Chapter Eight -- Truth, or something like it

"What in the--Weasley! Get back here this instant--Abbot? What are you--Another one?! Patil, get over here!"

When Minerva McGonagall found students wandering the halls late at night, the main thing she expected them to do after getting caught was to try and hide. These three, however, all but tackled her.

"Professor! Harry's in trouble-"

"It was this dream thing. Padma says-"

"We just saw him, looks really bad-"

"-no idea where he is-"

"-thought maybe Dumbledore could help-"

"It's really freaky, if you think about it-"

"Hey, you dolts, she can only hear one of us at a time!" Padma nearly shouted, shocking everyone. She cleared her throat. "Professor McGonagall, we have just now awakened from a dream which included Harry Potter. He is very hurt and we just thought you should know."

"My goodness. Have you three been drinking?" McGonagall asked, aghast. "What are you talking about?" Then her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And how did you know about Harry?"

"Please, professor, you have to believe us!" Hannah pleaded. "Draco Malfoy was with us, and he'll agree with us."

McGonagall looked around. "I don't see Draco anywhere."

"Figures," Ron huffed. "He'll probably deny everything and-"

"Minerva, is it legal to conduct such late night meetings with your students?" Snape's sharp voice carried down the hall as he showed up. He stopped short when he saw exactly who those students were. "Well, what an amusing... coincidence. Mr. Malfoy and I were on our way to see the headmaster about some matter; I believe that is where you three were heading as well?"

Draco tried to step behind his teacher's back, avoiding the other three's eyes as McGonagall stuttered for words and finally waved her hand. "Go on, Severus. I haven't been able to make heads or tails of what they're saying. Perhaps Albus can."

As soon as McGonagall was gone, Snape fixed the three with a determined glare. "Draco had just told me some interesting news," he began in a slow, dangerous voice. "However, I think there may be some things he might have forgotten. Mr. Weasley, if you'll please..."

Rather unwillingly, Ron started telling every detail he remembered, with Padma and Hannah adding bits and pieces he'd forgotten out. They started down one hall, turning and turning until Ron was thoroughly lost. "I think that's it," he concluded lamely. Snape just nodded.

"His wounds? He was surprised to see them?"

"Yea," Hannah answered quickly as they took another turn to come face to face with a stone gargoyle.

They fell quiet (Draco, actually, had yet to speak a word so he'd been quiet the whole time) and Snape glared at them in annoyance. He sighed and looked at the gargoyle. "Chocolate cream puff," and the gargoyle leaped aside.

"Where are we going?" Ron demanded.

Snape turned on him. "What?"

"Uh..." Ron gulped and looked away. "Never mind."

"Continue," Snape told Hannah as they stepped onto the spiraling staircase that carried them round and round to the top.

"Um, yea, he was surprised, like he thought they'd been healed. But," and her eyes widened like she just remembered something important. "He said that Missy healed it. Whoever Missy is."

"Missy?" Snape sneaked a look at Draco. "Did he say anything else?" Hannah shook her head and they reached an oak door, a brass griffin shining out from its place as the doorknocker. "Very well, we-"

He was cut off as the door opened and Dumbledore himself stopped in surprise. His blue eyes widened at the sight of such guests standing just outside his doorway. "Severus, what a surprise. I expect there must be some occasion of importance for to visit me at this late hour, and to bring along students no less."

"Headmaster," Snape's tone was respectful, so much so that the students did a double take in disbelief. "Draco woke me up, telling me some tale about having just had a dream with these other three and Potter. Naturally, I thought that you should be informed. I was on my way, bringing him here, when we ran into Minerva, also being faced with the same tale."

"So you brought them along as well," Dumbledore observed, a faint twinkle in his eyes. He smiled and opened the door wider. "Yes, well come in, come in." As he shut the door behind them and sat at his deck, he added, "As a matter of fact, I was just discussing Harry with some of my old friends. You four do know what's happened, correct?"

"All we know is that sometime today, Harry went missing and the rest of us were sent to our common rooms," Padma answered, taking a bite out of an offered lemon drop.

Dumbledore's expression clouded over. "Yes, but there is much more to that. I believe you are ready to hear what I'm going to tell you, though I must ask that this information goes no further than this room." They nodded. "Harry was kidnapped, though we still have no idea exactly who was the kidnapper other than that Voldemort was behind it. But whoever it was, they had to be invited into Hogwarts personally by a teacher or student to get past the defense wards."

He glanced at them with some hope in his eyes. "Perhaps if you told me this dream, I might be able to narrow down our search."

So they told him.

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When Harry tried to wake up from his dream, he only found himself falling into deeper, darker dreams, dreams of nightmarish creatures tearing at his skin; of demons who twisted the mind and soul of a body, drawing out with razor-sharp fingers drops of blood that slipped like red wine to a dusty floor.

He even dreamed that he was behind the demons, watching them destroy the bodies of men and laughing as they torn flesh like bands of leather. In those dreams, he looked older, skin pale but eyes dark, no glasses hiding their green shine. In those dreams, he could wave a hand and command the earth itself to spin his enemies into oblivion. The skies darkened with a hiss, the trees shook with a wave, the very air became solid and lifted him up. He commanded it all, and flew high into the sky to see the destruction being wrecked upon the earth.

And he enjoyed it all.

Harry screamed as he woke up, opening his bright green eyes to see the knife-guy's eyes not an inch away. Instinctively, Harry drew back or tried to as his back slammed against the wall. Every bone ached.

"He's awake, master," Knife-guy said, turning his head to look at a dark shadow.

