A/N: Here's the next installment, and as always, apologies for the long wait! The members of Thestral Squad are accelerating their plans to make trouble for McLaggen Manufactory, unaware that they aren't the only ones with plans to set in motion. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Chapter 21: The Cost of Doing Business

After her run-in with McLaggen, Hermione did a lot of thinking. For the first day of classes she operated practically on auto-pilot as she weighed likelihoods and margins of error. A plan was forming in her mind, almost of its own accord, and once it was finished it would be a good plan. Hermione could sense it, like a shark senses blood in the water.

There was only one problem: Thestral Squad was not going to like her plan one bit. They were going to hate it. Worse than that, even—for her plan to work, Thestral Squad itself was going to have to cease to exist. At least, so it would appear to the rest of the school.

Would it be worth it? Hermione approached the question from all angles, saving just enough brainpower to respond to direct questions in her Potions and Herbology classes, the first of the term.

By the end of the day, however, Hermione had come to a decision. All that was left was to convince her friends. She had already signed them up to use one of the Battle Magic training rooms that evening. Normally War Games squads would use these rooms to practice, but they were also secure, isolated places well suited to having a conversation without anyone overhearing.

Thestral Squad left for the training room after dinner. They all knew Hermione was up to something—she had been zoned out all day, and if it weren't for Harry's determination to trust Hermione no matter what, he would have long since demanded to know what was wrong.

Once they were in the training room, alone except for wooden Inferi dummies and straw targets for spellcasting practice, Hermione cast a spell that would muffle the sounds of their conversation. Every time she cast the spell Hermione was amazed by its elegant simplicity—she thought she understood the framework of the spell, which warped the soundwaves originating within a certain radius. She even thought she could design a similar framework to distort beams of light to change someone's appearance or even hide them in plain sight.

But now wasn't the time for spell design, so Hermione firmly suppressed thoughts of Arithmantic formulas and gestured for the others to gather round. They sat in a loose ring on the training room floor.

"Did something happen after we split up yesterday?" Harry asked. "Ever since you got back from the library, you've been off in your own world."

"I had a bit of a run-in last night," Hermione said, choosing her words carefully. "Cormac McLaggen wants me to figure out what happened to his uncle Fergus during the Border battle."

Ron's eyes bugged out. "He knows?!" he spluttered. "But… but everyone thinks it was Oliver Wood's team that fought! How did he find out?!"

"He doesn't know it was us," Hermione replied immediately. "But he suspects Sirius, because Fergus already found evidence that he was hit by a Memory Charm. So Cormac thinks I can figure out the truth from Harry, since Harry is now Sirius's ward."

Neville and Ron, as Serpents from important Pureblood Houses, had more familiarity with Cormac than the others. They exchanged doubtful glances, and Neville coughed delicately.

"That sounds… awfully complicated, at least for Cormac," he pointed out. "I've only seen him here and there at birthdays or when Gran hosted parties, but Cormac has always been the type to deal with problems in one of two ways: hit it, or throw money at it."

Ron nodded in agreement. "Do you know why he approached you? It would be more like Cormac to march up to Harry directly, wand out."

Hermione thought back on everything she knew about Cormac. Was there something she had missed? Did the conceited Cormac have depths to him that she hadn't noticed? But Cormac didn't at all seem the layered type. Then again, Draco had taken Hermione by surprise their first year, and so had Slughorn, and even little Ginny on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione had learned the hard way that it was all too easy to misjudge people.

But Cormac McLaggen? Hermione was willing to bet he really was the dense, self-centered rich boy she thought he was.

He had to be… Hermione's whole plan depended on it.

"Remember that I am Sirius's legal heir now," Harry put in, looking from Hermione to Neville. "Even if Cormac wanted to, it wouldn't be wise to pick a fight with me—especially here, at Hogwarts, with Sirius in a position of power."

"D'you reckon he's working under orders?" Justin mused, chewing his bottom lip in the way he did when he was working through a complicated homework assignment. "Maybe one of his uncles told him to approach one of Harry's friends, quiet-like?"

Hermione nodded. "And of the three Mudbloods the whole school knows hang out with Harry Potter, who better than the frail, easily intimidated girl?"

The other members of Thestral Squad stared at her, aghast. Hermione had to laugh.

"What, I'm not the one who thinks that! Cormac does—believe me, he was very easy to read."

"What's our next move, then?" Harry asked. "You wouldn't have called us here if you didn't have some plan to turn this to our advantage."

Hermione addressed her words primarily to Harry, as he was the first person she would have to convince. "I'm thinking… Cormac came to me for information, but I'm much more likely to get useful information from him."

"You mean… about his uncle's business?"

Hermione nodded. Ron made a doubtful noise.

"Are you sure, Hermione? I mean… remember the person we're talking about. Cormac is hardly likely to know much about the inner workings of his uncle's business. Seriously, would you trust valuable secrets to that meathead?"

"There's knowing and then there's knowing," Hermione replied. "Cormac isn't an only child, he's the youngest of four—I did some digging in the old Hogwarts records during lunch. And Tiberius has no children, I remember Sirius told us that. So it's likely that Cormac is going to be competing with his older siblings for control of the company one day. What if someone—let's say, a bright girl from the Badger caste—became a valuable asset to Cormac while he was still at Hogwarts? Helped him get better marks, say, or gave him advice about how to out-maneuver his siblings? Wouldn't that person be placed in a position to learn valuable information about McLaggen Manufactory?"

Harry's face was all scrunched up, like he had caught a vague whiff of skunk and couldn't get it out of his nose. "What are you saying, Hermione? You want to become some kind of industrial spy?"

"Brilliant!" Ron chimed in, a grin stretching from ear to ear.

Hermione sighed. "This isn't some Muggle action movie, Ron, but yes. I think I have a real chance at becoming someone Cormac trusts, someone who can manipulate him without him ever realizing it. The problem is that if I want to gain Cormac's trust, we won't be able to spend time together. Cormac—and everyone else—would need to believe that I sold you out for my own self-interest. Any messages we passed would have to be secret… and there's no way I could still be part of Thestral Squad for the War Games."

Ron's face fell. "You're right… not so brilliant."

"If you want my two cents, I think this idea stinks to high heaven," Dean said with a dark scowl. "We spent most of last year figuring out how to come together as a team—we even told everyone we're Mudbloods!—and now we have to split apart again? I don't like it."

"Not everyone," Hermione said, finding it hard to face the hurt in Dean's eyes. "Just me."

"It's true that the War Games were already going to be a nuisance for us this year," said Ron. He tried to maintain a level tone, but it was obvious how much that admission cost him. "We have to develop the twins' first product by Christmas, and practicing for the War Games would only take time away from that. Breaking up Thestral Squad, even if it's only for show, would solve that problem."

