Disclaimer: I do not, have never, and will never own Harry Potter or anything associated with him. This disclaimer applies to my entire fic, unless my evil plan to Imperius JKR and make her sign over the rights actually succeeds. If that happens, you guys will be the first to know. Until then, though, consider this fic disclaimed. Same goes with the songs I'll be quoting throughout the story.

A warning to the people, the good and the evil:

This is war.

"This is War," Thirty Seconds to Mars

Remus Lupin awoke at five past midnight to the sound of his godson's cries.

Adrenaline jolted through the werewolf's body, propelling him to his feet and halfway out the door of his bedroom before he'd had the chance to blink all the sleep from his eyes. The wolf in the back of his mind, always awake now but no longer monstrous, bared its teeth in a silent snarl. The part of Remus that was human clutched his wand, running over a thousand spells.

What could make Harry cry out like that?

Remus burst into his godson's bedroom with his wand at the ready, eyes fully gold, lips pulled away from rapidly sharpening teeth, only to pull up short. Nothing. Nothing was going on. No enemy tangled with Harry—no enemy unless one counted the bed sheets and blankets tangled around him, soaked with the same sweat which matted his bangs to his brow.

A nightmare. Remus lowered his wand. The wolf in his mind quieted.

Considering everything his ward had been through in the past few years—losing a brother to a manipulative old man, learning that he was prophesied to save the wizarding world, acquiring Voldemort's memories, discovering a Horcrux in his head and another one in Mark's, one of his dearest friends nearly dying—it was no surprise that Harry had the occasional bad dream. Heck, it was a wonder he didn't have more nightmares, that he didn't wake screaming every night. Not that Harry ever woke screaming. His time at the Dursleys had taught him (and Mark, Remus assumed) to sleep silently lest they disturb their Muggle relatives.

He sighed softly, sadly.

Should he wake the boy? Sometimes, he knew, the mind needed to purge itself of poison and cold only do that through nightmares; they, like all dreams, existed for a reason, after all. But he probably should wake Harry, get them some tea or coco, and make him talk about this. The boy was too reserved for his own good. He had a sense of humor, yes, and used it to devastating effect, but he had a tendency to bottle things up much, much too often. With these thoughts in mind, Remus approached the bed, gave Harry's shoulders a little nudge.

The boy made an odd sound as though he were attempting to snarl in Parseltongue.

A lithe black shadow slithered up to the boy's face, began hissing into his ear. Remus shook his ward again, a bit harder this time. Harry still didn't wake.

Remus frowned, brow furrowing in concern. This wasn't good. "Harry," he called, his soft voice mingling with Sisith the snake's hisses. Even Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl, let out a hoot.

Harry writhed in his bed.

No, not good at all. "Harry!" Remus shouted.

The boy jerked awake, his face white, his eyes burning green. Ragged gasps tore from his throat. For a few moments he simply gazed about, uncomprehending but utterly furious, before Sisith said something that made his human friend start. Harry's hands fisted around the blankets, trembling with rage or fear or both.

"Harry?" Remus began. "What ha—"

"We need to call a meeting. Now." The green eyes were wide and wild, focusing on something that Remus couldn't see. "Let's get to the Isle—no, can we have them here?"

"What?"

"The others," Harry replied, which was really not helpful at all. He pushed himself out of bed, began to pace. "You go to the Isle and get Saysa and Sirius. I'll get my mates. We'll meet back here in…. How long d'you think it would take me to break into Blaise's place? His mum's put some nasty wards up."

"What?"

"You're right, I can just get there and send a Patronus."

Sisith hissed something. Harry snapped to attention, gaze riveting on the small black snake. From the sound of it, Sisith was scolding his human. Harry scowled, hissed something back. Once again, Remus wished he knew Parseltongue.

Sisith reared, spat something. Remus still wasn't good with telling reptilian expressions, but he could have sworn that the snake looked angry. Harry nodded, visage set in stone.

All right. He was the adult here (even if Harry was very mature for his age and had access to an additional sixty-odd years of memories); he could figure out what was going on. "Harry, you're not leaving this room, much less waking your friends up in the middle of the night and dragging them here, until you tell me what's going on."