"I know that," Voldemort hissed back. "Do you think me blind?" The threat behind those words was so thick that even the other wizards drew back in fear. Knife-guy shook his head quickly but Voldemort had already whispered, "Crucio."

Harry groaned, closing his eyes and ears to the screams. His body hurt...

The screams stopped. "Did you have a good sleep?"

With no little dread, Harry realized that Voldemort had turned back to him. He kept his mouth shut, promising himself not to speak, not to give Voldemort any openings.

"Did you enjoy talking to your friends?"

Harry's eyes snapped open. "W-what?"

Voldemort was standing just before him, looking very angry indeed. "I'm not an idiot, Potter," he hissed. "I know when magic is being performed. You have done something, and managed to contact others outside of this house. It's too bad; I enjoyed this house and now that you told them where you are, we'll have to leave." His eyes flashed. "That house elf will have to be punished for her stupidity, Lucius."

"Of course, my Lord," one of the Death Eaters, Lucius, bowed and left.

"No, leave Missy alone!"

"Prepare to leave," Voldemort continued, ignoring Harry's outburst. Or Harry thought he had, until Voldemort turned those blood red eyes on him again. "And bring that elf, since he seems to care so much for her."

Drat. Harry looked around, tried to move his body but couldn't. The room emptied out as the Death Eaters went to do as their master told them to. Voldemort walked around the room, his very presence sucking any light in it. The silence was oppressing.

Nagini slid up around Harry, almost suffocating him within her coils. Young master, she hissed. Speaker to snakes-

Quiet, Nagini Voldemort commanded. For a time, Harry thought he heard a quiver of fear in the wizard's voice. Suddenly, he noticed the many dark, dead bodies of creatures demon-like in their looks. Cruel fangs and jutting claws reached out for him, managing to frighten him even in death.

He let out a cry and jumped back against his chains, preferring the injured flesh wounds to the demons on the floor. The demons that looked exactly as the things in his dream.

Voldemort sneered. "Yes, what kind creatures you've conjured, Potter. Did you really think that my Death Eaters could not handle such beasts?"

"What-what do you mean?" Harry whispered, breaths coming in ragged tatters.

"Your magic, Potter!" Voldemort roared. "Do not play innocent with me. You will tell me the secret to your magic, will tell me how you manage to call up such things even in sleep."

Harry paled in the face of the man's anger, sparing a glance at the dead monsters on the floor. 'I didn't do that,' he thought rebelliously. '... Did I?'

Missy was roughly thrown into the small chamber and Nagini slid away to bother the small house elf. She screamed and tried to get away but the snake was too quick and soon had Missy trapped in a network of sliding coils, ever closing inward. There was a small pop and a hooded Death Eater appeared, bowing lowly. "We are ready, master."

Voldemort nodded and the Death Eater grabbed Harry arm, yanking him hard against the chain with one hand as the other produced a key and released the student. Voldemort unfolded a black robe from the thin air and beckoned Missy forward. "Dress him," he ordered and the trembling house elf did as she was told. A sick feeling arose as Harry saw the dark bruises coloring her face, but the feeling was nothing compared to what dropped his stomach when he realized that the robes were the uniform of a Death Eater. Missy pulled the robes around him, whispering soft apologies and self-condemnations as she placed the frightening mask over Harry's green eyes, concealing the tortured prisoner in the garments of his captors. As she did so, she quickly healed his wounds, leaving behind only bruises and sore skin.

Voldemort threw a skull's grin at Harry, red eyes flashing. "Do the robes fit?" The single Death Eater, at a nod from Voldemort, grabbed hold of Harry's hand again and, without a single warning, apparated.

They reappeared and Harry's stomach dropped out as he recognized the place. The Burrow jutted out from the ground, looking as homely as ever. Desperately, he hoped that none of the Weasleys were home. It seemed that his hope was true, for all the lights were out and even the usually climbing smoke column was absent. There were several more pops in the air as almost two dozen Death Eaters appeared, gathering around.

Voldemort waved a hand and several Death Eaters went forward, wands out.

One came back. "There is no one here, master."

"No?" Voldemort purred, voice dripping with darkness. His red eyes focused on the house and Harry, standing beside him, shivered in his robes. "Has that old fool reorganized the Phoenix?"

"Shall we wait, master?" the Death Eater inquired.

Voldemort shook his head and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "No. Search the house and destroy anything without a use." The Death Eater wasted no time in going to spread the news and Voldemort absently called his snake to him. Nagini had been throttling Missy again, much to the amusement of the idle Death Eaters. Search the area, he told her in his hissing voice. Find their secrets, find their hidden places. The snake trailed away.

"I thought you didn't attack purebloods," Harry muttered beneath his breath, keeping his eyes down and away from the destruction of his best friend's home.

"An exception in this case," Voldemort replied, much calmer than back at the Malfoy Manor. He stood behind the rest. "The Weasleys are muggle-lovers, a crime of perhaps the worst degree."

The sounds of breaking glass made Harry wince and he imagined he could see the family ghoul attacking the invaders or the screams of the goblins in the garden, fleeing the bloodthirsty wizards.

"Besides, Arthur Weasley happens to hold a rather influential position in the Ministry; his home undoubtedly holds several confidential documents that will help in the upcoming war."

"War?" Harry choked on the word and, at Voldemort's skull grin, he fell silent, preferring the violent commotion to any more of Voldemort's comments.

