell with ease before rapidly returning fire.

Harry didn't have to block her first wave of spells, choosing to run forward in a zig-zag pattern, keeping close to the ground to minimize himself, he closed the gap between them before ducking behind a large boulder.

Smiling, he tapped his head and marveled as the illusion took hold, and a half-dozen Harry Potter's appeared in various strategic locations, surrounding his remaining opponent.

Corine shot one of the illusions a frustrated glare before unleashing a burst of fire from her wand, lighting up the whole area and causing his illusions to fail.

He frowned, having expected the his spell to last longer.

' I'll have to work on those.' He thought to himself.

Maintaining his composure, Harry took aim again; 'fulminis!' He retaliated as a large bolt of black lightning came crashing down on his opponent, filling the girl with electricity, causing her to drop her wand and writhe in pain.

He heard the crowd gasp slightly but put it out of his mind as he felt the wards containing him begin to disappear.

The rock was slippery; she thought as she took a glance around.

She was surrounded by a moderately sized body of water, interconnected by various sizes of rocks, none bigger than a standard dueling platform.

' I just had to be put in this stupid quadrant.' She frowned, envying Harry's position.

She took a glance around at her opponents.

Constantine Heidelberg, her opponent from the first set of duels, stood on a formation to her left, while one of his classmates, a close-shaven, mousey boy stood on a platform to her right; a pair of unknown witches and Angelina Johnson stood across from her.

She noticed the subtle glance the two Durmstrang students were giving each other.

' They're going after me.' She realized.

Constantine had been furious at her after his defeat and had spent the last several weeks glaring at her when he thought she wasn't looking.

' Maybe if he had spent as much time on dueling as he fantasizing about me he'd have a chance.' She smirked.

The horn sounded, and the battle began.

Daphne immediately erected a large, golden dome; the slick rock platform she was occupying had made it impossible to dodge without falling into the water below.

Her hunch paid off as a handful of spells died on her shield a half second after the horn sounded.

The spells stopped, and Daphne leapt into action; sending a horde of piercing curses at the unknown boy.

Her wiry target bounced to a new platform, but she didn't let up, spraying a vat of acid at the boy; hitting him in the face, causing him to hiss in pain.

The boy tried to retaliate, but was no match for her onslaught.

The slight boy dropped his wand before jumping into the water, ending his battle.

' Coward.' She thought in disgust.

In her haste to defeat the unknown boy, Daphne had opened herself up to Constantine's attack, and she felt a burst of magic tear through her robes and into her back.

She hissed in pain as she felt blood seep from the wound caused by the boys severing charm.

The wound hurt like hell, but she'd taken worse.

' You'll have to do better than that.' Daphne snarled in anger before a calm passed through her, and she knew what to do.

Smiling, she pointed her wand downwards, hitting the water in front of the long-haired redhead with an overpowered 'Ignem Aestifer.'

The hellfire caused the water surrounding her opponents platform to boil violently, creating a thick plumage of steam that began to envelope Heidelberg.

The Durmstrang champion let out a series of pained, labored, screams as the steam began to burn his exposed skin as large blisters began to cover his neck and face.

Heidelberg was eliminated, and Daphne idly heard the referee issue her a warning, but she didn't have time to savor her victory, pointing her wand at the nearest rock, she transfigured it into a large bridge that would lead her to Johnson.

Her final opponent was the only person in the competition to be competing in both the dueling and quidditch portions; the Gryffindor champion, she frowned, may have a slight edge in athleticism, but she was the better duelist.

The thought calmed her as Johnson closed the distance, seemingly having decided to end their duel on the bridge as opposed to the rocks.

' Smart.' She noted.

The black girl had removed her ability to dodge, which, in the Gryffindor girls mind, was the only reason Daphne was successful.

The waves beneath them began to rock her shabby rope bridge back and forth as a gust of wind tore through the arena, causing her hair to dance in the wind.

Daphne smiled a cruel smile, hastily closing up the wound on her back before launching into her attack.

Johnson shielded expertly, not slowing her pace.

The chaser, despite her athleticism, spent most of her defensive efforts on shielding instead of blocking, leaving her susceptible to being overpowered.

She let up her attack briefly, giving the older girl a quick opportunity to counter while she caught her breath.

Daphne parried several spells quickly before the need to finish the battle overtook her.

" Isboller!" She said softly, before repeating the incantation several more times.

