A/N: So, I haven't updated in ages. My bad. In my defense, I have been busy with university, RL, and all the other million minutiae of existence. Hopefully, this chapter makes up for it. Enjoy, and remember I own nothing.

A month had passed since term started, and Harry had more or less settled into his routine. Lockhart was still an idiot, but the man had at least had the good sense not to bring live creatures to class after the now-infamous 'Pixie Incident'. Instead, he had taken to reading large excerpts from his books to the entire class, and occasionally staging re-enactments of the action segments of the book of the day. Harry had been called upon the very first time this happened, and forced to play the role of a banshee. This in turn caused him to pour heart and soul into recreating the sound of the next creature on the list, reasoning - correctly - that Lockhart probably wanted to use him as his acting dummy.

Thus it was to the great amusement of the entire class, even Hermione, when Harry was asked to howl like a werewolf, and did so in such a realistic manner that Lockhart actually wet himself, and dismissed the class so he could go change. Harry was a hero in the school almost as soon as the news broke, and Lockhart never called on him in class again.

Slughorn, on the other hand, was becoming a nuisance, spending so much time hovering around Harry's cauldron in Potions class, reminiscing about old, long since graduated students who just happened to be famous, that no-one within three desks of the man could focus on their potions. Thus, Harry quickly found himself sitting in an empty void of space during the class, with only the unlucky latecomers sitting within the three-desk radius. It didn't help that no matter how badly Harry did, Slughorn would find some reason to give him a perfect grade for the day. It was like Snape and Malfoy, except a thousand times more aggravating, since he had no idea whether his potion skills were worth anything.

Once, he had picked out a whole group of ingredients, not one of which was in the recipe for the potion he was meant to be making, and then followed the recipe in reverse with his new ingredients. The hole in the ceiling was still resisting all attempts to fix it, whether through magic or alchemy, and the scent of pomegranate still lingered in the classroom. Slughorn had given him extra credit and fifty points to Gryffindor for 'pushing the boundaries of knowledge to create something entirely new'. Harry - very politely - refrained from tipping the last of the potion down Slughorn's throat.

Loghain McGonagall wasn't actually a bad teacher - he at least admitted when he wasn't entirely sure about a subject, insisting that the class should double-check what he told them after the lesson - the problem stemmed from his self-confidence. The man had less than none, and if a first year looked disappointed with him, he would cave to their demands instantly. This meant that he was completely unable to control his classes, and the student's educations suffered for it. Hermione had ranted more than once in the common room about this particular subject.

Which was why Harry was standing here now, just outside Loghain's office. He was determined that at least one of the new teachers were going to be competent and fair. Lockhart was fair but incompetent, the same as Loghain, while Slughorn was competent but unfair. He had already accepted that Lockhart and Slughorn were lost causes - the one time he had asked Slughorn to be fair in his grading, the man had wheezed like an obese walrus and said something about how 'competition was healthy for children'. The less said about Lockhart, the better. That left Loghain McGonagall, and Harry felt confident he could give the man at least a little more faith in himself.

He had helped Neville Longbottom, the 'Boy-Who-Fainted-At-The-Sight-Of-His-Own-Shadow', hadn't he? (That had been an amusing incident from first year, he thought. One of the few before Dumbledore happened.)

Knocking on the door, he waited until he heard a faint, timid "Enter." Pushing the door open, he walked into the new Head of Gryffindor's office, recoiling almost immediately from a life-size magical photograph of Minerva McGonagall, emblazoned with the caption, 'I'm watching you.'

'No wonder the guy's got no spine, if he has that in his office.'

"Professor?"

"Er, ah, y-yes, Mr Potter? Did you, um, need something?"

"Yeah, I was wondering if you-Okay, can I just ask, why do you have that poster?"

That had obviously startled the Transfiguration Professor, since he answered automatically, "My mother put it there with a Permanent Sticking Charm when I first came to Hogwarts. I haven't a clue how to take it down even if I wanted to."

"Why wouldn't you want to? Seems like a creepy thing to have in your office, sir."

"W-well, she's my mother, Mr Potter. I'm sure she just wanted to remind me she'd be there if I'm not good enough."

'Yikes. This guy's more self-depreciating than Neville could ever hope to be, even if he swallowed an industrial strength depressant.'

"Right. About that, I was wanting to ask about your classes."

"Of course. Was-was something unclear? I'm not too good at teaching, so you should probably ask Mummy or go to the library."

'He still calls her Mummy? Sweet Merlin, this'll be more difficult than I thought.'