The Death Eaters surprised Harry with their efficiency; after hardly thirty minutes, the 'attack' was over and they trailed from the house, some coming empty-handed and some heaving magically-lightened boxes full of valuable documents. Nagini came slithering back, whispering the location of a dark cave turned into a hidden study and Voldemort sent a handful of his followers to ransack that as well. The night's dark reign was broken as a fire burned down the house and the eerie Dark Mark floating above and Harry was almost glad when the same Death Eater as before grabbed his hand again. He would rather run away than be forced to watch the Burrow burn to the ground.

They disapparated to several more homes, repeating the same scene of destruction and plunder at each location. The Death Eaters became more rowdy and less cautious after each pillaging, as if each time reaffirmed their own sense of power and invincibility. Out of all the Death Eaters, only a few did not actively participate in the destruction. One of them was the Death Eater assigned to apparate Harry to and from each ruin.

Not all the houses were empty, however. Most of them were occupied by peacefully sleeping wizards and witches, awakened with no little confusion that turned into fear and panic. Most tried to flee or hide; only a few tried to fight back. Harry realized for the first time what powerful reputations the Death Eaters had among the magical community as an old and dignified wizard begged for his life, completely forgetting the wand gripped in his hand that he'd likely brought out when going to investigate the noise.

"How can you stand this," he asked, voice breaking at the sixth house, his question voiced over the scream of a young witch. He shuddered and closed his eyes, trying to block out the noise but when his eyes closed, hers wasn't the only scream he heard. Twin children had been given the chance to flee or fight at the previous house and, while running away, one tripped and dodged the curse that set the other aflame. The house before had a single young and courageous young woman who'd dodged several hexes, throwing many of them right back at her attackers, but was felled when three Death Eaters shot the same curse instantaneously, strengthening it to the point of being lethal. When the Death Eaters attacked, many came out bearing the former owners' property like some sort of trophy. One Death Eater even came out sporting a babe, claiming it as his own.

The Death Eater didn't reply, leaving Harry to drown in his thoughts.

The Dark Mark was left over each house and Harry imagined that he'd have nightmares for many years, hearing Voldemort's dead voice call out "Morsmorde" and seeing the green signal appear over the dead bodies of nameless victims.

"If you run, no one will see you."

Harry started and looked around but saw no one. He gulped and whispered, "What?"

"The Dark Lord is personally torturing an official inside right now," the voice answered, startling Harry as he realized it was the Death Eater, muttering words out of the side of his mouth. "I have permission to join him. Nagini is to watch you, but the elf is too distracting."

"W-why are you helping me?"

The Death Eater didn't reply, taking a few steps forward to the house. "Go," he whispered fiercly. "There isn't anything for a mile, but if you can reach the next house before they realize that you're gone, you'll be safe. Remove the robes and mask, then run." He took a few more steps, obviously waiting for Harry to go.

Harry didn't waste anymore time. He shot off as fast as he could, ignoring the bruises and ripping off the robes and mask as he ran. For a moment, he feared that the Death Eater was only baiting him, dangling the opportunity to escape before his eyes before snatching it way but no attacks came at him. The sounds of the Death Eaters faded away, leaving Harry with his heavy breathing to blare in his ears. And soon, even that faded as Harry reached his limits and fainted dead away.

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"I'm telling you, I heard screaming," the woman insisted. Her husband and the officer exchanged long-suffering gazes as the rest of the patrol packed up. It had become a nightly occurrence lately, but regulations stated that every call for help had to answered, no matter how sane.

"I'm terribly sorry," the husband apologized once again, showing the officer the way out and biding the hard-working police a good night before shutting the door and turning back to view the room. Total chaos. Everything was destroyed, almost as though a storm had blown in some time during the night and silently wreaked havoc but everyone knew by now that no outside force had done this. It was all his wife in her delusions.

Comfortingly, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Come now," he urged kindly, lovingly. "Let's go back to bed." Most nights after she awoke like this, awoke to find that a room in the house had been strangled by her own hands, she would shake and cry and plead her unwillingness until the morning, letting him draw her close ad whisper words of assurance and love. Most nights, when her nightmare took control of her and forced her like the possessed to mangle everything, she would listen to him and go back to bed, assured in knowing that in the morning things would be taken care of.

Tonight was not like most nights.

"I heard screaming," she insisted, balking at going upstairs, her frail arms wrapped around herself as she shivered. The night wasn't cold.

He nodded, still trying to guide her upstairs. "I know." His wife had a rare disease, a disease of the mind where there came times when she insisted that she was being spoken to though no one was there, where she insisted she could see things many miles away when she was locked in a room. Most of the time, this disease meant little, just that there were times when he had to love her all the more, but lately the disease had come to a new stage. She would lose control of herself and, as if fighting someone or something, would attack anything in the nearby area. She screamed out things in Latin, more often than not holding up a thin stick like a conductor's baton, and in the end she would collapse and cry herself to sleep.

Some of the neighborhood's children were convinced she was a witch. Most of the neighborhood's adults believed she was possessed. He knew that neither was true. The disease had simply come to a new development but she was still his, the one love of his life. Nothing would break that.

She shivered again and, worried, he pulled a coat from a closed closet, careful to step over the broken glass and fallen furniture. "Who was screaming this time?" he asked softly, knowing it would be better for her to speak than to try and keep her feelings to herself.

She looked at him with that expression again, like she could see far and beyond his body and really saw those distant visions she so claimed having. "A family," she answered quietly. "They were being attacked by that man again."

This time, he felt a chill but squashed the feeling. Ever since the disease had started farther, she'd spoken of a man with skin stretched across thin bones, the image of a devil and the more she talked about him, the more realistic he seemed. What kind of demon haunted sleep? "He's not real," he murmured quietly, just as much for himself as for her, realizing that he was beginning to believe her (as the doctors warned) and knowing that it wouldn't do anyone good if he did. He shook his head. "It's just a dream, love," he repeated, wrapping her up in a giant hug. "You know he can't do anything to us. He's not real."