"It would also be useful camouflage," Justin pointed out. Dean turned on him, a betrayed look in his eyes. "I don't like it either," Justin said, meeting Dean's gaze squarely. "But this isn't about what I like. It's about figuring out the best way to meet our goals. And I trust Hermione to do whatever it takes to give us the best chance to do that."

Harry spoke up again, his voice uncharacteristically calm and measured. "Gaining Cormac's trust… Hermione, you're talking about initiating a lie that could go on for years. And all so you can funnel us information on a single Pureblood business? You'd be running a terrible risk, and I'm not convinced it's a necessary risk. No offense, but are you sure you're not just doing this for… well, for the thrill of it?"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited by the prospect," Hermione said. "I look at Cormac and I think of all the power of McLaggen Manufactory, ripe for the taking. It would take time, and we wouldn't be able to spend much of that time together. But try to think seven, eight, nine years ahead. Imagine if I can turn Cormac into a likely successor to his uncle's company… and then, together, we can crush them all in a single blow. Headmaster Riddle told me something once… you can use a preemptive strike against your enemies, if you're strong enough. The other option is to hide your intentions, pretend you're weaker than you are, and strike from the shadows. We used a preemptive strike against Malfoy last year, telling the whole school that we were Mudbloods before he had the chance to. But my instincts tell me that with an opponent as rich and powerful as Tiberius McLaggen, the latter option is the right one."

Harry was silent for a long moment before speaking. "Assuming—assuming, mind you—that we decide to go along with this plan, how would we pull it off? Some kind of public row? A shouting match staged for Cormac's benefit?"

"Something like that," Hermione said. "The idea would be that I'm bored of the War Games. Tired of helping people who can't further my ambitions." She found it hard to look around at her friends, and for some reason there was a half-submerged sob in her throat. "But it wouldn't be-" her throat closed involuntarily, and she had to cough twice before she could go on. "It wouldn't be true. Never. No matter what."

Before she knew quite what was going on, Hermione found herself in the center of a bone-crushing group hug. Crookshanks, who had been guarding the door without moving a muscle all this time, was suddenly twining around Hermione's ankles, purring like thunder.

"Silly Hermione," Dean said, a little choked up himself. "We know that."

Eventually they pulled away, everyone's cheeks red with embarrassment.

"Er, well," Ron muttered, blushing furiously, "let's get to work on the details. The school knows how tight we are, remember—it won't be easy to fool everyone. But if we pull this off, it will be a prank even the twins will hold in awe."

"That's right," Harry agreed. "We have to put on the best damn show Cormac has ever seen. And we'll need to figure out how to communicate in secret, so Hermione can clue us in on whatever she learns from Cormac and we can keep her updated on the progress of the twins' inventions. Maybe Sirius will have some ideas? He worked with spies all the time on the Border…"

They stayed in the classroom making plans until curfew. Hermione wondered many times that night how she had ever stumbled across such good friends. Pretending to abandon them was going to be one of the hardest things she had ever done—and this time they weren't even doing it merely to survive, but as a calculated move to gain power.

Sure, it was power for a good cause. They wanted to protect Muggleborns on the Border, and to keep powerful Serpents like Tiberius or Fergus McLaggen from sacrificing others for their own wealth and prestige. Nevertheless, Hermione sensed that she—that all of them—were about to enter a new chapter in their lives.

No one was safe in Salazar's Empire just because one happened to be a child. Hermione's own abduction testified to that, as did her torture at Umbridge's hands.

Safety could only be attained through power. That was why Harry had asked for Sirius to make him his ward and heir. That was why Riddle had killed Umbridge in front of Hermione, and it was why Hermione would not stop until she had the power to protect everyone she cared about. From Riddle, from the McLaggens, from Grindelwald, from Salazar himself… from anyone who tried to hurt them.

This year would be their most important step yet on the long, winding road to power, and there was no telling what obstacles they would have to overcome. But this time, they knew what they were getting into. This time, Hermione had her friends' blessings and their firm support.

And no matter what ended up happening, no matter how other people saw her, she would always be Thestral Squad. Deep down, where it really counted. That much, at least, Hermione wouldn't let anyone take from her.

oOoOo

Harry was determined not to let Hermione's plan cast a pall over the first week back at Hogwarts. For the moment Thestral Squad was back together, and Harry meant to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. He was even looking forward to classes, thanks in large part to the new professors teaching Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures.

Bill and Charlie Weasley were the talk of the entire school that first week. Everyone was curious what their classes would be like, especially considering that they were young officers fresh from the Border. Speculation ran wild, like the rumor that Charlie had a pet dragon that he was going to keep in the Forbidden Forest during the year. Bill's fang earring, which he started wearing once he was no longer on active duty, inspired a new fashion trend among the more impressionable of the older students, and Ron was rapidly growing tired of hearing starry-eyed girls talk about how "dreamy" his oldest brother was.

When it was time for his first Ancient Runes class, Harry felt the same level of nervous excitement that usually only preceded a War Game. He kept thinking back to the battle at the Border fort, when a mob of Dementors had exploded after running into the barrier. Magical wards had the power to kill Dementors—or at least to disperse their energy, since Sirius had told Harry that Dementors couldn't 'die' in the usual sense of the term—when Patronus Charms could only hold them at bay for a while.

This was a branch of magic that could protect an entire empire from Dark creatures, and Harry would not rest until he knew all about it. He had even stayed up late the night before, reading the first few chapters of their textbook in preparation.

"It's going to be rotten having my brothers as professors," Ron said glumly as he sat down next to Harry. It was a few minutes before the start of class, and students were still milling in from breakfast. Bill Weasley hadn't yet appeared.

"It won't be that bad," Harry reassured him. "The worst your brothers can do is embarrass you, right?"

From Ron's expression, it didn't seem like he felt particularly reassured.

"Alright everyone, settle down." Bill's voice from the doorway had all the effect of a spell, silencing the various conversations in the classroom instantly. Bill walked to the front of the room, projecting a quietly intimidating air.

It wasn't clear exactly what was intimidating about him—it certainly wasn't his dragon fang earring, which was more quirky than scary. He didn't have Snape's air of menace, or Bellatrix Lestrange's unnerving intensity, or even Sirius Black's grizzled-veteran vibe. Bill just seemed like a kind, straightforward young man—but one you didn't want to mess with, even if you weren't sure yourself why not. It wasn't that his welcoming, inquisitive smile was false, precisely… it was more the feeling that, if you pushed too hard, you wouldn't like the expression that took its place.

"Welcome to Ancient Runes," Bill began. "Most of you probably know one or more of my siblings, but I urge you not to let that knowledge influence your opinion of me. I am here to teach, not to pull pranks or goof off."

His gaze rested for a split second longer on Ron as he said "goof off," drawing laughter from the class. Ron flushed scarlet, and Harry reflected privately that Bill Weasley seemed more than capable of pulling a prank or two.

