The world reformed around Ron and Harry in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry gasped, not having seen it since Sirius had died, and Ron winced. "Sorry, I should've warned you."

"It's all right," said Harry, taking a deep breath to calm down.

Ron pointed at the bottom stair. "There we are."

Harry turned and saw Ron and Hermione sitting on the stair, both with their arms wrapped around their knees, tense and quiet. Ron was leaning slightly against the banister, and Hermione was leaning against Ron. "How long has it been?" she asked.

Ron looked at his watch. "Almost an hour."

"It'll be okay," Hermione whispered, seemingly to herself. "He'll be okay." Ron nodded, swallowing convulsively.

There was a whoosh from the fireplace, and Ron and Hermione sprang to their feet and sprinted into the parlor. "What happened!" they cried simultaneously.

It was an Order member, Emmeline Vance, Harry recalled. She was bruised, disheveled, and dirty, and she looked like someone who'd just fought and lost a battle. She flinched a little at the sight of Ron and Hermione. "I can't say, dears. Just came to pick up some healing potions." She ran past them into the kitchen, and came running back through with a black box before vanishing in a whoosh of green flames.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. "I think it's over," Hermione said. "She'd have been in a bigger rush if it weren't, and Aurors don't treat injuries on the site of an ongoing battle."

"Then where's Harry?" Ron whispered.

"I don't know," she croaked, fighting back tears.

Ron stared at the fireplace. "Hermione…this goes to Mrs. Figg's house. The Squib next door to Harry." He pointed to the bin of Floo Powder next to it.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oooh…they'd kill us…"

"But I want to find out if Harry's okay. Now." Ron's hands were shaking as he scooped up a handful of powder. "You don't have to come; I'll nip over and find out and come back to tell you."

But Hermione was already going for the powder. "We'd best stay out of their way. We'll just pop in, take a look out the window, and pop out again. Ready?"

Together, they shouted, "Number Two, Privet Drive!" and Harry and Ron were swept away with them.

The parlor of Mrs. Figg's house was empty, but there was plenty of noise outside. Ron and Hermione clutched their wands as they hurried to the window. "I can't see Harry's house," whispered Hermione. "It must be over, though. The Aurors are just standing about…look at all the houses! Oh, those poor people!"

"Poor old Muggles," muttered Ron, taking in the ruin of the street. "Never knew what hit them. The battle must be over. Let's see if we can look out the door."

Hermione grabbed his hand. "No, let's try another window. If we go rushing out there, they could send us back before we find anything out." So they ran, still clutching hands, out to Mrs. Figg's kitchen and pushed back the curtains on the small kitchen window.

"Hermione!" Ron recoiled in horror, and Hermione quickly took his place.

"Oh no…oh God…Harry! His poor family!" Hermione wailed.

Ron didn't have to say, and Harry didn't have to look to know what his friends were seeing: the Dark Mark hovering over Number Four, Privet Drive as the house burned. He could see the flicker of the flames. If it hadn't been for present-day Ron's hand on his shoulder, he didn't think he could have faced it.

Hermione and Ron had given up on stealth and were running for Mrs. Figg's front door. They slipped it open and burst out onto the porch to see Mrs. Figg occupied with tending wounded Aurors on her lawn as best she could.

"It's worse than Dad used to say," Ron breathed, his eyes still fixed on the Dark Mark.

"Ron, where's Harry!" Hermione half-sobbed.

"I don't know! Merlin's beard, I don't know! Come on!"

They were halfway across Mrs. Figg's garden before she spotted them. "Hey! What are you two doing here!"

"Run!" Ron hissed at Hermione, and they sprinted past her.

"Come back here! This place isn't—Alastor! This is no place for children!"

"OY! YOU TWO GET BACK HERE!"

Harry and Ron followed Hermione and Ron over to the Dursleys' house, where Aurors were using dousing spells to put out the fire. "Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione screamed, seeing him.

Harry had never seen Dumbledore look so…defeated. He was talking to one of the Aurors, his shoulders slumped, his forehead in one hand, head bowed. At Hermione's shout, he turned, and an expression of utter heartbreak filled his face at the sight of Harry's best friends. Both of them stopped short.

"Professor…" Ron's voice was low and shaky as he approached Dumbledore, ignoring the furiously-scolding Aurors around them. "Where is he?" he looked around, obviously hoping for Harry to emerge from the crowd of Aurors.