Normally, she would accept this with a gracious air, letting herself fall in his endless strength, but tonight she remembered something she'd seen the day before in the paper. "Come here," she told him, leaving his embrace and carefully making her way to the kitchen, watching her footsteps carefully. He followed, righting the fallen chairs much to her embarrassment but he never voiced any complaint, never made her feel unloved.

She pulled out the previous day's edition and, carefully scanning the articles, thumbed out a certain paragraph. "Look," she pointed it out. "This... this was in my dream."

He took the paper and looked at her article. It was saying something about a terrorist attack on an English town far from London, almost too small to be on the map. Giving her a look, his attention went back to the paper. "England's a far way off."

"I know, but this is the house," she repeated, pointing to a nearly unrecognizable dwelling in the picture. "I saw this exact house. There was an old man living here..." Her voice drifted off as she had one of her fits.

"Love," he whispered, waving a hand before her face. "Come on, love, come back to me."

She shook her head and shivered, blinking again and blushing. "Sorry." He didn't say a word, just pulled her back into a hug. "But we need to go there."

Looking into her eyes, he realized that he did believe her, much as he tried not to. Months and months of this, and now a sign of some sorts, a sign that she claimed gave proof that her dreams were true, that there really was some demon lord walking the earth and that England was in grave trouble. Months and months, and all her dreams and passions had been transferred to him, infecting him. He looked into her eyes and slowly nodded. "All right, let's go to England."

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"For the last time, there is no Harry Potter in my house," Narcissa shot out, eyes narrowed and a dangerous fit on her face. She looked close to cracking through the delicate house-wife image and showing that, as a Malfoy and pure-blooded Slytherin, she was willing to back up any threat to anyone.

The investigators squirmed but the head wouldn't back down either. "Ma'am," he replied respectfully, "I have in my hands an order from the ministry that allows me to search the house. Now, you can either allow me to do so, or I'll call in the Hit Wizards and we'll search the premises either way."

Narcissa huffed and puffed but eventually gave in, having needed only a little time for the house elves to cover up all evidence of the Potter boy's presence as well as the tidbit of Dark Art practice that lay around the house. Now, when the investigators looked around, they wouldn't find anything, not even a hair of the brat, to accuse the Malfoy house with.

Indeed, when the investigators left nearly an hour later, it was with respectful voices but empty hands. And in the doorway, Narcissa fumed, humiliated but determined to get back at the Ministry for even allowing such a thing to happen.

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"Here's the report."

"Thank you." Dumbledore picked up the single sheet of paper and nodded as the Hit Wizard left the school. The rest of the students watched him go, breakfast forgotten. His eyes scanned the sheet and he sighed, passing it left to McGonagall who, while keeping as normal as possible, tensed and aged a decade. Snape also read the lines and his face tightened. He passed it back to the headmaster.

"He must have known that we'd found out," Snape muttered darkly.

"How?" McGonagall asked, sounding very sad. "How could he have known?"

"The same way we found out," Dumbledore sighed again, letting the paper fall to the ground with its few lines: Searched M. Mansion. No sign of H. P. "When Harry contacted the others, Tom would have felt the magic and automatically assumed we knew, so he moved."

"Are you sure it was the Malfoy Mansion?" McGonagall asked Snape, sounding brisk as she tried to hide her emotions. It didn't work well; any student who was watching would know that something was up, and when they knew that, they'd also know that it was about Harry. And when they figured that out and saw the emotions barely hidden on their professors' faces, they'd know that some rescue attempt had been tried and had failed.

Snape snorted. "Who else has a house elf named Missy?"

"We can't let that get us down," Dumbledore quietly announced to his two best supporters. "Harry will find his own way out. I can feel it in these old bones." He smiled wearily. "The boy will find his way back to us, and at any rate, the war is beginning too quickly to let other items slip our attention." Even McGonagall nodded resignedly at that, knowing that it was true. They couldn't let everything else fall apart just to save a single person, couldn't let the whole world fall just because they were too busy trying to find Harry.

"You're right," she whispered and the three let the conversation die out, all immersed in their own thoughts and not ready to let anyone else find out exactly what was going on.

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On the streets of Diagon Alley, at the far end where the Ministry buildings stood like solemn guards against rebellion, a rebellion was taking place as a beautiful witch stood her ground, pointing at the black buildings and screaming out injustice, screaming out words that made sense to the gathering crowd. She told of a recent experience of her privacy violated and also of random searches where corrupt officers took whatever they wanted as "evidence." And her voice of sense, as well as her physical beauty, called for the masses to stop and join her.

"I've come to protest, and I'm sure that many of you will agree with me when I say that the Ministry's gone too far."

There were great cheers and the women all nodded as their men grinned viciously.

Narcissa, too trained to let herself smile in accomplishment, continued with her speech as she stood before the Ministry's office, back held straight and addressing the families of those hurt or burned by the Ministry. Including those of known, suspected, or confessed Death Eater families who were ready to follow her. "They've branded us as society's misfits, people to be watched and guarded against. Everywhere I go, I can feel their Aurors watching me, following me as if I was planning an attack."

She raised her arms in proclaimed innocence. "Why would I attack anyone? I have a son in Hogwarts and he tells me that the whole of Slytherin is treated the same way, whispered about and treated like the school's black sheep." She brought her fist down viciously. "I say that today, that will end!"