"In years past, Hogwarts required students to take electives starting in their third year. That has changed, due in part to a request from the Lion and Raven castes to begin identifying and developing magical talent earlier. That is why you will be taking Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures starting from your second year. I will push you far beyond your limits this year. We live in a world at war—we all know that, even if it is sometimes easy to pretend otherwise. What you learn at Hogwarts, the magical foundation you build here, could mean a lot of lives saved in the future. So, while I welcome high spirits and will always appreciate a good joke, I will not tolerate anything less than your best in my class. Understood?"

Harry's "yes, sir!" came out a little too loudly, drawing amused glances and snorts from the students around him. Bill chuckled good-naturedly, and Harry flushed even redder than Ron.

"I'll take that to mean you're ready and willing to learn, Mr. Potter. Now, can anyone tell me what we study here in Ancient Runes? …If anyone says 'ancient runes,' I will Transfigure you into a teakettle. Yes, Miss Granger?"

Harry, who had also had his hand up, scowled at Hermione. She took no notice as she delivered the answer, which Harry recognized from the textbook introduction he had read the night before. "Ancient Runes involves the study of written magical languages. Many spells are not cast with wands, but are infused into runes written or carved into various surfaces. If you can decipher ancient runes, you can understand and even manipulate magical artifacts of past civilizations, or create new magical artifacts with runes of your own. Ancient Runes and Arithmancy are the two pillars of ward creation."

Bill nodded affirmation. "Wards like the ones that make up our Border, keeping us safe from Grindelwald and his Dark forces. Many students think the study of Ancient Runes is boring, at least when they first begin. You will have to memorize long lists of runes, many of which are bloody hard to pronounce. There are no shortcuts, and the true worth of what we study is sometimes hard to understand. But soon enough, you will appreciate the usefulness of Ancient Runes… and in time, if you're very lucky and work very hard, you might see their beauty as well."

Bill took out his wand and, without warning, tossed it through the air. It passed near Justin, who snagged it with ease—compared to Feather's dive-bomb attacks, which Justin's magical familiar still carried out almost every day, a thrown wand was no challenge.

"Be so kind as to look after my wand for a moment, Mr. Finch-Fletchley," said Bill. "Now, I would like to issue a challenge. I am going to put on a special cloak, one that I have covered with defensive wards. I will stand in front of the chalkboard, as you see, and I will not move. You have the rest of the class period to use whatever spells you wish, with the purpose of forcing me to move even one step. Mr. Finch-Fletchley will hold my wand for the duration, so I will be entirely unable to defend myself with magic… other than the magic already at work within the wards of my cloak, that is. No spell that I have specifically warded against will be able to effect me—and the only wards I have included in the cloak are described at one point or another in your textbook. If you hope to succeed, you're going to have to perform beyond what the textbook author expects of students your age."

Bill took a cloth bundle out from under his desk and unfolded it. It was a majestic set of wizard's robes, midnight blue, and covered from cowl to foot with designs etched in silver thread. Harry thought he recognized one or two designs from illustrations in the textbook, but most were strange to him. He noticed Hermione's lips moving silently as she looked at the cloak, and said a bad word in his head when he realized she must be listing off the names of the wards, all of them, and so would be able to figure out exactly which spells would be ineffective.

I am going to channel my inner Hermione for this class, Harry promised himself. Tonight he would finish reading the textbook if it killed him… not that this resolution did him much good now.

Bill put on the cloak. "Are you all ready?"

"What do we get if we succeed?" Seamus Finnigan demanded.

Bill's smile was one of friendly challenge, but the glint in his eye was vastly more challenge than friendly. "If you force me to take a step, you may opt not to take an exam of your choice, up to and including the final exam. If you knock me down… you can have the cloak."

Seamus muttered that getting out of an exam seemed like a better prize than a single cloak, which made Harry stare at the other boy in astonishment. A cloak set with working defensive wards stitched personally by a master, compared to the ability to skive off a single assignment? There was no comparison, and Harry had to wonder what Seamus was thinking.

At this point Bill had already taken his place in front of the chalkboard. He held out his arms and then, to all appearances, seemed to fall asleep where he stood. His eyes closed and his breathing became deep and regular.

"Well?" Seamus asked, looking around the room. "What are we waiting for?"

"You don't have to ask me twice," Ron said as a huge grin stretched from ear to ear. "I've been waiting for an opportunity to hex Bill for years. Stupefy!" Ron ended with a shout, aiming a Stunner directly at his older brother. The spell hit the cloak and canceled out, creating a series of ripples in the air like a pebble falling into a pond. One of the designs on the front of the cloak, a silver shield, seemed to glow more brightly for a few seconds.

Ron's spell signaled open season for the rest of the students, and the next five minutes was a hail of charms, jinxes, and hexes aimed at Bill. Without fail, each spell canceled out when it hit the cloak, causing one or more of the designs to glow like miniature stars. Stupefy, Reducto, Diffindo, and even Incendio charms flew like deadly hail through the classroom, and none made enough of an impact to even force Bill to open his eyes.

After the first few minutes of furious, unsuccessful target practice, several students—Hermione and Harry included—opted for a different approach. Working in small groups scattered across the classroom, they opened their textbooks and found the glossary that described basic defensive wards. Hermione had her notebook open and was sketching the designs she saw on Bill's cloak, then cross-referencing with the descriptions of wards and their constituent runes in the glossary. Soon most of the other groups were following her example.

The next step was making a list of all of the spells they knew, then crossing out all of the spells that were definitely warded against by the designs they recognized on Bill's cloak. The problem was that the spells they all knew were no good—nothing that they had learned the previous year in Battle Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration or Charms was the least use.

The class became abruptly more interesting when students began volunteering the spells that they had not learned in school. Draco Malfoy was the first to try an extracurricular spell, asking for the other students to push back the desks to make more space around Bill.

"My tutor taught me this spell over the summer," Draco said in his lazy drawl. "I doubt it will work, but I might as well give it a try."

He swept his wand up and around in a peculiar spiral motion, then whispered a series of words too quietly for the other students to make out. The air around Bill began to swirl, like a miniature cyclone with him at the center. Hermione looked at Draco and made an inquisitive sound.

"It sucks the air out of a small space," Draco explained. Harry wanted to smack the self-satisfied smirk off his face.

To Harry's great satisfaction, however, as soon as Hermione heard the nature of the spell, she appeared to lose interest. "Ah, that's alright then. It won't work."

Draco frowned. "Why not? There's nothing in the list of wards that—"

But his words were cut off when the vortex started to glow silver, as if catching the light from a dozen illuminated ward designs. The spinning cone of air wobbled slightly, then burst like a popped balloon, shooting a puff of air through the classroom that knocked everyone back a step.

