Chapter 23 Shocks, Surprises and Beheading

Star Wars + Harry Potter Crossover

Chapter 23 Shocks, Surprises and Beheading

A/N : There is a sad thing in this chapter...please hold all dislike over it until the end of the next chapter... also I am without a usable pc from friday till monday and never got good at writing to my phone so...the next chapter may be delayed in publishing...but its...large. So give me a few days grace please...

25th July 2000

Albus Dumbledore's eyes kept moving from his hands, over to Fawkes on his perch, to the spread of newspapers on his desk and then finally back to his hands again. How, he wondered, had it gone so wrong in only a month.

Gringotts Britain Closes: Restricted Access To Fortunes Available In Other Branches. Purebloods And Ministry In Uproar!

That had been the start of the puzzle, Dumbledore thought, that and the disappearance of the House Elves.

The Wizarding World was supported and maintained by three social and economic prongs (although it was never talked about in polite company). The first prong was the slowly expanding control and the subjugation of the Goblin Nation.

They trained the most advanced civilian force, and given semi regular budget cuts often more advanced than the Aurors themselves, by training Curse Breakers. They diligently took care of the Wizarding economy and kept it healthy as well as in direct competition with it's muggle counterpart. They were also the main, if not only, contact makers and executors of the Wizarding World handling over ninety percent of their legal business.

Then the British Clan had left without a trace and no answers were forthcoming from the other Clans about where they had gone.

Just like the second prong that was the House Elves. Business had collapsed from that alone, the wizards in a panic, people scrambling for hope and the few that survived were hunting for another workforce that could replace it and coming up quite empty.

Though they had been unable to track where either had gone they had lodged with both the I.C.W. and the Goblin Nation. For a moment, once that was done, the sheeple of the Wizarding World had felt like they finally had a ray of hope that pierced this dark cloud they found themselves under. Those two days of waiting for intervention had given the people time to breathe and they had used it, quite predictably, to complain often and loudly to both the Ministry and the I.C.W.

They had even blamed Dumbledore himself, as the head of that illustrious body, for all of their ills.

It was obvious that they had never taken an interest in international politics as, to Dumbledore's frustration, being the nominal leader of that body granted him great prestige but little real power. He was, and had been long before that elevation, Britain's voice on the I.C.W. but as its leader he could only enforce his choices more than any other member when there was a clear cut tie in the votes. Aside from that it was a largely bureaucratic and ceremonial role.

When the responses from both the I.C.W. and the Goblin Nation came the answers were both predictable and lacked the usual dithering nature that the public had come to expect from their own politicians.

Though Dumbledore had allies in the I.C.W. he currently had more enemies and such a great change to their existing edicts, like the one that was being demanded by the British contingent, required a large majority to pass. It wasn't a surprise to Dumbledore then when the body was resolute in their refusal to allow anymore House Elves into Britain.

After all, they had argued, if you had already lost so many why should we trust you with more?

Worse they had promised, and in some cases enacted, strong penalties around any trying to bring House Elves back into the country. Smuggling, they called it, as if trying to save your businesses and livelihood could ever be seen as a crime.

At least they were relatively polite, though stern, about their refusal and their accusation. The Goblin Nation was never known to be polite but rather more like the instruments of war they once favoured. Sharp and to the point.

They happily replied with the knowledge that what they had done was no crime and they were smug in the fact that there was nothing wrong or illegal about their actions. Simply withdrawing from their treaty with both the Crown and Wizarding Britain was something that was fully within their rights to do and they only exercised those rights. When it was pointed out to them that the clause of their withdrawal meant that they could have no banking interests in Britain for two hundred years they seemed remarkably unconcerned.

The mystery of their actions only deepened when they had not only returned, but did so happily by all accounts, the land on which the bank once was not to the Ministry but to the Crown.

The fact that the Queen had an older and far more legal claim mattered not at all to Dumbledore. After all it was a piece of Wizarding Britain and, to him, all of Wizarding Britain was his to do with as he pleased and he wasn't even consulted. They had even moved the majority of the vaults to their sister branch in Paris and therefore out of Dumbledore's control.

When the Wizengamot complained (spurred on by the purebloods in their midst) that the cost of International Portkeys as well as the fact that they could only withdraw three hundred Galleons at one time and that the majority of their fortunes were effectively frozen the Nation was unfazed.

The I.C.W. were unmoved as well as, after all, they had their own fortunes and relationship with Gringotts to consider. Added to that their own international laws prevented large amounts of money crossing borders without special permission and a heavy tax (around forty percent).

When the few allies that Dumbledore and by extension the Ministry had on the I.C.W. had pushed at the Nation to both return and resume business as usual their reply had killed that support and, worse than that, made it disappear as if it had never been there at all.

They, or rather their guest representative to the body, had not only pointed out the illegality of such an act but also asked if they wanted any other branches to be closed in the same way. He (Dumbledore assumed as all goblins looked the same to him) had gone on to say that if the pressure continued they might find themselves doing that and that Gringotts, in its long career as a financial institution, had never welcomed outside interference in their business.

The third and final prong, as well as possibly the most overtly exploited, were the muggleborns themselves and they were fleeing en mass like a horde of rats thanks to some bright spark in the Ministry.

It had all started with a simple conversation that, unlike prudence dictated, was not held behind closed doors and away from others ears but rather in the open and very public Ministry Cafeteria.

No one knew who had started the conversation but it was Albus's private opinion it was the idiot of the highest order. It was likely a drunk pureblood as even those that were drunk were able to easily get a job at the Ministry if they ever wanted one.

Soon many had heard the conversation and one of the dirtiest and most unspoken secrets of the Wizarding World was out before anyone could stop it. After all most Aurors were at least from half blood families with a fair few (due both to budget cuts and the fairness of Madam Bones) being muggleborn themselves.

Muggleborns were denied jobs, that much was common knowledge, but what wasn't known was that they were also much more heavily taxed. In everything from food that they bought and the clothes that they wore to the very wands that they depended on daily. It was a sliding scale but, roughly speaking, if a pureblood would be taxed three percent then half bloods would be taxed ten and muggleborns forty five.

Someone had allowed them to find out about it and, worse than that, they had quickly discovered the proposed backup plan for dealing with the House Elf problem. Though only in the planning stages the Ministry intended to take up to one third of of the children of muggleborns or the magical children of muggles and use them as new labour.

What the inept and bigoted Ministry didn't realise was that most muggleborns, especially former Ravenclaws, kept in contact through an informal network primarily to support each other. They mostly helped each other out with jobs and cheap places to live but now, as of the news breaking, it was used to help them flee as quickly as possible.

Many had crossed the channel where they were welcomed with open arms. A few had taken International Portkeys before the Ministry could react and some, no more than a few hundred by their estimates, had disappeared as completely and with as much trace as the House Elves. They simply didn't have the manpower to adequately stop them all however and many were still leaving the same way.

It had taken Dumbledore a week to rally enough support to open the empty warren that used to be the British Branch of Gringotts. The hope was that there was some money or assets left in the tunnels and, if not that, that there would be some clue as to where they went as there were simply too many goblins gone to be absorbed into the other branches.

The Ministry was in desperate need of money, the country was falling apart, so they didn't take much convincing to go looking for gold. Dumbledore also hoped to find some record of Harry, if not some money, as his Vault was not on the publicised list of those that moved to France. The Ministry did have some reserves that they could draw upon but most of that emergency fund had been spent by the Minister on bribes for his last campaign.