The cheers grew louder and people yelled encouragement, sympathy. Many had been wrongly labeled after the last war was over and were now ready to flock to her, ready to accept her as their leader. And, when they had done so, she would train them and in turn give them over to her newly risen master. Mentally grinning, she thought of what the Dark Lord would do when he heard of her exploits, imagined what gains and honor her family would receive.

"Who here has ever been spit at? Laughed at? Called foul names--or better yet, whose children have been subject to the inhumanities of this society?"

Screams, cheers, all claiming that it was they.

"Who here has ever been denied labor because of suspicion, because of wrong accusations--or worse, hateful accusations from people who know you're innocent but want to hurt you? Just because there are some of us who have done evil doesn't mean that the rest support him, that the rest of us follow him. When my husband was taken under the Imperious Curse (the crowd gasped at that) means that forever, my family will be labeled as Death Eaters, as dark ones."

The women yelled similar stories, yelled that they too suffered under the same tyranny. Nearby guards shifted uneasily but one of their own number threw off his uniform, disgusted, and joined the crowd. Seeing him, Narcissa motioned for him to come forward.

"I've worked for the Ministry for twelve years," he cried out, voice magically loud, "and during that time, I've seen the evilest of evils. There's not a single soul who's not corrupt, who's not staunch against bribes." The crowd cried out with him and he waved a hand at the giant building behind him. "The Minister himself refuses to listen to counsel. He listens only to those with the most money, only to those with the most fame! We are being treated like pieces on a board game, with no more importance than what we can get him. Today, I take a stand!"

He walked back into the crowd, treated like a hero to the cause, and Narcissa let the faintest of smiles form on her face. She took back her spot and raised her hands again for emphasis. "The Ministry's own!" she called out, pointing to the ex-guard. "They've seen the truth behind the corruption."

By now, the crowd was worked up so that, if she wanted to, she could order them to storm the building and take over. And she wanted to.

"What leaders are we following?" she cried out, letting her voice crack just the slightest for drama. The crowd was aghast, as if just now seeing the truth. The guards were disturbed, counting the people and losing track of the numbers. She turned to them and pointed an accusing finger their way and they sweated as the mob's attention looked to them as well. "Why do you stay?" she demanded. "Why do you support them?"

The guards looked at each other and shifted back and forth nervously, wondering when reinforcements would show up.

"Come and join us," she beckoned, "and be received as a hero who's conquered the evil. Come and stand with us against the Ministry!" Her words were echoed within the crowd, now worked up to a lather and counting in the thousands. The streets nearby were jammed pack, almost all the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, and her voice touched them all. They crowded forward, screaming her name, reaching for her and feeling that as her eyes passed upon them all, she picked them from the crowd and nodded at them, letting them know that she had seen and accepted.

The guards shifted again, swallowing hard as she beckoned, the devil's lady of temptation. And if she wasn't enough, the massive mob behind her looked ready to tear apart any resistance. One by one, a guard would avert his gaze and follow the first's example, tossing the once-dignified robes to the ground and rushing to be lost in that crowd of passion. They all left, following and being enveloped in the crowd like brothers and sisters, once lost but returned again. The crowd's passion became their dream, and they became Narcissa's knights.

She surveyed the group before her with a calculating look, glanced back at the Ministry's office, and made her decision. "Down with the Minster!" she yelled. "Down with the corruption! Let this be the day the people rise up and swallow evil, rise up and destroys corruption. Let this be the day when the people speak and the whole world shakes."

Her screams became the voice of the crowd and, slowly but gaining momentum, the youth jumped forward, rushing the building's doors. They pulled out wands and blew open the way, running in and leading the pack. Narcissa watched as they flowed into the building, recalling an incident when the same thing had happened many years before, at the start of Voldemort's rise. Then, she had been in the crowd, hanging back, feeling the passions of the crowd like a dragon trying to consume her. Then, like now, she let the others lead, let the others spill the blood. Her hands, as so long ago in the innocence of youth, remained pure white. As a youth, she'd watched as the old minister was brought out and hung.

As an adult, she would be the one to hang him.

Lord Voldemort, One of Darkness, would be well pleased, she thought, as her followers began to march out the Ministry's officials. Very pleased.

The last thing Fudge saw was her burning eyes, stormiest gray with the touch of red madness, before his life was consumed by the demon.

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Molly Weasley happily hummed in tune with the latest song ("Bewitched over you," by Perfect Pegasus) as she cooked dinner. Her head bobbed, her toes tapped, and her spoon stirred all in beat with the music. The rest of the house, of course, was silent.

Which didn't mean it would stay that way.

With the little ones in school, her cooking didn't have to feed so many anymore, but more often than not her older boys would drop in unexpectedly and expect food. Percy, who just recently moved out on terms of his claimed privacy, wasn't too inclined to do so, but Charlie and Bill came over almost every night.

Absently, she looked up at the family clock, a habit she had when she had nothing better to do, and now she lovingly let her eyes drift from each of her children's hands. Bill was at work but Charlie was traveling (most like home). Arthur, out on a visit to America, was also traveling but since he insisted on doing it the muggle way, he wouldn't be home 'til tomorrow. And Percy, dear Percy, was working. Had been, in fact, since early that morning.

She sighed and the last four of her children were all at Hogwarts, no worry there.

The front door opened and Charlie called out. "Mum?"

"In the kitchen, love," she answered, going back to dinner. Her song ended and the DJ's voice came on. When Charlie came in, she turned the station down and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "How was work?"

"Mum," he laughed. "You act like I'm still a child."

"You are," she pointed out, shaking a spoon at him. "You'll always be my little boy." Getting teary-eyed, she sniffed and asked, "Why can't you come and stay home?"