"Some of those wards have special properties that emerge from combination," Hermione explained. "The ward for protection against internal injury and the ward to withstand strong winds can be combined with a number of subordinate wards in a way that neutralizes spells attempting to deprive someone of oxygen. Apparently it was a common method of magical homicide in the 1600s, until the wardsmith Ignatius Yaddle pioneered the combination."

Harry caught Hermione's gaze and raised an eyebrow. She had the grace to blush.

"It was in the Appendix," she said with a shrug.

After Malfoy's unsuccessful attempt, every student who knew a spell not covered in the first- or second-year Hogwarts curriculum came forward to take a turn. It reminded Harry a bit of the tales of Excalibur, except that instead of trying to pull a sword out of a stone, they were only trying to knock one lousy wizard off his feet.

Hermione surprised Harry by only attempting two spells, neither of which worked. He knew for a fact that Hermione had devoured O.W.L. and even N.E.W.T. level texts—and that she had an encyclopedic knowledge of the spells she had read about—so Harry wasn't sure why she was showing such restraint. But after a moment's thought, Harry guessed that Hermione didn't want to showcase the extent of her knowledge in front of her classmates. Showing off wasn't smart if it gave away too much.

They were nearing the end of the class period when Hermione spoke up loudly, cutting across the half-hearted mutterings of students racking their brains for spells they hadn't tried yet.

"Harry, why don't you try a Patronus Charm? I don't see anything on this list of wards about it."

A ripple of speculation ran through the room as people turned expectantly towards Harry. Only the day before, during their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Harry had demonstrated his corporeal Patronus, claiming that he had perfected it over the summer with Sirius's help. According to official record, Harry was now tied with Professor Snape for the earliest recorded Patronus Charm—of course he had first used it during the battle at the Border, but for obvious reasons that was not something Harry could share.

"Will it do anything?" Harry asked skeptically. "A wizard in a cloak isn't exactly a Dementor."

"But Patronus Charms do more than just drive off Dementors," Ron pointed out. "They can pass messages, right? Surely your Patronus can body-slam somebody if you ask it to."

"Only one way to find out, I suppose," said Harry. He prepared his memory, of looking around after the Border skirmish and seeing all of his friends still living, then readied his wand. "Expecto Patronum!"

His silver stag Patronus burst into being so quickly it seemed that it had been waiting to be called. Without any direction it charged headlong towards Bill, scattering chairs and desks to either side as it went.

Just before the stag's antlers impacted Bill's chest, Bill opened his eyes.

"Merlin's ba—"

But the rest of Bill's words were cut off as Harry's Patronus sent him flying backwards. He collided with the chalkboard—though the wards that blocked harm from physical objects kept him from sustaining any damage from the impact—and slid down to land with a thump on the classroom floor.

There was a long, breathless pause, as students looked from each other to Harry to Bill, who was climbing back to his feet. Then a cheer erupted, and Harry found himself fending off the congratulations of many of his classmates.

"Hermione thought of it," he insisted. "I wouldn't have thought to use the Patronus Charm like that in a hundred years."

"It was well done," Bill said. "The Patronus Charm is an incredibly versatile and powerful spell, and Hermione was quite right to surmise that no possible combination of basic wards would be able to defend against it. But don't sell yourself short, Mr. Potter—the ability to cast a Patronus in your second year is certainly something to be proud of. But I don't want the rest of you thinking that the only way to defeat wards is to cast a spell as powerful or unconventional as a Patronus. There are a number of ways, in fact, that you could have overcome the protections in my cloak without using anything other than spells in your first-year curriculum. But we appear to be out of time, so I'm afraid that must wait for next class. Very good work—from all of you. I was impressed by the range of spells you used today."

The students returned desks and chairs to their original places before sidling out of the classroom, most still talking about wards, their combinations, and the interesting spells they had seen from their classmates.

Harry and the rest of Thestral Squad were about to leave when Bill called out after him.

"Mr. Potter, would you mind staying after class for a few minutes? I have to present you with this cloak… and there are a few things I would like to discuss with you."

"With me?" Harry repeated. "Er… sure, Professor Weasley. Go on ahead, you guys, I'll catch up with you later."

Once all of the other students had left, Bill turned to Harry with an indecipherable expression. "Very impressive work today, Mr. Potter. You've earned this cloak, and I'm sure that you and your friends will find a good use for it."

Harry took the cloak, gazing hungrily at the wards stitched into the fabric with artful precision. With difficulty, he brought his attention back to Bill.

"What else did you want to speak with me about, Professor?"

"Just a minute, Mr. Potter. My brother Charlie wanted to be here as well."

"And here I am," came Charlie's cheerful baritone from the hall. He entered the classroom, carefully closing the door behind him. Charlie wasn't as tall as Bill, but he was much broader through the shoulders, with scars on his face and hands that testified to a very dangerous career. With the only exit to the hallway now closed, Harry felt more and more like he had just walked into an ambush.

"Have a seat, Harry," Bill said, and something in his tone made it perfectly clear that it wasn't a suggestion. This was also the first time he had used Harry's first name, and the effect was decidedly ominous. Charlie cracked his knuckles, not saying a word.

"You know how close the Weasley family is, I imagine," Bill said, waiting for Harry's nod before he continued. "We're not very popular politically, and we aren't as numerous a clan as we once were, because each generation a few of our relatives perish on the Border. It makes sense, then, that we would look after each other. Take pride in each other's accomplishments, worry when someone is in danger… are you following me so far?"

Harry nodded, squirming further back in his seat. He had the glimmer of an idea where this was going, and if he was right, all of the defensive wards in the world probably wouldn't be enough.

"Imagine our surprise-" Bill began.

"-and our shock-" Charlie said over him, folding his arms over his muscular chest.

"-and our shock," Bill nodded, "when we read in the Daily Prophet that our scapegrace younger brothers Fred and George had become war heroes. 'Can you imagine that?' I asked Charlie at the time."

"He certainly did ask me," said Charlie. "And I said, 'No, Bill, I can't imagine.' You understand my confusion, right, Harry? After all, what in the name of Merlin's left testicle was Sirius Black doing, letting his students get involved in a dust-up with Dementors and werewolves?"

"So we went to the twins and asked them directly," Bill went on. "Why they didn't take a secured Portkey back to Hogwarts the second the alarm rang at the outpost. Why, if a Portkey wasn't forthcoming, a group of students was included in a military operation that resulted in the death of at least one brave soldier."

Charlie leaned forward, and even though he was a full foot shorter than Bill, he did a very creditable job of looming. "The twins folded like a set of dress robes. They didn't want to give you up, but we can always tell when they're trying to get something by us. So we know, Harry. We know you disguised Thestral Squad and snuck onto the base."

"I-I didn't—I mean, that is to say, er…" Harry stuttered.