This meant that the fund, that was supposed to last a year, would barely allow them to make it to the end of August and was worse than useless given the crisis that they faced.

They had only just managed to break down the front and very thick enchanted doors after using a hastily assembled and rune encrusted battering ram. That it had taken them over two hours and was a testament to the Nations skill.

Although the majority of the wards had ceased to function when the Nation had given back the land it was not the Ministry that (technically) had rights to it but the Crown instead. That meant that any traps that they hadn't removed would see the wizards that entered as trespassers and react accordingly.

When the Ministry had entered they had lost many of their remaining 'finest' due to those traps but, of course, neither the Minister nor Dumbledore were actually there at that point. Before he could make his own, now safe excursion, to the Vaults the next headline had slapped him in the face.

Harry Potter Trains In Secret And Moves Lordship To France.

How that seemingly innocuous sentence irritated and angered Dumbledore. He had searched the length and breadth of Britain for Harry but he had been so sure that Harry hadn't left England as it was almost inconceivable for someone to apparate that far undetected, especially someone of Harry's limited power and his age, and the International Portkey terminals were still on high alert for Britain's most famous son.

The fact that he went to France and the Gringotts branch there held the majority of the wealth of their greatest and brightest to virtual ransom was a coincidence that he was not willing to accept.

He couldn't even rail at the French Ministry or Gringotts for that as, if he did, not only would he be putting literal fortunes at risk but he would be leaving himself open to questions as to why he had never trained Harry and how he had lost him. Those were questions that Dumbledore definitely wished to avoid.

His head had slapped into the palm of his hands multiple times when he remembered that the Nation was able to, as a sovereign power, issue its own portkeys. This was, he believed, how Harry Potter had managed to slip the multiple nets that he kept casting to catch the wayward boy.

That didn't explain how Harry had managed to stop Fawkes from catching him on the three separate occasions that he had sent him to get Harry. After the first attempt Dumbledore had checked the dark bindings on the mythical bird fearing that he might have somehow slipped his leash. He was soothed by the fact that they remained strong and tight over the bird.

When he found that Harry couldn't be retrieved he came to the logical conclusion that someone powerful was protecting Harry and that they had at least one phoenix themselves as he knew of no way of stopping a phoenix except with the use of another. This was especially apparent to him after the last time as the wounds were so severe that Fawkes had to enter a burning day early to recover from his injuries.

None of that boded well for Dumbledore as either it was someone who had bound a phoenix just as he had or, in the worst possible case, someone who had legitimately attracted the bird.

Anyone who had attracted a familiar in that way, though not necessarily light despite the myth they that they had to be, would both be firmly moral and resolute in their convictions. They would also have to be very powerful and were clearly deeply opposed to his own plans or they would not have taken Harry in the first place.

He couldn't know that the shadowy person that caused him hours of worry and strife didn't exist. It was instead actually the wild phoenixes of Spero that had been given a home by Harry felt indebted to him and would protect him, as much as they could, from any agent of Dumbledore. Harry himself wasn't even aware that they were even doing it.

Still when Dumbledore finally entered Gringotts after it was disarmed of traps on the upper levels he was, more than ever before, certain that he would find papers and records on Harry's whereabouts and his dealings with an unknown third party. He was also hopeful that he could claim an impressive amount of gold (some of which would have to go to the Ministry) even if it was only from Harry's Vault and perhaps some other accounts that were unclaimed or inactive.

Instead of any of that however he found that the Nation were as efficient as they were irritating as, in all but one Vault, they either simply found more traps or Vaults were stripped completely bare. Then he had reached the main Potter Vaults and, despite his earlier disappointments, he had felt an uprising of hope in his chest as he entered the cavernous vault.

Only to find thirty pieces of silver in the center of the room placed in a delicate pile.

As he sat there, with the papers strewn on his desk, and worried about the past an idea occurred to him. He thought that he knew of a way to draw Harry to him that he hadn't considered before but, true to his luck these days, before he could use it he would have to double check his idea with a few books from the Headmaster's private library that was off of his office. Before he could begin however more bad news struck as it really hadn't been going well for him lately.

"Headmaster" said Mcgonagall who was out of breath and haggard looking as she burst into his office "Severus has disappeared".

Placing the book to one side for a moment he pretended to listen attentively and, while he used his occlumency to record the conversation, his mind was on one Petunia Dursley nee Evans who could draw Harry back to this very office.

Sadly it would require almost all of her blood, she was essentially a squib and it required magic related to Harry to work, as due to their indirect familial relationship more was better. She wasn't likely to survive the process but as long as she served her purpose he wouldn't care at all. It wasn't like he cared for her in the slightest as, at this point, he only cared for the part that she could play in his Greater Good.

The day before Dumbledore found out about Snape's disappearance Voldemort was having his own issues. Given the fact that he was a Dark Lord who, in theory, was being hunted by two separate but linked groups that wanted him dead and the fact that he dealt primarily with similarly dangerous and unscrupulous people similar to himself his problems were unlikely to make the Daily Prophet.

His death or great success would though.

He had fully intended to capitalise on the recent upheaval to full effect but, as he sat in his 'throne room' at Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton (at the moment not much more than an empty dining room with a suitably large and imposing chair in the centre of the room with a small table next to it) he knew that he was currently unable to do so for two very good reasons.

The first was that he was suffering from the same monetary collapse caused by the Nation as everyone else. As a bastard of Slytherin he had always been unable to access their Vault and therefore his sources of finance came from the enlightened pureblood families that had always banked, like everyone else, with the traitorous vermin. That, along with the fact that the I.C.W. was watching the borders like a starving bird of prey, severely curtailed both his financial stability and his recruitment efforts both here and in other nearby sympathetic countries.

The second, and to him the more pressing issue, was the unknown man who had taken his wand and arm.

Granted due to the fact that this body was a magical construct it had been a very simple matter to repair. It had only required milking Nagini dry of venom and a short and simple ritual to restore his body back to its former pristine condition. This was because it was made, in part, from her venom in the first place as it had nourished the baby form that went into the cauldron at his resurrection.

He had lost his wand as well and that did bother him because, although he was skilled in wandless magic, his knowledge of magic that didn't use a wand was limited. There was also the fact that Nott's wand was a poor match for him but was also the best of a bad bunch. Besides it wasn't like Nott needed it anymore as he was assigned to watch the Nation and anticipate changes. He had failed and for such a spectacular failure there was only one price to be paid for that.

What galled him, what angered him and kept him staring viciously into the middle distance, was that no one had managed to injure him so badly before especially when they were outnumbered. They simply wouldn't have dared to try. He was used to people fleeing or cowing before such was the fear that he had once inspired.

Nott wasn't the only one to die and that too was thanks to his masked enemy. He was not unaware of the irony when his useful Death Eaters were being killed by a masked and unknown enemy. The remaining rank and file were jumping at shadows rather than inspiring the fear that they should and simply put they were being quietly and effectively hunted so that now there was a deep and abiding feeling of fear among them all.

Knowing that Harry Potter was currently in France somewhere he had sent, before the deaths, his nine Inner Circle Death Eaters to hunt down the boy and the majority of the other ninety one Death Eaters were left to sow terror in the small groups amongst Wizarding Britain.