"Voldemort's back. I've seen it." Harry swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, but that was the only indication of his fear. "We need to tell the others."

No. Please, no. Remus's heart stuttered to a stop before starting up again at twice its normal tempo. "Harry, are you sure—"

"It wasn't a dream!" The boy's eyes were desperate, wild. "It was a vision, Remus, and I got it because of this!" One pale, shaking hand brushed his bangs back, revealing a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. A scar that wasn't only a scar, but the remnant of a Killing Curse and a Horcurx-making ritual gone wrong. A scar that was a Horcrux.

Gold-flecked eyes met wide, unblinking green, and Remus nodded. He could see the truth of his ward's statement in his gaze. "I believe you, Harry, but—"

"No, we have to tell them!" the boy cried. He looked ready to weep with frustration.

"And what then?" Remus demanded. "Will you drag them to fight the Dark Lord at twelve-fifteen in the morning when they've had no prior warning, no time to prepare, no idea what they're getting into?"

Harry quieted. His jaw worked without sound; a muscle jumped in it. Finally he managed to splutter out, "But—"

"I believe you, Harry, I swear I do. But unless Voldemort is planning to attack them right now, then you need to take time to calm yourself down and think instead of dragging your friends out of bed and making them fight a Dark wizard in the middle of the night."

"But he's back," Harry whispered.

Remus swallowed. "I know, Harry. I know." He sat down on the bed beside his anxious ward, laid a warm hand on the boy's shoulder. Softly, gently, he asked, "Would you like some tea?"

Harry glared. "Tea at a time like this? Were you listening at all?"

"I was," Remus retorted, "were you? What did you intend to do, Harry, break into wherever Voldemort is and duel him yourself right now?"

Harry looked away. "I don't know," he spat. "Maybe. If that's what it takes."

"If it were Blaise or one of your other friends about to do this, would you let them?"

"I'm not Blaise. I have his memories. I know him, what he can do. What he will do." Harry's breathing quickened. "There will be death, Remus. Death and blood and suffering, and I have the power to stop that, and you're telling me to stay put?"

"Where is he?"

"The Goyles' house." Harry didn't hesitate. "I don't know where in their house, but they were there and—" He froze. The last vestiges of color drained from his face. "Unless it's not their house and he just brought them elsewhere for the… ritual." Harry spoke the final word as though it were bile in his mouth. The boy gave a low moan, slowly lowered his head into his hands. "I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know. I've obviously never been in the Goyles' house, and neither has he. He knows where it is, of course, so I do too, but…. I didn't recognize it. I only saw the Goyles and the ritual and the… thing." Revulsion coated his words.

Remus stood, helped his ward to his feet. "Come on. It sounds like you need that tea."

The boy remained silent as his godfather moved around the kitchen, boiling the water and finding teabags and sugar lumps. He stared blankly at the wall, occasionally chewing at his lip. Remus took advantage of the silence and the mindless, ingrained task of preparing tea to examine his own emotions.

Voldemort was back. He wanted to doubt it, wanted to believe that this was just a nightmare, but… he couldn't. Not when Harry didn't get nightmares, not when his inner wolf had its hackles raised. Not when his poor godson still had a Horcrux in his head. No. He didn't want to believe, but he could not disbelieve.

And if Voldemort was back….

Sick terror rose in his throat. He tried to quash it, to force it down, but his hands still trembled as he poured the boiling tea into two chipped cups. Harry didn't notice, thankfully, as he was still too occupied with the turmoil in his mind.

A small, detached part of Remus's brain wondered how he was so calm. Well, maybe calm wasn't the best word—he was hardly at peace with himself—but he was more composed than he had any right to be.

Maybe it was the shock.

The thought had barely flickered across his mind, more sarcasm than anything else, but the werewolf paused, considered it. Yes, he decided, it probably was the shock. He felt numb inside, so blank and detached, that it couldn't be anything but shock. Tomorrow, when he had slept and eaten and had time to absorb this news, then, he was sure, the shock would evaporate, leaving panic in its wake. For now, though, he was composed, in control.