Bill held up a hand, forestalling Harry's attempts at speech. "Don't get us wrong. We're not mad that you snuck onto the Border fort. It was a well-executed plan-"

"-and it even managed to fool Sirius Black," Charlie added, "which is no mean feat."

"A bit of rule-breaking is not a problem," said Bill. "Sirius told us everything from his point of view, and we know that the one at fault is ex-Captain McLaggen. If it weren't for his hatred of Sirius, you would have been safely back at Hogwarts when the fighting began. It's clear to me that Fergus McLaggen is the bad guy in this scenario—leaving out Grindelwald, obviously—and not Sirius or Thestral Squad. There is only one point about which Charlie and I are most seriously displeased, Harry."

"Livid, really," Charlie put in. "Enraged, you might even say."

Bill caught and held Harry's gaze. He couldn't look away.

"Do you know what we're upset about, Harry?"

Of course Harry knew. How could he not? He remembered only too clearly the moment when he had been certain that he had led his friends to their deaths. The shame of it still ate at him.

"I didn't tell Sirius who we really were before the battle," Harry said. He didn't look away from Bill, and he kept his back rigid. This was nothing more than he deserved—he would never be able to look his friends, or his mother, or Sirius, in the face, if they knew he had cringed away from a punishment he knew to be just. "He was expecting us to know all of the spells that Oliver Wood and his team know. I should have told him."

Bill nodded, his face grave. "So you understand. You knowingly put your friends in danger, while withholding from your commanding officer valuable intelligence regarding the combat capabilities of his soldiers. If you hadn't pulled a Patronus Charm out of your ass, many more people might have died. Your friends. Our little brother."

"It was stupid," Harry said, jaw set. "I deserve whatever punishment you think is appropriate. And… I'm sorry. My friends deserved better from me."

"I can see that you've already thought about this," Bill said. "I'm glad. I was worried that Ron might have given his loyalty to someone who didn't deserve it. Sirius has a high opinion of your potential, though, and I can see that you're willing to acknowledge and learn from your own mistakes. I think I will reserve judgment for now. You're dismissed, Mr. Potter."

Bill and Charlie made for the door, leaving Harry in his seat, still stunned.

"Wait," he called out. "That's… it? No detention, no torture, nothing?"

Bill looked over his shoulder, a glint of wicked humor visible in his eyes. "We'll save the torture for class. Given the respect ickle Ronniekins has for you, Charlie and I have a vested interest in making sure that you're neither a simpleton nor a weakling. You will have ample opportunity this year to prove yourself."

"My CO used to say that every soldier should get one chance to try again after screwing up and nearly getting his squadmates killed, or else we wouldn't have any soldiers left," Charlie added. "Of course, most soldiers who screw up that monumentally die directly after, so they don't get to collect that second chance. But Merlin knows I had my chance. Don't stress, Harry… you just screwed up a little earlier than most."

Bill paused as he reached the door. "Charlie's right about most soldiers deserving a second chance. But keep this in mind, Harry: If your next screw-up involves a member of our family, you sure as hell won't get a third."

A second later and they were gone, leaving Harry feeling like one of the target dummies after a Battle Magic class.

oOoOo

Halfway through September, on the Saturday morning before the first War Game of the year, between Cho Chang and Oliver Wood's squads, Hermione staged her break with Thestral Squad. Almost everyone in the school was at breakfast, since they would all be going down to the stadium afterward. It felt far, far too soon to carry out their plan, but as Ron had pointed out, they had to do it before their own first War Game, the better to explain why they weren't competing.

The members of Thestral Squad sat together, as was their custom, along one of the long tables in the Great Hall. Sometimes Susan Bones joined them, making Neville awkward and prone to nervous giggles.

But most of the time, including today, Susan sat with an ever-expanding study group that included Serpent and Raven students. Many of them were older students, some generously offering a helping hand to younger students, and some humble enough to ask for help from a younger witch who read ahead almost as quickly as Hermione.

Hermione wondered if Thestral Squad, with their plan to begin amassing economic power this year, was actually a step behind Susan Bones—if Hermione's suspicions were right, Susan had plans to turn her study group into a significant political faction down the road. Some of the students in her study group were ferociously bright, and most of them, according to Neville, came from wealthy and influential families. None of them had any connections with the Malfoys, which, given Susan's experience last year, Hermione could easily understand.

But contemplating the mercurial Ms. Bones was only a distraction from Hermione's true purpose this morning. There was no more time to waste. She slammed her pumpkin juice down on the table and raised her voice to Harry, who was sitting across from her.

"I don't want to watch the War Games this morning, Harry!"

Harry scowled and put down his toast, raising his own volume to match. "I don't care, Hermione! All the other squads have been training for the entire summer—we don't know what they're capable of, and we have to prepare! You think Cedric Diggory or Cho Chang sat behind a desk all summer?"

Hermione's offended gasp was only half feigned. Considering that Harry, Neville, and Ron had been training with Sirius, and Justin and Dean had spent the summer working under the tutelage of the Groundskeepers, she really had suffered from a lack of combat training relative to her friends. But it was all part of the performance—take that indignation, she told herself. Use it.

"So that's what this is about!" Hermione spat, standing up from the bench. By now conversations all along their table had ceased, as students turned to watch the show. "You're just jealous that I was able to intern for the Ministry!"

"You can intern for a hundred ministries for all I care!" Harry roared back, getting into the swing of things nicely. He stood up too, face splotchy with anger. "You can do whatever the hell you want, Hermione, but when you don't take the War Games seriously, that affects the rest of us."

"Maybe I don't want to take the War Games seriously!" Hermione shot back. "Maybe I'm tired of wasting my time running around a field playing soldier, when I could be researching spells that are actually worth my time and talent!"

Harry's hackles rose like an offended cat. "Playing soldier? Playing soldier?! Is that what you think we've been doing? You'd rather we suck up to Ministry pukes instead?"

"You only say that because you've never once had to worry about your future! Do you think it's easy to gain recognition as a Muggleborn? Easy to find a job that puts food on the table? Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot you want to throw away your future on the Border, like your oh-so-precious father. I'm sick of hearing about Captain Potter's exploits. If he was so great, why couldn't he keep himself alive?"

Hermione winced inside at the shell-shocked look that came into Harry's eyes at that. He had already given his permission before this for Hermione to talk about his father, but knowing it was coming and actually hearing the words were two different things entirely.

"Go on then, Hermione," Harry said, enunciating each word with chill precision. "Throw Thestral Squad away. We don't have anything to offer you. We can't line your path with diamonds or give you cushy Ministry posts."

At this point Dean and Justin stood up, outrage written plain on their faces. "You're really going to abandon us?" Dean demanded. "After all we've done for you? After what we've been through together? I thought you liked the War Games!"