Almost all of them were dead now (there also used to be almost double the one hundred that had served him before they died in their cells at Azkaban) with only an almost terrified thirty regular Death Eaters in total remaining and only four of his Inner Circle.

They hadn't known what was happening at first.

It had begun with seeming accidents or the targets dying in ones or twos before help could arrive and in places where such things, though rare, were not unheard of. Places like Knockturn Alley were well known for losing customers in their streets where the idiots would soon become food for the hags and other things.

Soon though they were dropping in greater numbers by the day and it wasn't long before a few rescue teams had spotted the blasted masked man leaving the scene of his grisly work. He had tried to fight back in the only way that he knew how, by terrorising the innocent, to both hopefully draw his enemy out and instill confidence once more in his servants, but it had gone horribly wrong.

He also was beginning to suspect that this new enemy was a Seer of some sort as, no matter what he tried, when his followers hit 'soft targets' such as muggleborn homes the death toll certainly rose. It was on the wrong side as far as he was concerned however. They started dropping in larger and larger groups, often attacked from ambush, and something had to be done.

So he had sent five of his Inner Circle along with the next attack that included ten normal Death Eaters as well. It was a massacre and the fact that his best, his chosen, were all decapitated by a man with a glowing sword was reported by the last surviving Death Eater who was purposely left without his arms or legs.

It was an outright declaration of war against him and he had to respond but he was at a loss how to do so.

So he had retreated and regrouped. He had kept his servants close and quiet while retasking his remaining Inner Circle Death Eaters Bella, Rookwood, Lucius Malfoy and Snape to find out who this masked irritant was and destroy him. He had even raided the books he had access to to provide them temporary protection against Seers just in case.

His main target, Harry Potter, was in hiding and could be enticed or forced from his bolt hole and killed at his leisure once things were more secure if absolutely necessary. He didn't want that though as, no matter insignificant, the whelp and what he represented was a threat to his power.

Oddly he felt more comfortable here than at one of the lavish Manors of his followers. This was the place where his family was born, at least part of it, and was simpler...more pure. It was also much more defensible even with the magical alterations that he had made to make it larger, fit more people, and make it much more imposing.

They had not been foolish about their search, from the reports they received (though thanks to the I.C.W. responses were too dangerous), and had split up into two groups. This pairing had worked very well in the past with each pair managing to work well enough together that they were almost a single organism. The calm calculating and patient nature of Snape paired well with the delicious fire and passion of Bella. Rookwood's planning and Malfoy's unorthodox tactics worked just as well in a similar fashion.

They had progressed across France well and Snape and Bella were due to report back to him at any moment and he couldn't wait for the inevitable news of their eventual success. He dreamed of destroying the upstart and watching the life slowly drain from his eyes. Then he would certainly reanimate the body for further experiments and he desired to do so over and over, killing and reanimating in a multitude of ways, until he was bored.

Two days before Dumbledore's introspection and revelation as well as the day before Voldemort was waiting for his report from his most trusted Harry had just finished sparring with Luna who was now mercifully free and clear of the conflict between her two gifts.

Harry was privately amazed at her progress as they sparred.

He had worked with her every single day, often twice a day, and it was paying off handsomely. In the morning he would work with her to release her gifts and utilized them fully followed by sparring with their blades and a light lunch.

After lunch they would separate to do their own things, sometimes each studied different magic while enjoying the relative closeness of the other, sometimes they studied the more esoteric uses of the Force and sometimes Harry would leave on errands or other duties and meetings that he would have to go to.

They would always meet later for more sparring or further Force instruction that often ran until dinner. After which they would, without fail, just talk. The spoke as they used to before, slowly both coming to fully trust the other once again, and they soon realised that no matter what course Harry's life had taken and how different he had become in some senses the bond that they had shared was still there.

Though Harry could tell that in both the Force and magic he was much more powerful than Luna, about half again at least by his most conservative estimate, like anything else in life her gifts were unique to her and she was better at certain aspects of both the Force and magic than he was even now.

She was better at sensing living things, plants and the like, and making them grow and healing the Jedi way as well as gaining the trust of animals. Harry for his part was always more inclined to the more warlike aspects of the Force such as almost every branch of Telekinesis, Force Lightning and Mind Trick. Not that either was deficient in the others area of expertise merely that somethings were more natural to one and not the other.

It was not even that Harry was in anyway surprised by her rapid progress and the strong pace with which she absorbed this knowledge (she was a Ravenclaw after all) and although True Seers had an aversion to learning occlumency she didn't have that particular problem anymore.

True Seers were quite wary naturally of trying to improve their memory, as they seemed to enjoy being able to forget anything even things that had nothing to do with their visions, and Harry honestly could not blame them their yearning to forget given their circumstances.

Occlumency would take time of course but her other studies were still progressing fantastically without it and he could only wonder sometimes how quickly she would absorb information with its assistance.

Her father's situation also helped ground her.

Once the facts of the current situation had been explained to him he had decided to settle fully in France, though still publishing his paper as he loved it, and Harry had commissioned the Nation to build a small cottage less that five minutes walk from them. This allowed everyone their space but also meant that Xeno could visit his daughter and vice versa whenever each wished to.

When Xeno had grumbled about the cost of building a brand new dwelling from the ground up just for him Harry had waved him away smiling. It obviously made Luna happy and that was more than enough for him and made the money spent of no consequence as he would have gladly spent a hundred times that to make her happy and call it a good bargain.

It wasn't only that she was grounded though. He suspected that it had something to do with her being a natural Force User, more than any he had ever seen except perhaps Yoda (for all his faults), as when he tried to access both the Force and magic he had to mentally divide himself beforehand or take a small moment to switch gears as it were.

Luna had no such problems with using both simultaneously, albeit one hand would form the conduit for one and another for the other, and it was fast becoming not only a very useful and adaptable skill but a dangerous one as well. She was advanced enough, in Harry's opinion, that she would be ready to build her very first lightsaber within a few days.

Combine all that with her preferred lightsaber form which, unlike Harry was not Form V but rather Form IV Ataru and she became an unpredictable nightmare to her enemies with a lightsaber in hand. She would happily combine the two gifts while sparring to not only attack from unconventional angles and acrobatically move away but rain down the fires of magic as she did so. Both she and Harry also had a soft spot for Makashi and would happily fall back on that on occasion as well.

Harry fully intended not to stop giving extra time to his lightsaber styles until he had fully mastered Forms II,V,VI and VII and had already made significant headway in the endeavour over the years. Luna, on the other hand, was more content with eventually mastering Forms II and IV (at least for now) when it came to lightsaber combat.

Somehow, Harry thought, I think if she had been taken to the Temple she would have easily ended up a Sage rather than a Guardian.

At length their practice stopped for now. Though he was proud and impressed with her she still had a long way to go and it showed in the fact that she was almost completely drenched through with sweat while Harry, in contrast, was barely winded.

As much as Harry would have loved to spend the day with Luna though he was, at this moment, trying very hard not to stare at her sweat covered form or be distracted by the way her upper body heaved while she caught her breath. He was only partially successful given that her clothes were light, and with the sweat making them almost see through.

He also had things to do today and he had already asked her if she could spend some time, in the early evening, at her father's cottage. She in her way had agreed already sensing that it was important that she not be here later.