Harry had never seen his friends so distraught. Both were breathing in shaky gasps, and they were holding onto each other by the elbows, white-faced, clearly on the edge of hysterics. Then movement caught Harry's eye at the same time as those in the memory: several Aurors were coming out of the still-smoldering house, dropping belongings into piles on the burning garden.

The last pair came out more slowly, and their arms were not laden like the others'. Harry's heart did a back flip: it was Tonks and Remus. Tonks had Harry's Firebolt in one hand, and her free arm supported Remus. Remus was holding Harry's wand, and leaning on Tonks as though he could barely walk on his own.

Hermione let out a sobbing gasp. "Professor Lupin?"

Remus's head shot up, and the light of the fires hit his eyes, reflecting such grief, such horror and despair that Harry recoiled. In the past, it had an even greater impact on Ron and Hermione. "NO!" Ron shouted, almost as if he were angry. "Harry's not dead! He CAN'T be dead!"

"No, Weasley," said Moody in a surprisingly gentle voice. "Not dead. He was taken."

"Taken," Hermione whispered, tears sliding from her wide eyes. "Taken…where…by who…"

In the garden, Remus dropped to his knees as if he had no strength to stand anymore, clutching Harry's wand in his hands and rocking slightly. Harry felt tears sliding down his own face and didn't dare look at the present-day Ron standing behind him. Hermione and Ron ran to Remus, throwing their arms around him as he wept, Harry's wand clasped against his forehead.

"Sirius," Remus gasped. "Lily, James, I'm so sorry! I tried, I'm so sorry!"

Tonks had stepped aside to let Ron and Hermione through, but now she and Moody and Mrs. Figg came back and began to tug them away. "Come on, you two. It's not safe here. You've got to go home."

"He'll be all right, won't he?" Hermione cried, grabbing the front of Tonks' robes. "You'll get him back, won't you?"

"Won't rest till we do, lass," said Moody. "On your feet now. Nothing you can do here."

Ron didn't come away as easily. "Remus, it's not your fault," he kept saying.

"I promised," Remus groaned as though in physical pain. "I swore I'd take care of him!"

"He'll be okay!" Ron insisted, ignoring the gentle hands trying to pry him away from Lupin. "We'll get him back; he'll be okay!"

"RON!" A familiar voice made them look up. Mrs. Weasley was racing toward them across the lawn, both hands over her mouth. Lupin broke down again as Ron pulled away from him to throw himself into his mother's arms.

"Mum, they've got Harry! Those bastards've got Harry!"

"I know, I know," Mrs. Weasley sobbed, hugging him.

"Molly," said Professor Dumbledore. "We're doing everything we can to find him. But Ron and Hermione can do nothing here."

Wiping her eyes furiously, Mrs. Weasley held out a free arm to Hermione, who ran over to her. "Let's go," she said in a strangely steady voice, keeping an arm around each of them. "We'll wait for news together." As if they had no power to obey, they let her lead them away.

Harry followed until they were back in Grimmauld Place. Ron's voice behind him, a little unsteady, made him jump. "We waited all night. Hermione actually hexed Kreacher when he started to go on about you. She silencio'd him and locked him in his cupboard." Harry was impressed. He had no love or pity lost for Kreacher at all, but that Hermione would be agitated enough to hex him seemed unfathomable. Ron pointed his wand upward and said, "July second, seven o'clock a.m."

The world changed little—only a few shadows swept along the wall. It was early morning, and Ron and Hermione were curled up on the sofa with Mrs. Weasley in between them, each with their head on her shoulders. "Hermione's parents were still in bed," Ron explained. "I…don't think they quite understood what was happening. She told them later that morning."

"Where…" Harry's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Where was Ginny?"

"At the shop with Fred and George. They kept her there when we got word of the attack. She's coming now," said Ron, nodding to the parlor door.

The noise of many entries to the house and the shrieks of Mrs. Black's portrait brought Ron, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley to their feet. A moment later, the parlor door burst open to admit Mr. Weasley, who immediately threw his arms around Mrs. Weasley, Ginny (who threw her arms around Ron), Bill, Charlie, and the twins, who looked grim and fearful as they went to hug Hermione. Hermione's parents came downstairs a few moments later, and Hermione ran, sobbing, to tell them Harry had been kidnapped. They hugged their daughter and looked past her at the Weasleys in fear and confusion.