"Spending a few months together in an Integration Facility doesn't give you a hold on me," Hermione spat. "I'm sick of the two of you leeching off me all the time. I'm sick of slowing down so that you can keep up. None of you are anything more than anchors weighing me down."

Dean hissed in outrage, but even worse was Justin's sad look of acquiescence. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Hermione," Justin said quietly, looking down at his shoes.

"Don't apologize to her!" Dean said. "Harry, we don't need her. We can find a replacement, someone who will actually take the War Games seriously."

Harry spread his hands wide. "What do you say, Hermione? It seems we don't need you, and you've made it clear you don't need us. Are we done?"

"Bet your ass we're done, Potter," Hermione said with a sneer that was almost worthy of Malfoy. "Good luck with the War Games… I know it's the only form of success small enough to fit into your petty imagination."

Hermione turned away, preparing to leave, when Harry's last comment, uttered in a loud stage whisper that carried admirably, reached her ears.

"…teach me to trust an uppity Mudblood-"

Hermione whirled around, generating torque from the motion of her hips and shoulders, and slapped Harry hard in the face from across the table. The slap had all of her weight and momentum behind it, and it caught Harry completely unprepared. He went reeling to the floor.

"You think you're special because a rich Serpent made you his ward?" Hermione spat, seething. "You're no different from me, Potter. Just a leech sucking the blood of his betters. At least I don't have any illusions about who I am or what I want."

She stalked away while Harry was hauling himself back to his feet. There was a resounding silence in the Great Hall, broken only by Malfoy, who offered a polite golf clap and his most sardonic smile as Hermione walked by.

Carefully, as naturally as she could, Hermione made eye contact with Cormac McLaggen on her way out of the Great Hall. She met his eyes, faltered a step, made an abortive look back towards Harry, then continued onward. She saw Cormac's eyes narrow, and inwardly she nodded with satisfaction. Cormac had to be thinking about the terms of a certain deal, and how that deal was going to be affected now that Hermione and Harry were so publicly on the outs.

Hermione was halfway down the corridor when Cormac caught up to her. He grabbed her wrist and jerked, turning her roughly around.

Hermione suppressed her instinct to hex him. She suspected it was going to be good practice—Cormac had more than a few bad habits, and if she was going to get close to him she would have to shrug them off. Payback would come, however—and when it did, it promised to be sweet.

"What was that all about?" Cormac demanded.

Hermione shrugged. "You saw, didn't you? I'm done with Potter and his lackeys. Those stupid War Games are a waste of my time."

"What about-" Cormac broke off, scanning the corridor to make sure they were alone. Hermione, who counted a half dozen portraits whose inhabitants were clearly listening in, was not impressed by Cormac's observation skills. "What about our deal? You were supposed to figure out what Potter knows!"

"I already did that," Hermione said with a scornful toss of her hair. "He couldn't wait to boast about his uncle 'sticking it' to Captain Fergus over the summer. I couldn't get much, but apparently after some Firewhiskey one night over the summer, Sirius was boasting about putting one over on his school friend. Something about a Memory Charm, and making sure that Fergus never commanded soldiers ever again. But that's all Sirius let slip to Harry, so it's all I could find out."

Hermione and Harry had worked out beforehand how much to tell Cormac. They had settled on revealing barely more than Cormac already knew, but in such a way that would hopefully make Cormac even more determined to get even on behalf of his uncle.

Hermione made as if to walk away, but Cormac shook his head. "Not so fast, Granger. I need you to tell me everything you heard; every single word."

"Not here," Hermione said. "The library, this evening. We'll pretend I'm tutoring you—hell, I can help you for real if you'd like. I'll bet your uncle would be impressed if your grades went up, right? And I'll tell you everything Harry said—maybe something will help your uncle get back at Sirius. But you can't forget your promise, okay? I want that spot in R&D when I graduate."

"Yeah, yeah," Cormac said brusquely. "We'll just see about that. Meet me in the library, 8pm sharp."

"Be still my heart," came a familiar silky drawl. "What have I stumbled upon? A lovers' tryst? Or something even more remarkable—Cormac making study plans?"

Cormac and Hermione turned to face Draco, who had somehow made his way down the corridor without either of them noticing. "We seem to keep running into each other, Malfoy," Cormac said guardedly.

"That's because I keep finding you in close contact with my tutor," Draco replied easily. "It makes me… uneasy, I suppose I should say. Hermione, you do remember the terms of our deal, don't you? If I'm to have the best grades in school, do you really have time to run around with dashing young bucks like Cormac here? Shouldn't you be preparing study guides or some such thing? Especially now that you have extricated yourself, quite neatly, from the grasping clutches of Thestral Squad."

Hermione surveyed Draco for a long moment. This was not part of her script, but it seemed that Draco had an angle of his own. It was clear that he had decided to help her reel in Cormac, so Hermione figured she ought to play along.

"Our deal says nothing about how I spend my time," Hermione said, firmly but respectfully. "Don't worry, Malfoy, your marks will improve. I gave you my word, didn't I?"

Malfoy nodded. "And you know well what will happen should you break it. Now, Cormac, my muscular friend, I advise you to be cautious. It's the height of poor manners to poach someone else's Mudblood."

Cormac inclined his head slightly, though his shoulders had a mulish set to them. "Malfoy, Granger. I'll leave the two of you—clearly you have matters of your own to discuss."

Hermione caught his glance, turning so that Malfoy couldn't see her face. 8pm, she mouthed to Cormac. He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, before walking away.

"Well now," Draco said when they were alone in the corridor. "What a delightful show you put on today. All for Cormac's benefit, was it? Even if it was just a show, I particularly appreciated seeing Potter slapped in the face. A beautifully cathartic moment, that."

"If you knew what we were doing," Hermione said, keeping her voice low, "then why did you interfere? I don't need your help handling Cormac."

"Perhaps not," Draco agreed, "but McLaggen isn't the type to consort with a Mudblood willingly. Even if he knows how smart you are, he might not be quick enough to see your potential value to him, or to his ambitions. But he's naturally competitive and stubborn as a bull—once he sees someone of my status angling to snatch you up? Why, then you become a prize worth fighting for."

Hermione tilted her head quizzically. "We already have a deal, negotiated for our mutual benefit—and speaking of which, we should meet tomorrow to practice more. I've been thinking about ways to clear our minds, like the book says… but that can wait. What is this additional piece of meddling going to cost me?"

"Nothing… for now," said Draco, smiling in a way that would have put the Cheshire cat to shame. "I am in favor of anything that lessens Tiberius McLaggen's power and influence, provided that the House of Malfoy does not suffer for it. I think you have some plan in motion, my ambitious Muggleborn friend. Some devious little plan in which Cormac, bless his mulish heart, is destined to play the role of patsy. I'm content to watch and wait for now—it promises to be better than any play. But rest assured, Hermione… eventually I'm going to want my cut."