"Why does the lightsaber deflect spells?" she asked, noticing his looks and with a light blush, trying to distract him from what caused it. Not that she didn't like it, quite the opposite actually, rather it was merely that they had some slowly moving but well defined lines in their relationship that neither were ready to cross just yet.

"When I met the Nation, back then, they had some ability with wands and on a whim I sparred with a few. I know only that it does and, I assume, that like a blaster bolt magic is merely another form of energy. It is not foolproof however, certain spells like Bombarda have an effect if they hit near you if it hits something else, like the hilt, and always remember that a lightsaber deflects what it does not hit".

"So you don't really know" she teased.

"Not really no" he said and then continued in an overly pompous voice "but with magic, like with life my young Padawan, there is always more to learn".

"Yes Master" she said in exactly the same tone he used and doing a fair mimicry of his voice as well. After a moment they both chuckled and, when they had finished the smiles stayed on their faces.

"What" he asked turning serious once again and after collecting himself "are you going to do today?"

"I thought I'd study a bit more of the Compendium of Curses Volume Six why?" She answered while Harry moved over to his armour on a stand. He softly caressed it, his fingertips brushed the still present symbol of the Democratic State of Almania though he had removed the symbol of the Jedi Order, and he smiled slightly even as he readjusted his lightsabers power setting with a flick of his thumb while still leaving one lightsaber with Luna.

Despite its main purpose and use the armour reminded him more of the good he had done rather than the battles that he had seen.

"Be careful of the back few pages. They are more than a little bit tricky" he replied even as he began to buckle on his armour. He then placed his helmet on his head "I'm off to run my errand".

"Be sure to be back before two. We have a late lunch with the Longbottoms. Don't you think that it's high time we explained things to them?"

Harry had been so busy lately that he had honestly forgotten his promise to speak to Neville. He had sent him a Goblin Portkey that would send them to a high end (and out of the way) restaurant with private rooms before Gringotts had closed its doors. The fact that it was run by squibs that were beholden to House Potter for their first loan was a bonus.

His face fell at the idea of meeting them and, though he tried to cover it under a bland mask, Luna saw it clearly.

"Don't worry" Luna said softly "they will understand. Even if not everyone might they will".

"I only wish I could be so sure" he answered " I only wish I could send them a message instead".

He realised that had been very lucky in people believing his tale so far. Granted he had certain technologies that would help convince people but he was still asking them to take a lot on trust especially with his conclusions about Snape and Dumbledore.

Thankfully, though it hadn't happened for centuries, Ancient and Noble Houses properly raised their Heirs to be wary of such manipulations. Once upon a time there were far fewer laws and certain types of attacks were much more common.

It was most likely one of the many reasons that he had been placed where he was so that he would simply be unaware and very very trusting of Dumbledore.

A dull and familiar pain began in his chest. Since he had been back he had found he had realised that one very important thing was missing. When Harry returned Hedwig was missing and no search, no spell and no meditation on the past or future had found her.

"We will find her Harry" said Luna soothingly easily reading his expression as if he was an open book. Then again, by this point, he pretty much was that to her. He nodded to show that he understood but, far from leaving the house he began to head in deeper. Luna's curiosity got the better of her. "Are you not going to go straight out?"

"I have something to do first" he said while moving up the stairs and heading towards his houses third bedroom that, with the help of the Nation, had long ago been converted into a fully functioning and possibly the most comprehensive ritual room that was still confirmed to be in existence.

When he opened the door, instead of a bed and furniture that one might suspect in a room of its kind, there were runes littered all over the walls all designed to send every scrap of magic (both wizarding and natural) into the center of the room. In that centre was a circle of runes that had taken months to sketch out, let alone complete, and all the runes were filled in with minute traces of New Atlantis Metal.

Along one wall was a shelf that stretched to both ends of the room and on it were three unremarkable hemp bags. One of those was small, one average and the other fairly large. Harry quickly approached them and took the average bag and, just as fast, unceremoniously dumped its contents into the centre of the circle where they stuck like glue given the rooms magical nature and natural charge.

In the circle was a piece of Voldemort's arm that Harry had taken (specifically three of his fingers) along with a replica of a priceless crown and an unbreakable vial of Harry's own blood.

Rituals ran on the twin ideas of symbolism and sympathetic magic and so it was not the worth of the items, necessary, or the difficulty of finding them that mattered but rather how closely they represented (to the caster and, sometimes as in this case, the target or targets) what they were supposed to.

The fingers therefore represented Voldemort's fist and symbolized his will made manifest through violent action. The crown represented his most prized possessions, his Inner Circle, as he did think of himself an undisputed ruler after all, and Harry's blood a link between the two as it symbolised that which had helped the Dark Lord be resurrected and bound together his desire to rule and his belief that the Inner Circle would obey him always.

Harry quickly and carefully began to chant. He didn't actually understand the words but he understood their desired effect. This lack of understanding was forgivable to most as the words he was sounding out in his chanting were the almost complete definition of a lost and dead language. These sounds, both oddly guttural and almost as beautiful and light as music, were last spoken as a common tongue on the lost island of Atlantis.

It had taken both his recon droids and the Nation centuries to piece enough of those words together to form this ritual. A ritual that might never be needed of course but, the beauty of time travel, allowed Harry to set in motion many plans and ideas most of which never came to fruition and this was as it turned out one of his better ones.

At length his voice built to such a level in both volume and power that he was soon yelling into the uncaring stone walls even as small tremors echoed around the room. The tremors only increased as he began to reach the end of the words that he was speaking to such an extent that, if he hadn't given Luna some hint of what he was doing, his houseguest might have been running up to the room in a blind panic.

Then everything stopped for a single heartbeat, as if the world itself had woken and was judging his efforts, and then as suddenly as the pause began it too stopped.

The pieces on the floor began, one by one, to be consumed with a dark black and greasy flame. First the fingers, then the blood and finally the crown were completely and utterly destroyed by its power. Harry watched intently as the flames first rose into one great bonfire that reached the ceiling and then slowly died down even as he regained his breath and wiped a veritable stream of sweat from his face with the back of his hand.

When the flames finally died Harry smiled at the ash they had left on the floor.

Co-ordinates.

More specifically there were two sets of coordinates but, given that it was a ritual, it didn't just give numbers in the usual fashion but also managed to give representations of his targets.

Harry admitted to himself that he was very lucky that they weren't more dispersed than they were as it could have taken forever to track them all down although one of the reasons he had waited till now was that there were currently only four to find.

On the left hand side of each set of coordinates, directly underneath them in fact, were animal representations of his targets made from the same ash that had produced the numbers.

On the left hand set was a snarling dog that seemed to shimmer with ashy saliva that dripped constantly from its muzzle. Next to that was a bat in mid flight that was half obscured by shadow and radiating a feeling of cold and calculating mence.

On the other he saw a fox moving slowly through the brush, alert for any sign of danger or treachery, and a snake slowly moving but only when you weren't looking directly at it.

Harry, having studied the pictures intently for a few moments, nodded having made his choice.

He then left with a silent pop hoping that his chosen targets hadn't wandered far from where the ritual showed they were in the meantime.

While the other pair were rooting around Potter properties Snape had used his (at least to him) genius level intellect to ferret out an informant in the French Ministry of Magic. Of course this was only due to his intelligence and had nothing to do with the fact that the other three were wanted criminals and couldn't enter the French Ministry without being arrested on the spot for their crimes.