"It's not so much about the classwork, sir. More about the discipline in the classroom. Most of the students don't show you any respect, and instead spend the whole class chatting loudly, which is really disturbing for those of us who are trying to hear the lecture, sir."

"W-well, yes, I-I have noticed that. I just, don't really know how to get them to be quiet. I asked them to settle down, but they ignored me. Now they just get louder every time I say anything about it."

"Exactly, sir. I think maybe you should try a different tactic with them. Ask them nicely to settle down once, and if that doesn't work, tell them that if they don't sit quietly and listen, they'll get detention with Filch."

"D-do y-you really think that would work? They haven't seemed to care what I say before."

"So long as you follow through on the threat, sir, they'll start behaving better. But if you threaten them with detention if they start talking in class and don't go through with it, they'll think it's an empty threat."

"I see. T-thank you, Mr Potter, you've given me a lot to think about. I'll see you in my next class, unless there was anything else?" It could have been a polite dismissal, but the slight tremor of fear at being so outspoken towards someone else was still there. 'Baby steps, Potter.'

"No sir, that was all. I'll see you in class this afternoon. Thank you for your time." As he walked down the corridor to Charms class, Harry allowed himself a slight smirk. Stage One was underway, and Loghain McGonagall was going to be converted from his mother's camp to Harry's. This was why the Hat had wanted him in Slytherin, and he was enjoying letting himself indulge his political side. Nicholas and Perenelle had encouraged it, saying that he would need to know about politics when he took over the various Potter holdings.

During lunch, Cormac McLaggen was sitting with a look of disbelief on his face. When Harry asked about it, McLaggen turned his head to look at him.

"McGonagall gave me detention."

"So? The Headmistress is able to do that." Harry was secretly hoping to hear Cormac reply to Hermione, and he wasn't disappointed.

"Not her. Loghain McGonagall." That brought lunch and conversation to a crashing halt at the Gryffindor table. Plastering a confused look on his face, Harry leaned over.

"Why?"

McLaggen flushed slightly. "I was talking in class. But he's never cared before! But now I've got detention with Filch tonight."

"Well, you really shouldn't have been talking in class. Besides, now we'll be able to hear his lectures, if no one is talking in class." 'Good old Hermione. And good for Loghain. The rumour mill will spread this up and down the school before our class starts this afternoon.'

Risking a glance up to the staff table, Harry was clearly able to see the smile that Loghain was sporting. 'Looks like he's got a bit more confidence. Be interesting to see how it effects his teaching.'

Loghain's teaching style wasn't much different than usual. He still simply lectured directly from the textbook, letting them know if something was unclear to him, but this time Vincent Crabbe earned a detention twice in the first five minutes of class. He had scoffed at McGonagall when the man gave him detention the first time, and Harry had worried that the man might back down. But apparently the chat between the two had done more for him than Harry had expected, as Loghain had simply doubled Crabbe's detention and told him to 'keep his mouth shut or take a trip to the Headmistress', and even Crabbe hadn't been stupid enough to push back after that threat.

Harry felt satisfied that his little pet project was well in hand. After all, Loghain would clearly attribute the student's newfound respect for him to his new disciplinary stance. And who recommended that little change? None other than Harry. Yes, Project: 'Convert Loghain' was going nicely. And Harry had even managed to add an extra equation into his Alchemy matrix!

Over at the Ministry, however, things were not going so well. Amelia's office was buried under mountains of reports, and even with Tonks and Croaker helping her, they had hardly made a dent in the pile before more papers were being added to it.

"Got another one."

"That makes what, seven?"

"Eight. Pass me that map, girlie."

"Here. And don't call me girlie, old man."

"Tonks, Croaker. Quit sniping at each other or we'll never get anything done. Anything yet, Croaker?"

"Nothing, Amy. The murders just don't fit into the right pattern for it to be the H-Files being used. And yet I know they're active."

"None of your DoM mumbo-jumbo. Talk the Queen's English, damn it."

"Fine, we know they're with Voldemort and his helper. Whoever that is. The problem is that despite these murders having the hallmarks of someone who's using the bodies for the procedures in the files, the geological patterns just don't fit."

"Ugh, this is making my head hurt! I wish we could just...I don't know, make copies of ourselves to do the work for us."

Croaker stopped leafing through Auror reports, his head snapping up so fast that Amelia thought for a second it would snap right off his shoulders.

"Girl, you might have got it. Amy, can I use your Floo?"