"They had no idea, of course, what Voldemort's capable of," said Ron. "They'd no idea what half of us were capable of. Kreacher gave them a good scare the first time he saw Muggles in the house. And Mrs. Black. I think a few times they wanted to take Hermione away, but Dumbledore talked them out of it."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were quietly talking to the Grangers in a corner while the rest of the Weasley siblings and Hermione huddled together on the couch, white-faced and silent, when the parlor door opened again, and Remus came in. He looked terrible, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, his face still stained from sweat, soot, and tears, and Harry's wand was still clutched in his hands. The Weasleys and the Grangers were silent, waiting for him to speak.

"There's no word," he said in a dead-sounding voice that made Harry flinch. "They're searching…everyone's searching…but no word at all. They'll keep looking. They sent me back. It's full moon tomorrow. I should go…" Remus dragged himself out and through to the stairs.

Hermione and Ron jumped up and ran after him. "Remus!" Hermione said anxiously, catching him at the foot of the steps. Lupin stopped and looked at her. She stared back as if she'd forgotten what she wanted to say. Then suddenly, her face crumpled, and she fell into his arms, choking on sobs. "Remus, I'm so scared!"

Remus shut his eyes and hugged her fiercely as tears still leaked down his face. "Me too, Hermione," he whispered. Ron leaned against the wall next to them, his eyes very red. "We must hold on," Remus said, holding Hermione at arm's length and looking from her to Ron. "For his sake, we must not give up. Harry needs all the hope we can give him." They both nodded vigorously. Remus gave them a weak smile. "I have to go now." Then he turned and trudged up the stairs.

"And that was it," said Ron as they watched his past self sink onto the stairs again with Hermione, hugging her miserably. "For two whole months. I heard Hermione singing 'Happy Birthday' at the window at midnight on July thirty-first, and Ginny wouldn't let Mum get her anything when she made Prefect. She sort of felt like if she held out, you coming home would be her present. Sometimes…I just thought I'd go mad any minute, not knowing if you were…alive or not." He smiled weakly at Harry. "Bloody hell, I'm glad you're back."

"Me too," Harry said quietly. They looked uncomfortably away from each other. "Can we go ahead to the last part? Where you saw Snape?"

"Right, then," Ron pointed his wand upward. "September First, seven-thirty p.m.!"

Grimmauld Place vanished, and was replaced with the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione were watching the sorting. Harry was shaken all over again by the change in his friends. Both were noticeably thinner, and their faces had a pinched, tight look as though they'd forgotten how to smile. Neither seemed very interested in the sorting taking place; sometimes they forgot to applaud when new Gryffindors came to the table. Ginny had her head on Ron's shoulder, and Hermione was staring off into space. Many people at the Gryffindor table had red eyes. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was smirking.

Professor Dumbledore got up to make his usual speech. "I would like to say a few words before we begin our start-of-term feast—"

That was all he had time for. With a loud crash, the doors to the Great Hall were knocked open by someone slamming into them, and a figure staggered through. Harry gasped aloud—along with everyone in the Great Hall. Even Dumbledore's mouth opened.

It was Snape. He was swaying on his feet, his face bleeding and dirty, and draped limply across his arms, unconscious but clearly alive, was Harry.

Someone screamed. Then pandemonium broke loose. Snape dropped to his knees, unable to carry Harry's weight any further, as Ron and Hermione leapt from their seats and sprinted toward him. Somehow, Dumbledore got there ahead, and with one hand raised, stopped the mad rush. "All of you return to your seats at once!" he ordered. Gasping and whispering, the students obeyed—all except Ron and Hermione, who stayed where they were. "Hagrid? Would you please assist us?"

Hagrid pushed through the teachers. "Merlin's beard, Harry! Thank heavens!" He scooped Harry from Snape's arms and hurried out of the Great Hall after Madam Pomfrey, who was already running full-tilt toward the hospital wing.

Professor Dumbledore himself helped Snape up, supporting part of the injured man's weight. "It's over, Headmaster," Snape hissed through clenched teeth. "He knows. He knows everything."

"I know, Severus, it could not be helped," Dumbledore said, assisting Snape out of the Great Hall. "Well done. Very well done."