At each proclamation several spheres of ice shot out of her wand.

Her opponent made to hastily shield, only to see her shields fail, allowing several of the sharp spheres to embed themselves in Angelina Johnsons chest.

A light breeze caused the neck-high grass to sway as he stepped out of the forest and into the field.

The position put him in an unfavorable position as he stepped into the largely exposed quadrant.

He immediately ducked low, pausing to come up with a plan.

It would take him forever to find the remaining duelists in this grass.

He smiled as he realized what he had to do, and with a flick of his wand the landscape was ablaze.

Hot fire and thick smoke tore through the arena as he applied a bubblehead charm to himself and waited patiently for the prey to come to him.

He kept low as a well-built Slytherin sixth year jumped into his path.

The boy barely had time to react before Harry stunned him.

At the other boys defeat, a loud horn cut through the arena, and the circle surrounding the competitors began to contract and shift, leaving the four remaining competitors to each occupy a corner of a small, square, muggle park complete with swings, trees, and a slide.

If he hadn't known better, he could have sworn the park was the one Dudley used to chase him around as a child.

Diagonal and to the right he saw Daphne, he used the small break in the action to catch her eye and offer her an encouraging smile.

The blonde girl stood across from Petr Federov, the mean-looking seventh year from Durmstrang.

Opposite him, a pretty French witch in a ponytail was eyeing him with disdain.

He barely had time to take her in before her rapid spell fire was raining him down.

Harry dodged expertly in return, dancing around the increasingly dangerous set of spells, drawing her towards a small smattering of trees.

A piercing curse tore through one tree, causing a piece of wood to splinter off and shallowly impale itself in his abdomen.

He grit his teeth, moving to his left gingerly, returning fire with a dozen conjured, burning arrows, causing the French witch to put up a hasty defense.

' She's not used to being on the defensive.' The girl with the ponytail was exceptionally quick and was probably used to finishing off her opponents in one salvo.

With that realization, Harry pushed himself out of the trees, unleashing a barrage of spells from his wand, hoping to bring down the witch's shields.

Finally, he broke through, hitting the witch with a combination of a concussion and trauma hex that he had learned from one of Riddle's diaries.

The combination of dizziness and terror rendered the girl useless as he turned to see a bloodied Daphne getting taunted by a laughing Federov.

The Durmstrang boy casually threw spells at the rapidly tiring girl who was covered in blood.

Anger flowed through him as he hurled several pain curses towards the cruel boy.

Noticing him for the first time, Federov hit his girlfriend with an unknown orange curse, knocking her over instantly.

Daphne began to spasm violently as healers appeared near instantaneously.

The older wizard turned to Harry and paused.

For a second the two foes faced each other; Harry, his robes stained red with blood, Federov untouched.

It was Harry that broke the calm; conjuring several jagged, metal discs and sending them at the Russian boy in front of him.

Federov conjured a slab of stone to absorb their impact before launching into his own torrent of spells.

Harry rolled forward and onto his feet before quickly batting away another spell, returning fire with one of his own.

"Very good, Potter." His opponent taunted. "Almost as good as I was at that age."

Harry growled, sending a series of curses back at his opponent.

He watched as the older boy dodged.

' Left, back, left, forward, right, right, left, back, left, forward, right, right…'

He smiled grimly, memorizing the boys pattern.

Timing the boys movements perfectly; Harry unleashed an organ rupturing spell, followed by a bone splintering hex right as his opponent moved to take a step forward.

Federov howled in pain as both spells hit him in the chest, but he didn't give up, returning fire with a series of powerful bone breakers back his way, catching him in the left arm.

Harry grimaced, but didn't budge; transfiguring several pebbles into a swarm of bees and directing them back towards Federov, hoping the nuisance would buy him several seconds of precious time.

To his surprise, instead of taking care of the bees, the older boy allowed himself to get stung, returning fire with a dark red spell that rotated towards him like a boomerang.

Harry attempted to dodge, but the spell changed course, chasing him around the arena before catching him in his ribs.

Blood came flying out of his mouth as Thor's Hammer shattered his rib cage and punctured his lung.

His breathing was labored as he came to a horrifying conclusion.

' I'm going to lose.'

The thought of looking weak in front of all these people, on an international stage, terrified him.

He couldn't allow it to happen.

Mustering up his remaining strength; Harry rolled behind a wooden bench, remembering a piece of advice Snape had given him.