Harry stared into his teacup without seeing anything. Remus passed him the sugar bowl, but the boy, distracted as he was, didn't notice.

"Tell me what happened."

The words didn't seem to penetrate. Remus leaned across the table, placed a warm hand on his ward's shoulder. "Harry. What happened?"

Green eyes met brown for a single moment before dropping back down to the cup. "I…."

Remus waited.

Harry swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "I went to bed a bit early, you know? We have training with Firenze tomorrow and Blaise wanted us to spend the rest of the day in the woods because he's this close to getting into his Animagus form and thinks it would be funny to chase us around as a jaguar. So I went to sleep, and that was no problem.

"I didn't do Occlumency. I probably should have, but… no. I'm glad I didn't think of it. I've never needed to before, you know? I mean, I knew that it was theoretically possible that I'd be able to get visions of Voldemort, but I never have before and I thought he was still doing whatever it is he was doing in Albania for the past twelve years still. I'd almost forgotten that it was possible because it looked like that theory was wrong. But it wasn't.

"I'm not sure why, but I saw the… the ritual—" Harry shuddered, hands clenching around the teacup. "I saw Voldemort. I'd always thought—you'd think that if my link was with Voldemort's head, I would see things from his point of view, but I guess not. Maybe it's because this is my first vision and things will only get worse from here on out."

Remus flinched at the black despair in his godson's voice. He wanted nothing more than to reach across the table again and wrap the poor boy in a hug, but a part of him knew that if he did that, they'd both start crying and break down entirely, and while that would certainly be cathartic, Harry would never forgive himself for indulging in human emotions instead of telling someone, anyone, at least one other human being the truth about Voldemort's return. So the werewolf remained in place, his heart aching.

I'm sorry, Harry.

The boy sighed, looking somehow very old and very young at the same time. "But anyways. I saw it from a few feet away, like I was in a corner. A fly on the wall, as the saying goes. And I saw… I saw…."

The teacup shattered. Harry started; he'd forgotten he was clutching anything in his hands, much less something that could break and pierce the skin. Bright red stained the porcelain as cooling tea spilled across the table.

"Sorry." Harry hung his head.

"It's all right," Remus assured him. A pause as he considered, then a sigh. "Well, this is. The broken teacup, I mean. Not Voldemort's return." Very gently, he waved his wand. The cup returned to its original state. "Do you want me to look at your hands?"

"No thanks."

"Harry…."

The boy huffed. "Fine."

Remus took his ward's hands in his own, inspected them for a moment before letting them drop back onto the table. It seemed like the cuts weren't as deep as he'd thought; they should be easy enough to heal with a simple charm. The tip of his wand ghosted against the pale, bleeding palms, sealing shut the injuries. Harry watched, gave a tiny nod. "Thanks."

"Any time, Harry."

"He wasn't even human anymore." The abrupt change of subject caught Remus off guard, but he leaned back into his chair without any further prompting. "He was a thing. I can't even describe it, it was like something you'd find dead and decaying under a rock. Maggot-colored except for the eyes." He shuddered. "I recognized those eyes right away.

"But it was a ritual. The Goyles were there. Goyle—the adult one, not my classmate—he put in one of Voldemort's father's bones. I don't know which one, though that doesn't matter. Just bone of the father, unknowingly taken. They were in a cauldron, a great cauldron, Voldemort and the bone and probably a bunch of other things, though I don't know what. I probably don't want to know, either."

Remus understood that. He didn't particularly want to find out himself what ingredients could bring a spirit back to life.

"Bone of the father. Next was flesh of the servant. Goyle's a big man, thick, with a beer belly. I dunno if you knew that. He took a knife, a knife that reeked of Dark magic, and—" Harry made a slicing gesture above his stomach.

"So that was the flesh of the servant and the bone of the father. Then Goyle started talking about the blood of the enemy, forcibly taken…." His gaze went distant. When he looked up again, pure fury blazed in his eyes. "They had my blood. Goyle—the younger one, the one at Hogwarts—he'd whapped me in the face once, given me a hankie because my nose was bleeding. It wasn't exactly, you know, kidnapping me and tying me up and slitting my throat over the cauldron while I struggled and writhed and cursed, but it was still blood and I didn't inflict it on myself and he took it. It worked well enough for the ritual."