Professor McGonagall was still staring in shock after the retreating Hagrid, but she shook herself out of it and saw Ron and Hermione standing there stubbornly. She opened her mouth as if to order them back to their seats, then sighed and said, "Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley. If you're going to come, you will keep out of the way."

"We will," whispered Hermione.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Then follow me." And Ron and Hermione rushed after her to the hospital wing.

Ron closed the diary and looked up at him without smiling. "Me too."

"He's not teaching this class," said Hermione. "That's Professor Smythe-Wellington. She works in Madam Bones' office at the Ministry, but she used to be an Auror."

"She did it for fifteen years, then switched to teaching the trainees," said Ron. "Tonks probably had her. She'd only just gone to Madam Bones' office last year when she got asked to teach this class."

"What's she like?" asked Harry, eyeing the new Professor with a small measure of suspicion.

The woman was middle-aged and very tall, and something about her fine-boned, aristocratic features and the way she wore her elegantly-embroidered robes seemed to shout pureblood. Her hair was blonde, not Malfoy white-blond but a darker honey blonde showing the first signs of serious graying, and there was a definitely condescending air about her. But she wore a copper-and-sapphire broach in the shape of an eagle: a Ravenclaw. That, in the end, was what set Harry's mind a little more at ease; she could not have looked less like Dolores Umbridge.

Hermione noticed his scrutiny. "It's hard to say from the first class. Last week, she seemed…straightforward."

The bell had rung, and Professor Smythe-Wellington's stern gaze landed on the three of them in such a way that made them scurry to their seats. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter," she said in a voice that, while lacking Snape's outright hostility, was a little less than welcoming. "I believe you have an assignment to turn in to me?"

Harry faltered; he hadn't finished his Specialized Defense homework yet, assuming that Professor Lupin would allow him more time than the other teachers to hand it in. "I'm sorry…it isn't finished," he said.

One sculpted eyebrow rose, and the new teacher replied curtly, "You were released from the hospital wing six days ago, and school regulations require no more than a week to make up missed assignments, Mr. Potter. I will expect your completed work in my office no later than Monday if you desire me to mark it."

His face burning under her gaze, Harry muttered, "Yes, ma'am."

She turned away as if dismissing him from any notice and addressed the class, "Please open your textbooks to—what is so amusing, Mr. Malfoy!"

Everyone jumped. Draco, who had been sniggering gleefully at Harry's expense, gaped for a moment before blurting out, "Nothing!"

"There had best not be" Professor Smythe-Wellington snapped. Glaring around the room, she said coldly, "As this is a class intended for students with serious intention of pursuing careers in Magical Law Enforcement, under no circumstances will I tolerate horseplay, rowdyism, or disruptions of any kind, is that clear!"

"Yes, Professor!" the entire class exclaimed.

"Open your textbooks to page two hundred thirty-six: today we shall begin discussing Aurors." Harry couldn't suppress a thrill of excitement that they were going straight to the subject he was most interested in. "The Auror's profession is the most well-known of the Magical Law Enforcement occupations, however it is also among the most rigidly-selected, highly-trained, and dangerous career choices in the wizarding world. That, students, is the reason the majority of this course will focus upon Aurors, and also the reason that much of our emphasis will be upon the training, tests, drive, and aptitude that the Auror's craft demands. Any illusions that you may have of glamour or adventure in an Auror's life shall be quickly dispelled." All at once, her hard blue eyes focused on Harry again. He gulped. "Has something amused you now, Mr. Potter?"

Bloody hell, is it against the rules to smile in this class! Harry thought in despair. Aloud, he said tightly, "No, Professor, I was just…glad to be learning about Aurors. I want to be one," he blurted, hoping to assuage her wrath.

"Do you." She sniffed, and went on lecturing about the complete lack of luster in Auror life as if nothing had happened. Harry fought the urge to sigh. Would anyone who wasn't Professor McGonagall be supportive of his career choice? For that matter, would Professor McGonagall even have vouched for him if she hadn't been so determined to show up Professor Umbridge at the time? He did sigh then, fortunately Professor Smythe-Wellington was busy slapping down Malfoy again, so she had her back to him.

For the remainder of class, Professor Smythe-Wellington had them answering a series of what she termed "problem-solving" questions that as far as Harry could see had nothing whatsoever to do with fighting dark wizards – or anything to do with magical law enforcement at all. Hermione was bent over them enthusiastically, but nearly everyone else was looking at each other in confusion. Nonetheless, Harry worked his way through them, (quashing a momentary impulse to write down something mad like he and Ron used to in Trelawney's class) and kept his face as blank as he could when he walked up to Smythe-Wellington's desk to hand his paper in.