Hermione sighed. She supposed there was no reason to be surprised. Malfoy could practically smell profit, and he wasn't one to lose out on any opportunity for personal gain.

"Don't give the game away, and you'll get your cut," she promised. "Now, are you going to watch the War Game? You're the captain of a squad yourself, or hadn't you remembered?"

"Yes, I ought to be going. I stick around any longer, and I might get slapped in the face…"

Draco's chuckle, rich with irony, malice and a touch of honest mirth, lingered in the corridor as he walked away.

oOoOo

Remus Lupin missed Tonks. He missed her most of the time, of course, but it was particularly bad when he went on missions for the Order. That was how he and Tonks had originally fallen in love—it turned out that a life of evading Aurors and infiltrating Grindelwald's strongholds made for strong bonding experiences. The constant danger they lived with, and the clear attraction and trust between them, had overcome their age difference and Remus's "furry little problem."

Eventually, that is. Remus had struggled for a while, denying what he and Tonks both felt, before he finally figured out that the love they shared was something to be embraced and celebrated. Thankfully Tonks had forgiven him for being an ass—she said that it would be good practice for their eventual married life.

But now Tonks was deep undercover in the Ministry, and had been for a long time. There was no telling when she would be finished with her current assignment. Although Remus understood the toll that duty exacted on them all, he felt Tonks's absence keenly. Mad-Eye Moody never let him forget it, either, muttering about "malingering lovesick fools" whenever they were paired together. Moody was lucky that Remus held him in such esteem, or else there would have been words… and possibly a few hexes too.

That was one reason Remus was glad to be on a solo mission that day. He could be as lovesick and melancholy as he pleased, and there was no one around to gripe or mutter. Not that Remus had any intention of allowing his feelings to affect his work. Constant Vigilance was his reality, no matter how much he missed Tonks.

Remus had a Muggle couple and their magical son to move to safety, and there was no telling whether Salazar's Aurors had already visited this family or not. Rufus Scrimgeour, the wily old wolf, was wising up to the fact that there were Order sympathizers within the Ministry. These days he personally distributed the list of magical children to be Gathered, but he made sure that his lieutenants rarely followed the order written on the list, so that there was no way for the Order to stay a step ahead.

Until an Order member actually reached the house, there was no way to know if Aurors had already come and gone, or even if they were lying in wait in an attempt to capture some of Dumbledore's outlaws. Pettigrew had set a few traps like that since becoming the Deputy Director of the Department of Information, and although he hadn't successfully captured any Order members, there had been a few close calls.

Normally Order members worked in pairs, the better to make their escape should they encounter a task force of Aurors. Remus was one of the few whose combat capabilities were sufficient for Mad-Eye Moody to give permission for him to work alone. Dumbledore still wouldn't have sent him alone, if it weren't for the other children who were due to be Gathered that night. According to fresh information from Tonks, it was going to be a particularly busy week of child abduction for the Ministry.

Every available combat-ready member of the Order had been mustered out, and it was a virtual certainty that there would be multiple scuffles with Aurors before the night was through. Dumbledore's resources were stretched the breaking point as it was, so when Lupin volunteered to go to Sussex alone to escort the Quimby family to safety, Dumbledore had reluctantly agreed.

Lupin made his way down the street where the Quimbys lived, trusting in his shabby secondhand Muggle suit to make him seem like some overworked lawyer heading home after a long day at the office. His wand was up his right sleeve, and the Foe-Glass amulet that Mad-Eye Moody had created hung around his neck under his shirt. Unlike most Foe-Glasses, which were unreliable at the best of times, Moody's creation could be relied on to turn painfully warm whenever it detected concealment or ambush spells active nearby—it could even sense the use of Polyjuice Potion. The amulet wasn't completely foolproof, but it had already saved Lupin from walking into a few ambushes over the years.

As he drew closer to the Quimby house, situated at the end of the road, Lupin was relieved that his amulet remained the same temperature as always. With any luck, he would be able to get the Quimbys to safety before any Aurors showed up—but Remus had not stayed alive as long as he had by counting on luck.

Slowly, carefully, Remus approached the front door. The house was a neat two-story affair with eggshell paint and trim windows, an almost exact replica of all the other houses along the street. A perfectly normal, unexceptionable bit of British Muggle suburbia, with nothing to indicate the existence of a magical child within.

Remus rapped four times on the door, twice slow and twice fast. "Mr. and Mrs. Quimby?" he called out, keeping his voice low. "Are you ready to leave? You should have been alerted by Arabella Figg that I was coming."

There was no response from within. Remus's danger sense, which he trusted over any Foe-Glass, was going crazy. Younger, more foolhardy Order members might have attempted to search the house, but Remus knew better. If the Quimbys were not waiting by the door, bags already packed and their baby boy in their arms, then something was wrong. He was not going to stick around to find out what.

But as Remus turned back to the street, he found two shadowy figures, faces obscured by the dark cowls of their cloaks, blocking his retreat. Their wands were raised, the tips illuminated by Lumos charms. The amulet against Lupin's chest grew warm.

"Little late, don't you think?" Remus muttered. Words would be had when he found Mad-Eye Moody back at Headquarters, that was for sure.

"Where are your reinforcements?" Rupin said, this time raising his voice. He walked deliberately down the porch steps to the driveway. "Surely Scrimgeour wouldn't send only two of you for me? I'm disappointed."

From behind him, a feminine voice full of malice and amusement replied. "You don't have to worry about Scrimgeour's boys tonight, Lupin dear. I'm afraid this is a rather different kind of party. Exclusive, you know."

Remus turned around and glared at the witch who had just emerged from the Quimbys' front door.

"Bellatrix. How perfectly lovely to see you."

Bellatrix Lestrange met this empty pleasantry with a chuckle that sent a shiver down Lupin's spine. He held her gaze without flinching, however. Wolves knew better than to show weakness before another predator, and Bellatrix was as dangerous a predator as any werewolf Remus had ever known.

"How long has it been, my dear?" Bellatrix replied. "Why, I don't think we've seen each other since… was it the summer of '83? That little werewolf slum in Slovenia? I was quite impressed with you, you know. I never would have thought one of Dumbledore's bleeding-hearts would be able to leave such a trail of bodies. It was a beautiful sight."

She licked her lips and grinned, eyes lit with avid recollection. Lupin accepted the compliment—for compliment it was, coming from Bellatrix—with unruffled calm. "I believe some of those bodies were your handiwork, Bellatrix. What are you doing here? The Order has no quarrel with Riddle, so far as I know. Didn't we even exchange information this summer, when we acted as a smokescreen for your little assassination? You helped us rescue Muggleborns then—what in Merlin's name are you up to now?"