While not as corrupt or cowardly as it's British counterpart there were still those that respected, or feared, his Lords power. It hadn't taken much for Snape to find someone to tell him what he wanted to know and, with the appropriate application of money and fear, he soon had the information that he required.

Still security was better across the channel, especially with the internationals looking in, and the fool could only get the information out before he was caught by way of a letter but thankfully when they had met Snape was in full Death Eater gear and he couldn't be identified to a legal certainty.

That information was only one word and that word was Vauquelin. It had taken him sometime to find any information on the old and reclusive family but, at length, he had found records of a single dwelling somewhere between Paris and Calais. The records couldn't be more specific because he couldn't afford the attention that would follow his inquiries and the fact that even the records themselves were under some of the strongest security charms that he had ever seen.

Obviously, he thought, it was protected in a similar fashion to Black's former house as there would be no other reason a mind of my caliber would be unable to find more information on it and even the information I found was very difficult to get. He had gotten Black though and he was determined to get Potter too. Crossing the channel may have been very difficult but my Lord is generous, intelligent and powerful.

Their victory was almost certain in his mind.

Thinking of his Lord led him to thinking of his recent past and that brought a true and vindictive smile to his lips even now. He was aware that creating four amulets that allowed his most trusted had caused his master to be exhausted for over a week but he was also aware that, when he left, his Lord was protected. When he had left the other Inner Circle members were back in Britain and, though he had been out of two way contact since, they were capable even though they were not him.

They couldn't afford to draw too much attention outside of Britain until they could face the I.C.W. from a place of strength but that little issue did nothing to lessen the relatively recent successes in Snape's mind.

The death of Black still warmed his heart like a very fine wine and he happily revisited his memory of the man's death often. It wasn't that he was aware of the Dark Lord's trap, no one ever completely trusted a spy after all, but then James Potter's spawn had told him of Black's supposed peril and like a gift from heaven Black's life was suddenly and beautifully placed into his hands.

He had not only enjoyed delaying the 'reinforcements' as much as possible for the 'kidnapped' Black but he had volunteered to go with the team and had even managed to make himself look suitability surprised when they all realised that Black was not only not in peril but it was actually the Golden Boy in danger.

It had of course culminated in Black's death and a moment of incandescent joy for Snape personally.

Though he would have been disappointed under other circumstances the fact that the Potter brat had come a hair's breadth from dying himself but that Snape had also got to see him die took the edge off as it were. If he could not have Harry Potter dead then, to Snape, the fact that the boy proceeded to torture himself endlessly with guilt over the death of Black was icing on the cake and almost as good to him.

It would only make Potters eventual death sweeter in his mind.

Truthfully Snape, though currently certain of Voldemort's victory, didn't really care who eventually won the tug of war for the country. He was only concerned with his own survival as well as hopefully coming out on top. In fact there was only one thing that the vile and twisted man cared for more than that and it was for himself and only himself.

Getting his revenge.

Not on Voldemort or Dumbledore but on the ghost of James Potter. Lily Evans was his and only his as far as he was concerned. He was the one that had found her as a young girl and, in his mind at least, had claimed her as his then and there.

Everything had been going well for him for sometime after that as his property, that was what she was, had been given a Hogwarts letter and all the pieces of his plan were falling into place. She had grown to trust and care for him more and more before they left for school and, as time went on, seemed to be as interested in him as he was in her.

Then it had all started to end for his plan when they had been sorted into not only different but rival houses in school.

Right then, Snape thought with hatred and ire, Potter had stolen her. The bastard was not just content with tormenting me unjustly but had managed to steal, to forever corrupt and taint, what was clearly mine. He had turned her against me.

All of these things had led him to the present, to the veritable wilderness between Calais and Paris, with the Dark Lord's personal hound looking for that irritating and unlucky brat. Not that Snape was unhappy with his task, at least not completely, as he was certain that Voldemort would torture and kill the unlucky and big headed boy slowly. He was hoping of course that he would be allowed to watch and that idea sent a shiver of pleasure through him.

The only reason that he did not do so himself when he had seen the boy in his crib, so very long ago, was because of that thrice cursed life debt that James Potter had so unfairly tricked him into so long ago. He wanted the boy to die of course but if he ever knowingly attempted it with the debt still active he would have died himself before a single syllable could pass his lips.

He was also unhappy with his choice of companion for this venture as Bella was snarling and muttering to her self often and he found it not only needless but quite distracting to boot. He personally only really valued her as a terrifying fighter and had long ago realised that you couldn't get anything that passed as straight conversation out of her until she had blood on her hands.

"I don't know why we are bothering to follow your lead" spat Bella with as much sarcasm as the man woman could muster even as she stared at the vibrant green french countryside as its very existence offended her on some deep and intrinsic level.

"What do you suggest?" Snape responded just as sarcastically. Just because they were both bound by the Dark Mark and Voldemort's favour it did not mean that they were bound to any sort of fellowship or affection. In other times the Dark Lord quite enjoyed the infighting that often ensued between two of his favourites.

"I don't know or I wouldn't be here" she snapped before proving Snapes judgement of her character correct when she continued after a moment. "Still.. It doesn't feel right if I don't have some screaming wastes blood on my clothes before at least my bre….".

Her words ended in a gurgled scream as she collapsed with a sizable chunk of her side and chest missing.

Snape was already moving, paranoid to the end, spinning on the spot and already casting a shield to protect himself. Numerous dark spells ran through his mind as it was flooded with his bodies adrenaline and his breathing grew louder and his eyes sharper preparing for the fight to come.

In front of him (and filling him with more than a little fear not that he would ever admit it) he saw the masked killer that they had not only told him about but was also the one rumored to have taken the Dark Lord's arm in combat.

Though Snape could not see the face behind the mask he did know, mostly from his own experiences behind one, that there would be no pity there and he would find no mercy in that bland expression.

With a snarl of anger and fear he began to fire every single dark curse that he knew, including the killing curse, in an unending and ever increasing stream of hatred. He screamed them and was casting them so fast that his wand burned so hot that it was blistering his hand as he tried to destroy his faceless enemy.

The sword that the man carried, the same one that probably injured the Dark Lord so grievously, strange though it was to Snape batted away his best attempts like they were flies. Combining that with an almost superhuman ability to turn his body ever so slightly so that the ones that were not deflected missed him (sometimes by less than half an inch) meant that the man's slow and measured steps were bringing the two closer. Even those that got through, few that they were, almost seemed to curve around his enemy.

Despite his best efforts the only effect that Snape could see was that he was maring the beautiful countryside.

No matter what he did the man still continued to move forward steadily and slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, as if this wasn't a battle to the death for him but rather a pleasant stroll on a sunny afternoon. It was almost as if Snape was beneath the man's attention or at least only the same amount of attention that someone would give a very annoying gnat buzzing around his head.

Still that gave Snape an idea. Although whatever his opponent was using stopped truly damaging magic for whatever reason, at least that directed straight at him, he had the idea to cast magic that would either impact the masked man indirectly or do not lasting harm. Given that the man was getting very close he couldn't effectively do the first for fear of injuring himself but he could do the second.

Although Snape was a very accomplished Potions Master he had, as a Death Eater, focused his combat skills on either killing his opponents quickly or torturing him for Voldemort and neither spell set particularly helped him here. He knew his limitations and he was certainly ruthless and cruel but he was not (and never had been) a champion duelist.