She was handing a parchment to each student as they came up, so he waited while she scanned his answers to her nonsense questions. The look she shot him over the top of his paper was so much like one of Snape's old "you-are-definitely-getting-a-'T'-on-this-assignment" expressions that Harry nearly recoiled. Dropping his questions into the stack with the others, she handed him a parchment. "Your homework for this week, Mr. Potter, and I will expect it on time next Friday with your classmates."

Her eyes seemed to dare him to ask for an extension, even though between the regular reading assignment, his make-up essay, and this, he'd be lucky to get out of the library all week. But he was determined not to give her anything else to sneer at, so he nodded curtly, (while biting the inside of his mouth hard), spun around, and headed back toward his desk.

He never made it. All at once, the room began tilting around him, forcing him to stop and put his hand on the nearest desk for balance. "All right, there, Harry?" asked Dean Thomas.

"Sit down, Mr. Thomas, the bell has not yet rung—"

"Harry?" Hermione exclaimed, jumping up.

Harry couldn't seem to focus his eyes. Nor could he seem to concentrate on what was happening around him; something he could not identify was dragging his attention away. He vaguely heard Smythe-Wellington get up. "Mr. Potter, what is—"

"Oy! What's this—Potter's about to faint again!"

"Does that a lot, doesn't he?"

"Silence! Twenty points from Slytherin! Potter!"

Someone grabbed his shoulders. He caught a blur of red hair. "Harry! Can you hear me?"

Harry wasn't even aware that he'd sunk to his knees. Hands on his shoulders and arms were the only thing that kept him from sprawling full-length on the floor. The classroom around him, the voices, the hands, they were all fading, vanishing…

One of the black-robed wizards came before Harry and bowed low. "All is ready, Master."

Harry did not need to be told; he was aware of all that was happening, but concentrating upon the task at hand. This magic, the force needed to draw the strength, the skills, the knowledge of the goblins, it would require all his concentration…all his focus…

"Keep them well-fed, Wormtail," he said in a high, cold voice that cared nothing for the prisoners' comfort. "Their strength must not be squandered before midnight."

"Yes, my lord." Wormtail bowed again and hurried away.

Harry flexed his hands again and stepped into the torch ring, ignoring the hissing and spitting of the goblins as he went to stand right in their midst. To a woman and man standing on the outside of the ring, also robed in black, he said, "The draining spell will be complete three hours past sunset. See to it I am not interrupted."

"Yes, Master," the two bowed.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling the power of the goblins' magic surging around him in their fear and anger, just waiting to be harvested…he called upon all his strength, all his concentration, all the power at his own command to tear their power from them…

"HARRY! Can you hear me!" cried a girl's voice, right near his ear.

Harry's eyes flew open. His scar wasn't burning, instead it was throbbing, pulsing in an odd way. He thrashed against the arms trying to restrain him. "Potter! Stop struggling!"

"What's the matter with him?"

The world stopped spinning, but there were so many faces above his that Harry was still confused. "What—where—"

"You collapsed, Potter, in Specialized Defense," said a middle-aged woman with hard blue eyes. "You should go to the hospital wing—"

"No!" Harry gasped, remembering what he'd seen and finally realizing what it meant. "Dumbledore! Get—Dumbledore—now—Voldemort—" Gasps rang out. The whole class was still there.

"I am here, Harry," said a familiar voice, and hands pushed Harry to sit up. He found Dumbledore kneeling in front of him, face slightly lowered to avoid meeting Harry's eyes. "What did you see?"

"Goblins," Harry choked out, his scar still pulsing from Voldemort's concentration on the spell. "Voldemort—spell—trying—drain their magic—"

"What the blazes is he talking about?" someone said.

"Quiet there!" snapped the woman, who Harry finally remembered was the Specialized Defense teacher.

Unable to concentrate on anything himself except what Voldemort was up to, Harry grabbed at Dumbledore's robes. "You've got—stop him," he babbled. "It'll make him stronger—he's concentrating really hard—he wants their power—"

"Hush, Harry!" said Dumbledore. "We will take action. Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, please assist Harry to the hospital wing." Then he jumped up with surprising nimbleness for a wizard of his years and hurried from the room.