Harry dropped his head, bangs obscuring his eyes. "I should have known better! Never let anyone have your blood, never let anyone take anything from your body! It's one of the basic common sense rules of magical civilization! But do I do that? No, I thought that the thick gorilla was too stupid to do anything with the hankie and my blood. I thought he'd clean it right away. I thought he'd throw it in the trash, even! And I sure didn't expect him to bring it home and use it to resurrect bloody Voldemort!" His fists slammed into the table, rattling the teacups and saucers and sugar bowl.

"…It's all my fault. All the deaths, they'll be my fault."

Remus shuddered at the awful dullness in his ward's voice, on his face. He walked over, enfolded the boy in a hug. Harry let him, sitting limp and loose in his godfather's arms. For a long moment, they just stood there, quiet on the outside but howling within.

Then, "Harry," Remus said, "it's not your fault."

But he knew his ward would never believe him.

Mark Potter launched himself out of bed. Or at least he tried to. He'd tangled himself in his sheets, thrashing about as he had, and it took a few seconds to disentangle himself. When he was free, though, he literally sprinted out the door, taking the stairs two at a time.

This was one of those instances when he was very, very glad that he lived at Hogwarts during the summer. Was it lonely? Yes. He could write Ron and Dean and Seamus and weekly meals with Professor Dumbledore were great, but living in a giant empty castle for months on end wasn't a teenage boy's idea of fun. If he hadn't been able to visit Hogsmeade and occasionally Floo over to the Burrow, he'd probably have gone mad. But now, as he bolted through the halls, he was more grateful than ever before that he lived here.

The boy skidded to a halt before a pair of stone gargoyles. "Blood Pops," he gasped.

The gargoyles stepped aside. "What's got you in such a rush?" the one on the right asked.

Mark ignored them, his footsteps pounding on the stairs.

He'd never been in Professor Dumbledore's office alone, and certainly not so late at night.

It was dark, of course, save for the gleaming silver of his instruments. The portraits slept—actually slept; Mark had been in here enough times to know when they were faking—their faint snoring providing a peaceful foil to his own panicked panting.

Mark looked around wildly, silently cursing his idiocy. Of course he wasn't going to find Professor Dumbledore here; it was past midnight, for Merlin's sake! The headmaster might be wise and mighty, but he was still only human.

The boy cleared his throat. He was beginning to feel a bit awkward, a feeling which was not helped when Headmaster Black opened his eyes and spat out, "Well?"

"I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore."

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" the irate portrait demanded.

Mark glared. "Yes, I do, and I wouldn't be here if it wasn't urgent. Where is he?"

"What's going on?" asked one of the headmistresses, her voice still bleary with sleep.

"I need to talk with Professor Dumbledore right now. It's a matter of life and death."

The headmistress blinked at him, all her sleepiness forgotten, before nodding sharply and sliding out of her frame.

The other portraits were waking up, turning their attention to the pajama-clad boy in their midst. Mark stood there, uncomfortable by the attention and the unasked questions, but said nothing. He didn't want to have to explain this twice.

Then phoenix flame flashed in the darkness, searing his eyes and making them water. Fawkes fluttered from his master's shoulder onto his perch, where he regarded the scene with something resembling curiosity.

"What is wrong, Mark?"

The boy swallowed, wished he had some water. But that wasn't why he was here. As he'd said, it was a matter of life and death. "Professor? Voldemort's back."

An abrupt ending, but I had to get this done on time and I'm sure you can imagine how their conversation goes. It would be a lot of repetition of what Harry and Remus were doing.

In this book, I'll be quoting songs at the start of each chapter. If you guys have any suggestions or just any good quotes, feel free to leave them in a review. Also, the profile poll about the changeling is still up, so if you haven't voted, you still can.

Next update: December 6. Until then, my friends, fare thee well!

-Antares