He was not the kind of man to ever to give up however. He had etched out his place as a halfblood in Slytherin House by never moving an inch and utterly crushing any opposition. He had also never given up on his (justified in his mind) hatred of anything Potter and his belief that Lily Evans was stolen from him. He would never stop, never give in, and his growing bitterness fed into his magic fuelling his abilities to new heights.

With a face twisted with hate he began banishing everything and anything he could from the battlefield that wouldn't hurt him as he summoned it. Small rocks, pieces of wood and small clumps of clay were all fair game along with dark variations of stunners, shield breakers and various spells designed to incapacitate rather than kill. He did all this while inwardly cursing his very limited repotre of those spells.

To his delight none of them curved around the man in the slightest. He felt elated at his small triumph that he had against his irritating foe.

His victorious feeling was short lived however as the masked man seemed to almost radiate amusement at his best efforts. It was still, after everything, like he was nothing and as angry as that made him it seemed disturbingly to hold true.

The masked man managed to avoid his latest attempts easily. He did not do this by using flashy or powerful magic and he didn't even do it by using his strange sword but by simply not being where he was a moment before. It was almost as if Snape blinked and suddenly the man was almost right in front of him.

He couldn't help it, he gaped like a idiotic first year, as his enemy moved faster than anyone he had ever seen except the Dark Lord. Even he, with his enhanced body, couldn't keep those speeds up for long without damaging himself. Snape truly believed that no human being could have moved that fast, let alone while ducking and weaving projectiles, and manage to avoid his last minute defence with the same erie grace that he had shown while walking at the start. An odd thought thought popped into his head as the masked attacker finally reached him.

The Dark Lord could match this certainly, he thought with a surprising amount of trepidation, but my Lord has gone through years of deep research and many painful dangerous rituals to gain such benefits and enhancements. What then had this thing done and was it even human anymore?

His wand hand was removed with a wave of agonizing pain and the smell of burned flesh even as he was somehow kicked powerfully in his chest and though he could cast as easily with his other hand he knew there was no chance of him reaching his wand at this moment. He was then bound by simple ropes (the first magic that he had seen this thing use, like an ancient sacrifice to the old dark pagan gods.

And then, finally, he looked up to the face of his would be captor as the man removed his mask and began to laugh slightly hysterically.

"Oh will you just shut up" Harry snarled viciously while brutally backhanding the now trapped and one handed Snape. He did so hard enough that not only did Snape's mouth crack and bleed in an impressive display but, by the sheer volume of the blood, Harry could tell that there was damage to the jaw as well as a few teeth missing. A quick and sloppily done (on purpose) healing spell fixed Snape's ability to speak but did nothing about his teeth.

Snape promptly spat out some blood, as well as teeth coughing while did so and fixed Harry with a blood red grin.

"Life Debts. I should have remembered" Snape whispered hoarsely.

He knew, as he was magically raised, that you could not directly harm someone that you owed one to. Magic was not unfair however as, because Snape did not intend Harry Potter harm but rather an unknown masked man, he was not killed directly in the simple attempt. Still if he had managed to harm Harry indirectly at all he would have died anyway.

It was all to test me, thought Snape angrily, all he needed to do was take off the mask and I couldn't have fought him or I would have been dead before I could blink. I never want my heart to spontaneously explode in my chest. He was playing with me.

Snape's hatred for Harry focused him more on the present despite his pain and shock.

"Yes you should" Harry replied while raising his wand clearly intent on ending Snape once and for all. "As funny as it might have been to see you try and work as a one handed Potions Master I am going to make certain that you never harm anyone ever again".

"But I already have hurt you" Snape interrupted Harry. Despite the imminent threat and reports to the contrary Snape's worldview would not allow him to believe that Saint Potter would ever kill him. He instead believed, that unless Voldemort broke him free, that the Ministry (French not English) would do that and thanks both to his Lord's precarious position in France and international pressure his death was assured.

However if he was to die he would steal on last victory, one last chance to twist the knife, before he did. It was, after all, his nature.

"If you mean your mind raping occlumency sessions or the binds on my power.." Harry began.

"I don't mean that, those were Dumbledore's plans for you, you utter and complete moron" he snapped while smiling his vicious and blood red smile. "Tell me Potter...where is your owl?"

Harry's eyes widened at the implication even as he clenched his ring hand tightly enough that his knuckles turned white.

It had been at the back of his mind, since he had taken over his former life, that he hadn't seen Hedwig and he was very worried about it as he could feel no trace of their bond. He had hoped that someone, perhaps Dumbledore, had hidden her to use as leverage but that apparently was not the case. As he looked down on Snape's smiling face he realised that such hopes were in vain.

"What did you do?" Harry asked softly with a voice that was as quiet and still as the calmest ocean but was ready, at a moments notice, to turn into a great world ending tidal wave.

"You thought your pet wouldn't try and follow you to the Department of Mysteries? She was too loyal for that I'm afraid and it only took a simple well aimed spell to redirect her". Snape smiled "It was beautifully cast, if I do say so myself, and she headed instead to Grimmauld Place". The tone of pride in his voice was sickening to Harry as was the self satisfied grin that he wore. "She never made it out of there of course. So many people were running around trying to help you that it was so easy to slip into my room and do away with the pest. I was going to stuff it and hang the stupid bird, feathers and all, above my fireplace at home….do you like the place of honour I would have given her?"

"I think that you are a petty, evil and twisted shell of a man looking for his final fix of agony on a victims face". Harry smiled humorlessly and then continued in the same soft voice "I was going to kill you, I really was, but your care of my pet requires special consideration".

"Fine brat" replied Snape angrily "turn me over to your pet Ministry then"

"Now why" said Harry with a small amount of vindictive pleasure in his voice "would I do something as asinine as that? No I have a much better idea and you, as a teacher, should know about all the ways that someone can discharge a life debt".

Snape paled. The first and easiest way, as Snape had tried but failed to do in Harry's first year, that someone could do so was to save the holders life in return. Harry could also simply demand Snape's life or magic in return and that was one of many reasons why Snape had been all for Harry growing up without knowledge of them.

There were other ways though, other means of calling the debt due, and none of them boded well for Snape. He had to wonder which one Harry had in mind. Harry himself had a particular, and in the last few hundred years unfashionable, idea that would greatly help him now.

"Tell me Snivellus what do you know about the Command?" Harry's voice, once quiet, was now perhaps even more triumphant than Snape's had been only moments earlier.

"Y-you wouldn't!?" Snape sputtered.

"Oh I would and I will" Harry responded his voice dripping with dark humor.

The Command was a very specific, not to mention somewhat limited way, of repaying the debt. In simplistic terms it was an order, or at best a set of instructions, that Snape would have to follow to the letter and until discharged all penalties that normally came with such a debt applied. He would die if refused and also die if he tried to harm Harry while completing it. The only downside was that Harry couldn't order him to do something that would mean Snape would directly cause himself harm.

Of course the reason that Snape was so afraid was that many had died by trying to complete the order by suffering indirect harm.

This was where Harry's understanding of Snapes character came into play. Harry knew that, rightly or wrongly, Snape viewed himself as the consummate Slytherin. Snape therefore, while he wouldn't be able to directly disobey the order, would always be looking for the best angle for himself and (if he could manage it) to pervert Harry's intended goals. He would also hate, more than anything, to do a Potters bidding but he would also never refuse the chance to survive slim though it was.