Harry shook his head, rubbing at his scar. "I wish he'd stop!" he muttered.

"Stop what?" asked Hermione.

"He's trying a really difficult spell…concentrating…bloody driving me crazy!" Harry was too disoriented to realize that the entire class was still watching him, but Professor Smythe-Wellington had apparently heard enough.

"All right, Potter, be quiet. Granger, Weasley, you heard what the Headmaster said. The rest of you, clear this room immediately and go about your business!"

Ron and Hermione helped Harry to his feet, but he managed to walk unaided out the door, (though Ron insisted on carrying his book bag.) Quite a few members of the D.A. who had wound up in this class (in fact, it was nearly all the sixth year members) fell into step around them. "Harry…" said Dean timidly. "People are saying…you can read You-Know-Who's mind?"

Harry sighed heavily, causing Ron and Hermione both to yelp and grab his arms as though afraid he would faint again. "No, I can't. Not really," he replied, and without really meaning to, he found himself explaining, "Just when he gets really angry or happy about something, sometimes I feel it…I guess he was concentrating his mind and his power so hard on this spell it just sort of pulled me right out…"

"How's that possible?" asked Parvati softly.

Harry turned to her wordlessly and tapped his scar. Her eyes got very round. "So that's not just a bunch of codswallop the Daily Prophet dreamed up?" exclaimed Michael Corner.

"Believe me, I wish it was," Harry grumbled, making several of them laugh nervously. "It's a bloody nuisance. Distracts me from my homework and all that." The laughter came a little more easily.

"So what's this spell he's supposed to be trying to do?" asked Neville. "And what can Dumbledore do to stop it?"

"I don't know," Harry replied. "I just hope—"

Pain lanced through his head, doubling him over as he clutched at his scar…it was burning, searing…and from deep inside him came an explosive surge of such fury…such terrible rage…it was enough to send his skin flying off…the heat consuming him…such hate…there would be vengeance for this, without doubt, there could be no one else responsible…the whelp would pay…

A frenzied roar of fury tore from his throat, blasting in his ears, echoing in his head. He thought it would blast his eyeballs out from the inside of his head, there was so much force behind it…

"H-Harry?"

Harry came to himself with the hard edge of a stone stair digging into his back. It was very quiet. All he could hear were stifled whimpers and gasps, and his own ragged breathing. His throat hurt badly, but his scar was the worst. It felt like someone had stabbed a knife into it—but it no longer pulsed. He closed his eyes and groaned. "Well…he's…definitely—not—happy—"

"Harry…what happened?" whispered Hermione's shaking voice.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, and heard a shuffle nearby. Someone pressed his glasses into his hand, and he put them on to see everyone in the corridor except Ron and Hermione standing well away from him, looking utterly terrified. What had they been talking about…oh.

Bloody hell. He had just given them a classic demonstration.

"I think," he coughed painfully. His throat felt awful. "I think Dumbledore did something…to make Voldemort stop the spell. And he's really…really livid about it. He put a lot into it, and now it's ruined."

"Harry?" Professor Lupin was running down the corridor. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," Harry said, pulling himself up with Lupin's help. "Did Dumbledore stop them?"

"I haven't spoken to him, but judging by your reaction, it appears so." Lupin looked him over. "Do you think Voldemort knew you saw it?"

Harry leaned against the cool stone wall. His face felt flushed. "I'm not sure. He was really…focused. But something…when he was angry, it was definitely at someone…I don't really remember." He grimaced and said softly, "Wormtail was there. Helping with the spell."

Remus stiffened a little. "I see. Did you recognize anyone else with him?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy." Professor McGonagall's voice echoed down the hall, sending the students on their way. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances and stayed where they were.

As the noise down the corridor lessened, Lupin gave Harry a gentle nudge. "Let's get you off to the headmaster's office, then. I've no doubt they'll want a full report. The rest…" Remus smiled at them. "Be off with you. You can wring the details out of Harry later."

With sheepish smiles, they obeyed, and Harry let Lupin lead him to Dumbledore's office. But just as they reached the gargoyle, they discovered Cornelius Fudge heading there as well, followed by Percy Weasley. Fudge jumped at the sight of Harry. "Ah…Potter. Just the boy we wanted to see."