"Mum..."

"Your old room's empty. No one else needs the space."

Charlie smiled but shook his head. "No mum. You know that I couldn't do that. Besides, I need to sleep near the dragons in case something's wrong."

"Dragons are no substitute for family," she replied wisely, going back to her dinner. Carefully, she brought a spoon up to her mouth and took a small sip, careful not to burn her mouth. "Dinner won't be ready for awhile. Go take a shower and wash your hands." Obediently, Charlie nodded and headed up the stairs. "If you need any clothes," she called after him, "just borrow some from your father."

"When will he be getting home?" Charlie's voice drifted from up the stairs.

"Tomorrow, I think." She heard the shower start and smiled, going back to her cooking and turning up the music again. Her little boys, all grown up and living out on their own. Pretty soon, they'd be getting wives--'good wives,' she growled to herself, determined not to let any woman break their hearts. 'They'll have to know how to cook and clean, how to take care of children, and that I'm the boss,' she went on, stirring the potatoes viciously.

Arthur's mother had been like that to her: strict, demanding, but in the end a better mother than her own. When Molly had first met the old woman, she'd thought the lady senile. Who'd ever have so many children?

"I've learned my lesson," she whispered, awed at how similar she and the old mother had become, bless her soul. Getting a little overwhelmed, she let herself get lost in the music again and was soon back to her "cooking dancing," as Arthur like to call it.

She didn't even hear the front door open again.

"Mum?"

Molly started, dropping her spoon into the pot. "Oh drat," she muttered, looking into the cooling potatoes but seeing no sign of anything. Bracing herself, she pulled up her sleeve and carefully dipped her hand into the pot, fingers squishing and noisily slurping.

Someone behind her chuckled and she spun about, having completely forgotten the voice that had startled her in the first place. Bill leaned against the wall, arms folded against his chest and eyebrows raised. "Is that why all your food comes out tasting so good?" he joked.

"Ah Bill, you're home early," she smiled, fingers closing around the elusive spoon and pulling it from the pot with satisfaction. She absently waved up the stairs. "Charlie's taking a shower already, so you'll have to wait a minute."

"That's all right," Bill said, coming up and giving her a loving peck on the cheek before heading upstairs. "He'll probably be out in a minute."

She watched him go up the stairs and disappear into his old bedroom with a sad sort of longing, remembering the days when he used to love helping her cook. "And when he cut his hair," she added verbally. "That boy..." Sighing, she went back to her cooking, getting the last of the dinner ready.

Once, when she and the old mother had cooked together, she'd asked the lady why they couldn't just magically fix dinner. It was a popular practice and those who made things the old "muggle" way were sorely teased over their bad habits.

The old mum had looked her straight in the eye and said, "Missy (she always forgot Molly's real name) if you want to go with those huborsmackers and magic up your own dinner, go ahead. But for my son, I'll spend the time to make my own dinner. There's a taste in something made in love, a taste that no matter how bad you cook you know someone will eat it. You go ahead, but for my son, I'll spend the time to tell him I love him."

Back then, Molly had thought the old lady off her rocker. How exactly did spending hours making someone dinner show them that you loved them? There was no sense in that. But now, she realized the old lady's wisdom in cooking and many other things. Sighing, Molly let her attention slip again, realizing how much she missed the old mum.

"Mum?" Percy poked his head in the kitchen. "Oh, are you still cooking?"

"Percy," she smiled at her middle son, turning down the music again. "Yes, but I'm almost done."

He moved into the kitchen slowly, with a practiced air as if he spent hours a day just watching himself watch, trying to perfect his every step, which was probably what he'd done. Of course, things had changed greatly since the beginning of summer when Percy had made that awful mistake... "Do you need any help?" he asked meekly, looking about for some use to apply himself to.

Oh, what a dear. "No, love. Don't you want to take a shower?"

He shook his head then paused as if his ear had caught onto something. "What are you listening to?" he asked, moving forward to turn to radio up. Charlie, looking freshly cleaned, walked into the kitchen with a towel round his neck, scrubbing at his wet hair and Bill followed, still in his work clothes.

"Mum, do you have any clothes?" he was saying, looking slightly bashful. "I forgot everything-"

"Shh!" Percy ordered as a voice began speaking through the radio:

"I can't believe this is happening," the man was saying, breathing quick and light, as if he was running. "I can't believe this is happening! It's unbelievable." He took a slight pause and, while he wasn't talking, there were screams in the background. "For those of you just tuning in, I'm here to report that, in the last half-hour, a revolt has taken place right here in Diagon Alley."

"What?" Molly breathed, forgetting all about her cooking and staring at the radio in shock.

"It's incredible! Even now, the Ministry's burning down. People are running, screaming. The fire's spreading. If you were planning on coming down, I saw don't! I repeat: stay as far away from Diagon Alley--hey! Stop shoving--oh, oh no! They've got the Minister! What are they--oh, oh no. Listeners, you'll not believe this. I'm standing just outside of the cauldron shop and from here, I can see the revolt's leaders, marching the minister and the minister's officials out of the building. This does not look pretty. I repeat, anyone planning to come down here, stay as far away--By Merlin! I-I can't believe this! I-I think they're going to--yes, they're going to execute the minister!"

The screaming got louder and above the reporter's shaky breathing, the Weasleys could just barely make out Fudge's voice. Percy went white and began to tremble. "I was there," he trembled, "just a minute ago."

"If anyone believes me, these people are going to execute Minister Fudge! Where are the Aurors? Where is the help? For the love of--" His voice went silent but the screaming paused just for a moment, as if everyone down in Diagon Alley all quieted just to hear one thing. Then there was a single scream.