Bellatrix shrugged. "It's not personal, my sometimes-furry friend. The colonel just wants the stone. We know Flamel is dead, which means Dumbledore has it. If we want it, we'll need a bargaining chip. Hence this melodramatic meeting in the night. There's no need to be afraid—I wouldn't dream of harming you. Dumbledore will get you back safe and sound, in exchange for one teensy little Philosopher's Stone. Sound fair?"

"It sounds deranged," Remus snarled as he let his wand drop into his hand from his sleeve. "Dumbledore would never allow someone like Riddle to get his hands on the Elixir of Life. You think I wouldn't gladly die if it meant keeping the stone out of that maniac's hands?"

"Be careful how you speak of the colonel," Bellatrix said, her eyes like chips of glowing crystal in the darkness. "A mangy pup like you doesn't even deserve to say his name."

"If Tom Riddle's greatness can be maligned by little old me, then it's possible he wasn't so great to begin with," Remus scoffed. "Now, are we going to talk all night, or are we going to fight?"

"I was hoping I could talk you into coming quietly," Bellatrix said, her voice changing tone, becoming huskier as the bloodlust began to shine from her eyes. "There's no need for useless bloodshed."

Remus snorted. "As if I didn't know you live for useless bloodshed, Bella. It's practically mother's milk for you. Which of Riddle's Groundskeepers did you bring with you this time, eh? Macnair, I'm guessing—he wouldn't miss a chance to bag another werewolf, for all his Argent days are behind him."

Remus turned his back on Bellatrix deliberately, his wand in a white-knuckle grip. "No, neither of you is tall enough to be Macnair. What's the matter, lackeys? Afraid to show your faces?"

The Groundskeeper on the right, who supported himself with a walking stick, threw back his cowl defiantly. Remus nodded, recognizing his blond hair.

"Carrow, what a… dubious pleasure. And I see your compatriot lacks a right hand—that would be Dolohov, I believe?"

Dolohov threw back his cowl as well, smiling with quietly assured malice. "Lupin," he drawled. He offered a lazy wave of his left hand, the only one he still possessed, which held his wand in a firm grip.

"Why isn't Macnair here?" Remus asked, turning back to Bellatrix. "No offense to your boys, Bellatrix, but aren't they a bit too, er… crippled, for this sort of work?"

Remus ignored Carrow's muttered curse, keeping his attention fixed on Bellatrix.

"We are none of us what we were," Bellatrix said, "but we serve the colonel as best we can. Macnair has his own tasks tonight, as we have ours."

"Speaking of things to do tonight, I should be reporting back to Dumbledore. If you three will pardon me-"

Remus flicked his wand behind him, wordlessly casting a spell that ripped into the paved street with explosive force. Carrow and Dolohov disappeared underneath a wave of cement and gravel, while Remus grabbed the emergency Portkey in his left pocket. He didn't particularly like having one of Dumbledore's socks constantly in his pocket, but he had to admit that having an emergency Portkey at hand was more than worth the inconvenience.

But when he touched the Portkey, it failed to activate. Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, completely unsurprised. "Sorry, love. We took precautions beforehand—can't have you disappearing to one of Dumbledore's safe houses before we have a chance to show you our hospitality."

Remus had thought nothing could interfere with a Portkey without actually tampering with the Portkey itself—apparently Tom Riddle had created some kind of anti-Portkey field. Dumbledore would want to hear of this—oh, right. Without a Portkey, reporting back to Dumbledore was going to have to wait. Perhaps indefinitely.

The dust and rubble from Remus's spell finally settled down, revealing Carrow and Dolohov, unharmed, huddling beneath a massive Shield Charm.

Bellatrix finally raised her own wand, and swept Remus a curtsey.

"Shall we dance?"

The ensuing duel was brief, bloody, and entirely hopeless. Carrow and Dolohov, although crippled, wove spells with the deft assurance of hardened veterans. As for Bellatrix, she was every bit as quick as Remus remembered. He wasn't sure if he could have taken her on her own, let alone with two highly skilled allies harrying him from behind.

Remus managed to bring off one curse, which would have taken Bellatrix's head off if it had connected cleanly. But Bellatrix managed to dodge just enough to one side that the curse only slashed her across the face, carving a bloody furrow from her chin to her left ear.

But he could not follow up with another curse, because just then Dolohov managed to snag his wand hand with ropes sprouting from his own wand. A second later and Remus was trussed from head to toe in ropes magically controlled by the three former Death Eaters.

Remus could only reflect bitterly that if Riddle's subordinates didn't kill him, Mad-Eye Moody would surely finish the job.

So much for Constant Vigilance. I'm sorry, old friend.

A Stunner hit him in the forehead and Remus knew no more.

When he awoke, he could sense immediately that he was in no usual jail cell. His nose was full of familiar nature scents, of rich loam and pine needles and damp wood. There were chains around his ankles and his torso, but he could move his hands, and as he reached out he felt smooth wood.

He was chained in a space large enough for him to lie down, but not much larger. His cell, or whatever it was, was perfectly cylindrical, with a smooth wall of wood encircling him all around. His chains were made of silver and very thick—thick enough, he realized, to withstand his thrashing even after he turned into a werewolf with the full moon.

There were only a few days left until the full moon, Lupin thought groggily. If he was still captured when it happened, then this would be his first transformation without the Wolfsbane Potion in years. He was not looking forward to it, although the mindlessness of the wolf would at least blot out for a while the shame of having been captured.

"You comfortable in there?" Carrow's mocking voice, strangely muffled, reached Lupin's ear through the thick wood of his peculiar cell. "I have to admit I'm impressed. Didn't think anyone except the Colonel was quick enough to get one over on old Bella. She'll bear the scar from your curse for life—makes her seem more like one of us, with our assorted scars and missing eyes and limbs." Carrow vented an ugly chuckle.

"Don't waste your strength trying to escape, you hear? Even if you managed to get out of that tree, you wouldn't get very far before Iridina caught up to you. Ever tried to outrun a Basilisk? I wouldn't recommend it… but I'd sure as hell love to watch you try."

Carrow's harsh laughter grew softer as he walked away from Remus's cell. Although still groggy from the aftereffects of the Stunner, Remus was rapidly beginning to size up his situation. From what he knew of Riddle and his Groundskeepers, there were few places that would be more secure, not to mention safe from Ministry interference, than Hogwarts itself. Once you factored in the presence of hundreds of children in the castle, that left very few places besides the grounds in which to hide an adult, magically skilled, and very angry werewolf.

If Remus wasn't very much mistaken, he was currently trapped in a hollowed-out tree somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, chained with silver and guarded by a Basilisk, one of the most fearsome of magical beasts.

As if to underscore his suspicions, a loud rustling sound came from beyond the living wood of his cell, followed by a quiet yet blood-curdling hsssss.

Bloody wonderful, Remus thought grimly. Tonks is going to laugh her ass off when she hears about this… assuming I'm still alive to tell her.