I am certain, Harry thought, that he is already dismissing his defeat at my hands as the interference of the debt rather than any skills I might have gained. He could never believe that a Potter, especially me, could learn anything useful despite hard evidence to the contrary.

Not only had Snape come to that very conclusion but, when Harry proceeded to explain what he wanted, and then used the Command to make Snape do so he was all too ready to agree. He was looking for escape routes even now and, finding none, was planning his ultimate revenge in the back of his mind. After although Harry had been careful to instruct him on what to do while under his thrall afterwards he would be his own man again.

Harry wasn't completely foolish, no matter what Snape might think, and so his orders had included denying Snape every conceivable way of communicating his predicament to anyone or anything else.

It galled Snape that there would be no way of giving away the bondage that he was under.

"Oh and Snape" said Harry after releasing him and allowing him to stand so that he could complete his task.

Snape turned to look at the brat even as a spell hit him out of nowhere and caused a great many shallow gashes to appear on the one handed man and Snape fell, into a boneless, pain filled, and bloody heap. "That's for Hedwig you utter bastard". He thought for a moment and then added "It might also help with your task as well".

Without another word Harry popped away as silently as he came as he had a meeting with the Longbottoms, long put off, to get to.

Snape, for his part and when he could finally stand again, left to basically seal but not truly heal his wounds and bide his time until it was the moment for him to act.

Two hours after Snape's disappearance had been reported to him Dumbledore had finally managed to track down the books required on the ritual for the moment when he would, willing or not, draw Harry to him much like a magnet draws iron. Unfortunately for his plans before he could go and retrieve the required ingredients he was once again loudly interrupted by a bang of his door.

This time however it would be forgiven as Dumbledore saw that his most useful pawn had returned. Severus Snape staggered in as the door flew open, clearly injured and missing a hand, very pale and radiating exhaustion to Dumbledore's senses.

"My dear boy" began Dumbledore privately enjoying the micro expression that passed across Snape's face. Every single time that he used that term he reminded Snape that the man's life was not his own, that Dumbledore owned him, and that he was free only by Dumbledore's word. Dumbledore was titillated by such complete means of control. He had well and truly made Snape his creature as far as he was concerned. "I was afraid we had lost you".

He was of course in reality unconcerned with Snape's injuries as well as his thoughts except in relation to how they might inhibit Snape's usefulness.

The grandfatherly concern that was plastered all over his face had duped so many people over the years that by now he had the expression down to an artform. Those who knew him well, or at least were his closest tools (outside of Hagrid), had seen at least flashes of his true face underneath the mask.

The mask, though well crafted, was only skin deep and behind it was the soul of a man who planned months, if not years ahead, and did so with a towering and cold intelligence that most outside observers would be quick to point out that it was remarkable not only for his depth but also for the fact that the majority of the wizards seemed to lack it.

It was fair to say that Severus Snape hated the man, though he did hate many, and Albus knew it as well as relished it. Hate was predictable and the people that were ruled by it were easily controllable to him as he had been plying his trade for decades. It was also fair to say that Snape didn't hate Albus as much as he hated Potter it was certainly more than he ever could have hated Voldemort.

Then again Snape detested every person he met on some level. The only people that he withheld from his disdain were himself and Lily Evans (she was never a Potter in his head as she had been unfairly stolen from him ias far as he was concerned).

Maybe that's why, Snape thought suddenly, I am obeying Potters command so easily. Part of me wants to do this...part of me hates Dumbledore that much.

Snape was right about that, to a point, as intent and emotion always helped to empower magic and that had far more effect on witches and wizards than they would ever admit. Another fact that he would never admit, even to himself, was that Potter was much more powerful than he ever could hope to be.

Potter's magical power didn't just tower over his, it subjugated and dominated it. That didn't mean a lot in any meaningful sense except that, on a purely instinctual level, Snape's magic recognised that it was and always would be less than Harry's. In simple terms Harry's magic, his command, impacted Snape's which, in turn, acted on his emotional state and made him more inclined to agree helped along, of course, by Snapes existing hatred for Dumbledore.

Wizards were not human, but rather near-human, and their very make up reflected that in how entwined their magic was to their emotional states and, like standard humans, were deeply affected by their emotions. They were impacted much more than they knew.

"I have located Harry Potter" Snape replied while he ignored, for the moment, the Headmaster's tone as well as his own irritation.

"Where is he? Where is Harry?" demanded Dumbledore sharply. Snape's throat constricted as he was aware that now would have been the perfect time to betray the lucky brat but, after accepting the Command and it's explicit conditions, as much as a great part of him wanted to he was prevented from doing so by his own magic. The physical pressure on his throat was a stark reminder of this simple fact.

"In a small Manor in France. The wards are impressive and though they burned off my hand I did manage to temporarily disable a few, though those that remain are extensive. They even appear to have some barrier that I have never seen targeted at an animal... possibly Fawkes".

If Snape had one great talent it was that he was a passionate and straight faced liar. Dumbledore, for his part, understood that the complexity of magic would allow for things that he had never thought possible so the barrier that stopped Fawkes, while exceedingly far fetched, was not beyond the realm of impossibility.

Added to that he had no reason to doubt Severus. He had made him, long ago, swear many interconnected and overlapping oaths of loyalty that would prevent any harm coming to him from Snape without his permission.

What Dumbledore had forgotten, mostly because his impressions of Harry were still those of an uneducated pawn and that impression was very slow to change in his mind, was that the life debt that Snape owed (and therefore the ensuing Command) superseded those oaths as the root cause was far older than the oaths that he had made Snape swear.

Besides, thought Snape, though his intelligence is a great asset of his he doesn't do well without a lot of planning and he's been doing too much of that of late. He is too in love with his own myth of a benign elder statesman who always outsmarts and outmaneuvers his enemies.

"What about the people that are with him?" Asked Dumbledore making the understandable mistake that Harry was either being held or taught by powerful people and under the thrall of their 'corrupting' influence.

Snape of course didn't know one way or the other nor did he care at this moment but, even if he had known, he had no desire to correct him.

"Gone. They are chasing after me I assume. If we are to retrieve Potter we must do so quickly before they return".

"Then let's not waste any time my boy" said Dumbledore as they swiftly left Hogwarts exactly to Harry's plan.

As soon as they were gone Harry flamed in (thanks to Whimsy) and immobilised both the paintings and the Sorting Hat. He was possibly being too cautious as he was fully masked and armoured but, if he had learned anything, it was that it never hurt to be too prepared. Even if they had somehow resisted his magic they shouldn't have been able to tell who he was anyway.

"Thank you Whimsy" Harry said quietly from behind his mask knowing that, thanks to Fawkes, any ancient wards that Hogwarts had (if any had been placed and then lost to time) had to be inactive if they ever existed in the first place. Fawkes was the reason that Harry was here and, given his companion's long and sorrowful trill he didn't think that this would end all that well.

It had baffled Harry, since he was able to understand and appreciate such things, how and why Fawkes had bonded with Dumbledore in the first place and why he had stayed with him given everything that he had done. Harry had originally come here to force some answers, with whimsy's help, and possibly to take care of the problem quickly and quietly.

He wasn't baffled anymore, later he would be utterly furious but at this moment, he was filled with a deep sorrow that caused his throat to tighten and his eyes prickle with unshed tears. From the soft cooing sounds that Whimsy made she saw the same thing that he did when she looked at Fawkes. As Fawkes had began to shake and cry silently it seemed that he knew it too.