"That was him," Bill stated ominously. "That was him."

"Oh no," Molly repeated the reporter's words, sinking against a wall, eyes still glued to the radio where even now, great cheers were coming in.

Charlie began to move, almost running out the door when Bill stopped him. "Where do you think you're going?" the elder demanded of his sibling.

"Where else?" Charlie shouted back, gesturing angrily to the radio. "Someone's got to stop this!"

"And you think you're that someone?" Bill roared. "Listen, just listen to that!" The cheers were very loud. "Do you think anyone there's going to listen to you? Just listen! They're cheering the murders on!"

Charlie's breathing was very harsh. "I'm not just going to-"

"Yes you are," Bill interrupted. "You're not going to do anything. In fact, you're going to sit here until this whole mess dies down-"

"You can't make me-" Charlie's outburst was cut short when Bill pointed his wand at his younger brother and paralyzed him.

"I can," Bill retorted sharply. He looked over at Percy. "I've got to go, I need you to take care of the house for me. Can you do that?" Dumbly, the younger brother nodded, staring at the frozen Charlie. "Good."

"Bill, you can't leave," Molly shouted, but stopped at the look of her boy's face. He looked exactly as Arthur had, many years ago when the war first started. Now, as then, there would be no stopping him. She sighed then gave a quick peck on his cheek. "Good luck son. Be safe."

"Thank you mum," Bill replied shortly, running out the door. "Don't let anyone come in!" he yelled back before leaving. "No one!"

"I won't," Percy answered, but Bill was already gone.

---------------------------

"Attention all passengers, Flight 207 will now begin boarding seats 10 through 18. Flight 207, New York City to London, England, will now begin boarding seats 10 through 18. Thank you."

Arthur looked down at his ticket, thrilled beyond belief. His was seat number 13. "That's me, then," he muttered to himself, looking up towards the smiling lady who'd made the announcement as she began ushering others into the aeroplane. He swallowed, excited but nervous, and turned to a nearby couple who were heading towards the lady. "Excuse me, but what is that?"

"Huh?" The man looked up to where Arthur pointed. "The terminal?"

"Terminal? Yes, that's it. It's not--I mean, we're not supposed to go into it, are we?" Arthur asked, looking back to the 'terminal,' as the muggle called it.

The man nodded, slightly confused. The woman beside him whispered something and went on without him.

"Fascinating," Arthur murmured, awed. "Then I suppose, after going into this beast's belly, we'll be spat out in London?" He rubbed his chin in wonder. "Do we get a change of clothing, I wonder?"

"'Beast?' Oh, no sir," the muggle laughed gently. "This isn't a monster. It's just a... well, it's a short hallway to the airplane. Here, let me show you." The muggle directed Arthur to a nearby window and pointed. "See, that's an airplane coming in. Once it lands, the terminal is electronically stretched out so that no one has to walk outside. They're automatically in the airport--see, there, right there. That's it. Soon, people will be coming out of that gate," he pointed to said airplane's unloading station. "It's not a monster, but a transport."

"Fascinating," Arthur repeated, eyes wide. Forgetting who he was speaking to, he casually added, "You muggles really do everything without magic, don't you?"

"Magic?" The muggle shook his head with a smile. "Sometimes, it seems like magic but it's all science, really. Science, and man's will to succeed. Say, you're coming on this flight, aren't you?"

"I certainly hope so," Arthur replied, glad to find someone to talk to who didn't think him strange as most muggles did. He fumbled out his ticket and nodded. "Unless these things change. You know, I once had a ticket that changed numbers on me. Bothersome, that one. But no, you muggles don't have problems like that, do you?"

"I suppose we don't," the muggle agreed, looking at Arthur's ticket. "But what's a muggle?"

"A muggle?" Arthur paused. "Oh, nothing really now that I think about it." Fortunately, the man accepted his hasty answer and led Arthur to the smiling flight attendant who quickly checked their tickets before welcoming them to their flight. The muggle's wife had gone on ahead to get their seats.

"I think you're sitting with us, sir," the muggle said, grabbing the wide-eyed Arthur's attention. Indeed, they did share the same seats. "This here is my lovely wife, Darling, and I'm Jim Packard."

"Oh!" Arthur pulled his eyes down from all the "elektrik" buttons, ignoring the urge to head up front and see what made the aero--airplane--fly. He smiled and shook the lady's hand. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Arthur Weasley."

A voice began to speak, so startling Arthur that he jumped up and looked around for the voice's source. Jim smiled and Arthur quickly explain, "It's my first time on a plane."

"I thought as much," came the kind answer. "Don't worry. That's just the captain speaking."

"This is the captain speaking," the voice echoed, and Arthur still couldn't pinpoint the source but managed to calm down, awed at every little thing. "Welcome aboard Flight 207. We'll be flying straight to London and will arrive there in a few short hours. Please observe the seat-belt sign is now on, meaning that I expect everyone to be buckled up. There is also a no-smoking policy onboard, and I apologize but that policy will be strictly enforced."

"Well, I'm glad," Arthur said to himself. "Who ever heard of lighting a fire just for smoke?"

Jim, a bit confused, quietly told Arthur to buckle his seat belt, then showed the wizard how to do so when it became clear that Arthur had no idea what a seat belt was.

"Absolutely fascinating," the wizard muttered again. He looked up into the confused but still friendly eyes of Jim. "And you say these things will make sure I'm not thrown off the plane?"

"Well, something like that," Jim replied. Darling was being strangely quiet, eyes unfocused and just looking at her gave Arthur a shock but before he could remember why, the captain went on.