" Pathetic Potter." Snape sneered as Harry struggled to his feet. "What would you have done if this was a real war? If I was trying to kill you?"

His breathing was getting more and more difficult as he remembered Snape's lesson.

" There will come a time when you are facing a hostile enemy who has you beat and is looking to end your life." His instructors voice had almost sounded sympathetic in that particular moment.

" What will you cast to save your life?"

He had pondered that thought for days, and had spent hours perfecting his pis aller.

Harry grimaced and gathered his strength, rising to his feet.

With as much agility as he could muster, he hobbled to take cover behind a large sycamore tree, howling in pain as a bone breaker shattered his ankle.

From somewhere in the distance Federov laughed.

' He's toying with me.' He realized, the thought infuriating him even more.

His arm shaking in pain and exhausting, he raised his wand.

' Jahannam.' He cast with a cruel smirk, before repeating the spell twice more.

Several balls of beautiful, black flame rocketed towards his opponent who's eyes were wide as saucers at his reckless use of the Arabic spell.

The small balls of fire were capable of cutting through just about anything.

The first two balls of flame missed, but third caught Federov in his arm, severing it from his body completely, causing him to howl in pain.

A direct hit would have killed him.

There was no applause coming from the stands now, just stunned silence.

Involuntarily, he glanced at Snape, who was staring at him with a mild look of approval on his face.

Daphne too, he noticed, seemed to approve of his methods.

"Hogwarts is disqualified!" The referee's voice reverberated throughout the arena.

As the crowd began to whisper among themselves, Harry's world went dark.

The rat scampered his way through the open door and across the dull, brightly lit atrium of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

It was a little past two in the morning and Peter Pettigrew's anxiety grew with each passing hour.

The former Marauder paused to wait for the night-nurse to finish her rounds in the "Private Sector" reserved for only their most important clients.

The hospital reminded him of the muggle hospital his mother had taken him to after his father had passed away, forcing him to live his teenage years as a muggle.

Pettigrew waited patiently for several long minutes before the young nurse exited the door, providing him with the perfect opportunity to slip in unseen.

It was strange, the two lives he had lived; the black sheep sidekick to a group of overachievers, the faces of the status quo who had turned spy for the revolutionists.

He and Severus had more in common than the potions master would like to admit.

That thought had always made him smile; as children he couldn't have comprehended fighting alongside the bitter boy, now it seemed like a natural fit.

Slipping unseen into Sirius Black's room, the rat transformed back into a human.

The pudgy man stared at his one-time best friend as he slept in the plain hospital room.

Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew had been inseparable once-upon-a-time. Running around Hogwarts playing pranks on the masses and earning the adoration of most of the school.

They had been gods, impervious to punishment - what would have gotten most people expelled, barely garnered them a detention.

At least Sirius, James, and Remus had earned their adoration; he had remained James and Sirius's sidekick - their assistant. The kid who would be lost without the charity of his improbable group of friends.

He smiled a cruel smile, his buck teeth glistening in the moonlight.

' Petrificus Totalus!' He thought, the spell flowing from his wand and hitting the snoring man.

Sirius's eyes popped open, quickly filling with fear when he realized he couldn't move.

"Good evening, Sirius." He said calmly.

His old friends eyes widened in recognition, before filling with hatred.

Pettigrew smiled. He had never seen a more honest emotion on the man's face.

"How's the work with the mind healer coming? Do you remember yet?" He asked casually, as if the pair of old friends were just catching up.

He smiled again as he pictured Sirius trying to remember.

" He remembers seeing Bellatrix at the dueling tournament."

Septima had been worried that Sirius would remember her own involvement at any moment.

The reality of the situation seemed to have an effect on his old friend, and realization flashed through Sirius's eyes, causing his malicious smile to widen.

Peter leaned in close, his nose nearly touching that of his tormentors and stared him directly in the eyes.

"She never loved you, Sirius." He whispered. "I just wanted you to know that before I kill you."

Pulling out a syringe, he smiled at Sirius one last time.

"And after your gone, Padfoot, she's going to deliver Harry to the Dark Lord."

He plunged the syringe into Sirius's IV drip before heading towards the door, pausing to take one last look at his old friend.

The arrogant child who lived to be an arrogant man was crying, spending his last few moments on earth completely defeated.

A satisfied smirk crossed the rats face as he disappeared from the room.