Fawkes was bound.

As Harry looked at the bird with all of his senses he could see the malignant black bonds that encased him and kept him under Dumbledore's thumb. He also knew that he could break them and set Fawkes free from the slavery that he was forced to endure but he was not sure if he should. The breaking was the was the easy part but the hard truth was that, if he did, Fawkes would die.

Binding a phoenix in this way was an act of utter selfishness and considered as bad a crime as mass murder because, if not broken exceptionally early, it would kill the phoenix eventually like a cancer. No one was completely sure but it was believed that the process was formed from observing and studying how magic interacted with House Elves.

Unlike other natural bonds that could occur between magical species, though they were very rare, both were not equal partnerships. The House Elves for example had much more natural magic than wizard core magic and the phoenixes seemed to be self renewing furnaces of the former when they were observed with certain tools or mage sight.

The unnatural bond that was created with a phoenix was worse than any other and no one had done such a horrendous and appalling thing in centuries. It was abhorrent even to the darkest of wizards.

What Dumbledore had done was to capture Fawkes during one of his burning days, in the actual act of burning, and rip a portion of Fawkes's life and magic while it was the most fluid and forcibly entwine it with his own.

This had formed an unnatural tie between the two that resulted in two very beneficial effects for the wizard involved. The wizard in question gained a much longer lifespan, perhaps an extra century or so, and the simple fact that with every single burning day they would leech a little more of the phoenixes prodigious magic and claim it as their own.

The last benefit was also why it was considered such a despicable crime because, like the House Elves, the magnificent bird became more and more reliant on the wizards magic to sustain itself and once part of its own magic was taken it could never get it back. It was like an open wound that would never heal and it widened with every single burning.

The phoenix (that would otherwise be immortal) would get closer and closer to death as the ratio of the, now wizard magic, that they could 'borrow' to make up the difference was limited and eventually in no way proportionate to the magic that was taken from them. Eventually Fawkes, if he remained bound, would enter a burning day but be unable to complete his regeneration and instead of being born he would die from his own flames in unspeakable agony.

Then he would simply become ash on the cold wind.

"How long?" Harry asked with concern radiating from his voice. Fawkes was not stupid and understood the question and sounded a short note back allowing Harry to understand that, even with the bond in place and sustaining him, Fawkes did not have long with only perhaps a few years left at best. Whimsy crooned a sad note and Harry agreed with his sentiment as it was only a blink of the eye to the eternal creatures.

"What do you want me to do?" Harry continued to ask and he was quickly answered by another short and beautiful note that caused Harry to weep inside his mask silently. "I understand" he said thickly.

Fawkes wanted to end it on his own terms and, to Fawkes, a life of slavery was no life at all.

Slowly gathering his magic and shaping it into the tiniest point that he could manage he wielded it like a scalpel. He slowly started to destroy the intricate bonds that had held Fawkes for so long against his will. As soon as it was done Fawkes slumped in pain and his feathers dulled slightly as he was already beginning to fade. In direct contrast however the musical sound that escaped his throat was nothing short of triumphant.

Harry looked on, immensely sad, knowing that Fawkes would die within a day or so.

It was horrible, Harry thought, but it is Fawkes choice and all I can do is respect his choice and remember him for what he should have been not what he was forced to be. At least he will die free and on his own terms.

"Is there anything that I can do for you? Is there anything that would make you more comfortable?" Fawkes shook his head in response and and, with one last grateful look, both he and Whimsy disappeared in a flash of fire.

Harry shook his own head and then sighed slowly and deeply as he continued with his original plan raised his ebony wand and pointing it through the open window he softly spoke.

"Morsmordre" as the lurid and horrible mark filled the sky Harry knew he had only seconds to leave. He almost ran the short distance to the Headmaster's fireplace and grabbed a pinch of floo powder leaving just as the office door burst open.

The first through the door was a frightened and confused Mcgonagall with her wand drawn as well as Hagrid. All they saw, aside from the Dark Mark in the sky, was the flames slowly turning from a bright green to a more natural orange.

Dumbledore felt a momentary weakness and gasped quietly as he and Snape crossed the protections of Bluestone but he wrongly assumed that it was the strength and age of the remaining wards that caused it.

Whoever had designed and placed these wards, he thought, was incredibly gifted and will be difficult to deal with, if I have to deal with him or even them.

His estimation of Snape rose as he saw evidence of how powerful these current wards were and he could only imagine the strength of the more active wards that he must have taken down to allow them to get this far. Not to mention distracting and drawing out the captors that lived in and covered the house. He had to admit to himself though that, as far as safehouses went, it was much more appealing than Sirius's old house.

The major downside for the two men was that, thanks to the remaining wards, it had taken some time for them to poke a small gap and enter the house. The time taken was a worry to the two men as they didn't know how long they had before people returned.

"Do you know where they are keeping him?" asked Dumbledore while keeping a wary eye out for any returning guards as that would make things complicated when they had expended magic in getting this far.

Technically not only should they not be there but, as Dumbledore was Britain's representative to the I.C.W., if caught it would be a death sentence to Snape and highly embarrassing for his international reputation at best and seen as treason against the magical community at worst.

"Somewhere in the back was all I could guess I'm afraid. Let's get the brat and get out of here as quickly as possible". Dumbledore smiled internally as, as sure as the sun would rise the next day, Snape's hatred of the Potter family made him (he believed) as predictable and controllable as always.

As they both moved through the property, with Dumbledore taking the lead, Albus was uneasy at how quiet Bluestone was but dismissed it even as also he dismissed the beautifully tasteful surroundings being intent only on returning Harry to his rightful possession.

As he finally entered one of the last rooms at the end of the Manor the sense of impending danger spiked in his mind even he saw, not the stark prison room that he expected but, a prepared and waiting ritual room that would have been the pride of many Ancient and Noble Houses even if (due to current British Ministry law) it went unused.

He half turned to ask Severus what was happening and to guard the door as he investigated but, before he could utter a word, the man snapped his own wand cleanly in two even as a spark of bright white magic floated from Severus.

The universal signal of a debt fulfilled.

After that, for the briefest moment, Snape slumped as if a great weight had been lifted from him.

Dumbledore realised the true depth of his error when a masked man faded into view at the other end of the room and quickly disarmed him. His own wand had somehow flown towards the man, as he was watching Severus slump, before he could even react. To Dumbledore's horror the Elder wand bonded with the man in front of him in a great show of sparks the minute it landed in his palm.

The masked man shrugged, pocketing the wand, but before he could do more Snape bellowed and charged at the enemy. There was a crazed look in his eye and his mouth was open like a hungry beast as he ran full tilt.

Dumbledore, being overwhelmed in shock, could only stare at the impossibly fast and powerful slap that echoed across the room. Snape flew across the room and landed so hard in the wall next to Dumbledore that the wall shook from the impact and he slumped to the ground already out cold.

The masked man slowly removed his mask and smirked, the utter gobsmacked look on Dumbledore's face was clear, as the two men finally looked at each other in the eye for the first time in a very long time. With a wave of Harry's hand Dumbledore was fully immobilized except for his head.

"Headmaster" said Harry with utter loathing in his voice. "It's time we talked".

It remained to be seen whether Dumbledore would have anything useful to say but he would make him sing regardless.