"I hope that everyone enjoys the flight. Lunch will be served at 11:00 and refreshments are available to anyone who's hungry before them. Please note that the seat-belt sign will be on until lift off but afterwards, you are free to wander about the plane so long as you observe the boundaries. Thank you and have a nice flight."

"We can take these belts off?" Arthur gasped. "But, what will make sure we don't fall off?"

"No, it's... the seat belts help make sure you're all right during take off and landing," Jim explained. "So that you don't bonk your head while the plane's unsteady. But once it's steady, then you're free to walk around."

"Amazing." Arthur felt the weirdest feeling as the plane took off and too great delight staring out the window as the ground moved faster along, then as the plane became higher, and soon even the great buildings of New York were little specks on the horizon. "Absolutely amazing."

---------------------------

"You know what this means, don't you?" Padma started. Her voice only shook a little, much to her pride. The other heads stared woodenly and Hannah absently tugged on one of her pigtails. No one knew what to say. There really wasn't anything to say.

"He didn't say there were any Death Eaters," Ron pointed out, sounding hesitant. Which was perfectly fine, seeing as how they had just heard Minister Fudge executed along with almost every other official unlucky enough to be in their offices at the time. He had the worst of the lot: his dad and brother both worked for the Ministry. Luckily, neither were mentioned by the rebels, who all shouted each dignitary's name before he or she was killed. Even now, as the radio still recorded, there was a festive sound to it all, and had they not known better, the students would have thought a party going on.

"What does that have to do with anything," Hannah asked glumly.

"It means that this was all the people's fault," Draco replied darkly. He snorted. "Shows you what kind of leadership the old Ministry had, if they could be caught and quartered like that-"

"Draco!" Padma cut in sharply, face pale. She took a deep, shaky breath and said, "We're going to have to be the ones telling everyone else."

"Won't Dumbledore know?" Hannah asked, a pleading tone to her voice. "Why don't we just let him deal with this?"

"When everyone finds out that a mob broke into the Ministry offices, killed almost every flippin' leader we have, and stayed the night to celebrate, not everyone will take it as easily as we are."

"That's true," Ron murmured. Draco sat quietly staring at his hands. Ron fidgeted then glanced over at the radio. "Can we turn that off now?" he asked. "It's kind of creepy." Draco didn't even comment.

Hannah nodded and gratefully released the energies that kept the radio going. The cheers were cut off and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

"What in the world are we going to do?" Hannah whispered. "If the Minister can't stop them, who will?"

"The more important question is if they're actually going to do anything else," Draco replied dryly. "If those people just leave, then the people who survived will be able to put the ministry back together." 'The people who survived.' Draco's words were chilling. "But they might decide to set up their own government, elect their own minister. If they do that, this can go on for quite awhile."

"Won't they have to have the support of the people to elect a new minister?" Hannah asked but Padma shook her head.

"At this point in time," she answered wisely, "they are the people. So just imagine what that kind of people would elect and that's the person were almost guaranteed to have."

"And we really can't do anything about it," Ron went on, clenching his hands into fists. "Even if we were old enough, we couldn't stand against a mob of that size." He sighed. "I think about the only thing we can do is get everyone into their common rooms and tell them what's happened, then try and answer their questions the best way we can. Those first years are going to be absolutely frightened."

"None of you managed to catch those people's names, did you?" Padma suddenly asked. "Some of my house have parents working in there and they'll want to know..." The others shook their heads.

Draco was the first to stand and, before he left, he muttered, "Hope everyone's ready to face what's coming." Then he left.

"What's he talking about?" Ron glared.

Hannah shook her head. "I don't know."

"I think we're going to find out soon," Padma added, and the three all separated.

---------------------------

"Hey Ron," Dean came up as soon as the Head Boy walked in. "Why do we have to stay in here again?"

Ron sighed and looked around to see the faces of the students under his jurisdiction all watching him. As he looked at them, their faces fell, knowing from his expression that something had happened.

He motioned for them all to gather together. "I have to tell you something," he announced, voice cracking. "And it's kind of important."

---------------------------

"What's so important?" Susan asked as Hannah motioned for everyone to start taking a seat.

Not taking the signal from Hannah's sober face, Justin stood and said, "Something big. You know how we were going to research stuff? Well, those Ravenclaws beat us to it! I bet Terry leaked what happened here, you know, so all those brainies are out there researching our stuff! Now what are we going to do?"

"Justin," Hannah interrupted softly, "that's not what's wrong."

"Then what is?" the Hufflepuff population wanted to know.

---------------------------

"Something's... happened today," Padma started, trying her best to pick out the right words but she shuddered, still hearing that piercing scream as the minister was executed.

The Ravenclaws reluctantly sat down, gathering about and trying to fit their numbers in the common room comfortably. A few glanced back longingly at abandoned books, studies, chess matches, and their eyes urged for her to hurry. She sighed sadly, not knowing how to tell them that some of their parents might even be dead while the ministry collapsed.

She didn't know how to tell them that she had no idea what to do.

---------------------------

"So that's it," Draco calmly explained to his silent common room. He paced back and forth, chin in hand. "I think my mother was leading, because I heard her voice, but I have no real way of finding out until morning."

"It's about time that someone got rid of that man," Pansy spoke distastefully, nose wrinkled. "To think it would take so long."

"This fits in right with Voldemort's rising," one Slytherin pointed out. "Are the two connected in any way?"

Draco shrugged. "Again, I won't know until morning, but I'll tell you then." He looked around. "Any questions?"

---------------------------

Harry's dream came to an end and he awoke with a gasp.