"Fine. And don't... you know what? I'm too tired to care. Call me whatever you want."

The Head of the DoM wasn't listening, already throwing powder into the fire as he called out "Flamel Cottage!". The flames turned green, and Croaker stuck his head in the fireplace, already shouting for Nicholas or Perenelle. Nicholas was the first to appear, a slight burn mark on his exposed left shoulder.

"What on earth is this racket? Oh. Croaker, what on earth is the reason for yelling my house down around me?"

"Nicholas, thank goodness! I need you to come through and give us a hand with something, please."

"No explanations at all, I tell you, young people these days are far too busy rushing about. Alright, I'll come through, just give me a minute."

Croaker stepped back, and the flames flared once, expelling a soot-covered millenarian from them in a puff of ashes.

"Right, Croaker. What was so important it couldn't wait?"

A hasty explanation ensued - with outraged shouting coming from Nicholas and, to a lesser extent, Tonks, who hadn't actually been told what they were investigating, and hadn't been paying attention to Croaker earlier - before Croaker got to explaining his idea.

"I think we've been going about this all wrong. What if these deaths aren't actually deaths?"

"Could you be a little more cryptic, old man?"

"Certainly. But I doubt this is the time. I think - and if I'm right, it's worse than we thought - that whoever is aiding Voldemort is using Alchemy to create Homunculi." Nicholas began to look as though he comprehended Croaker's point, and Amelia was vaguely aware of what he meant. Tonks, unfortunately for the rookie Auror, was totally out of her depth.

"Sorry, what's a...Houmonculie?"

"Homunculi. And that's the plural form anyway. Homunculus is the singular. And a Homunculus is a human body, bereft of a soul, which can be shaped to look like a person so long as you have a starting point of reference."

"Ohh. Like the people that died...oh. Wait, you mean that You-Know-Who kidnapped these people and left fake bodies in their place?"

"I'm not sure. But I'll know for certain once Nicholas here examines the corpses."

The four immediately gathered the relevant materials and headed for the morgue in a tiny Welsh hamlet named Godric's Hollow, each praying that Croaker's theory was wrong, and the murders were just coincidence. Even if none of them believed that for a second.

"Well, that's it. Every single one of them was a Homunculus. Which means that Voldemort will no doubt have regained a body by now, and most likely will be using the H-Files as we speak."

"Not necessarily, Amelia. The empowerment ritual Hojo created required thirteen people. Eleven sacrifices, a caster, and the target."

"So he still needs three more? What good does that do?"

"Simple. I believe any Alchemist is capable of reconstructing another's circle and matrix from the transmutation site, correct Nicholas?"

"As you say, Croaker. I take it you studied Alchemy?"

"A little. Never went anywhere with it though. Now, each circle and matrix is unique, yes?"

"The circle is common. It is the matrix within that is unique to each alchemist. It describes them on the most intimate level, literally a transcription of their soul in physical form. That is why there are so few masters of the art. Most are scared of their own souls."

Croaker merely waved a hand in the air. "Right, right. But my point is, if you had a matrix, could you theoretically tell us who made it?"

"Theoretically, yes. And if they've got far enough to create realistic Homunculi, then their matrix will be advanced enough to be nearly unique. The odds will be easier to work out after I see the matrix itself."

"Right. Let's head to one of the 'murder sites' and see what we can find."

"Hurry, my servant. The hour of my ascendence is close at hand!"

"My Lord. The remaining three will be easy to capture, but..."

Crimson eyes, tainted with the unholy power of the blackest of magicks, glowed in the gloom of the cellar, a threat of death evident in them if the answer was not sufficient. "But what?"

"Bones and Flamel are in the village, my Lord. Another Auror and the Head Unspeakable Croaker are with them."

Pale, spidery fingers clenched, and a hiss of frustration could be heard. "No matter. The last three will simply have to disappear, not 'die'. Get them and bring them here. Once the ritual is done, none shall be able to stand against me."

"As my Lord commands."

The servant left the cellar, and the pale, bald form of the Homunculus inhabited by Lord Voldemort settled back on his chair. 'Nothing will stop me. Potter and Dumbledore weren't able to stop me, and neither will these fools.'

"So you're certain, Flamel? One hundred percent?"

"For exactly the seventy-third time, yes, Croaker, I am certain! The matrix was unique enough that I was able to see a person, not just a description. Besides, I learned all I could about the man earlier."

"Fine. I just hope Fudge accepts it."

"He will. Even Fudge isn't foolish enough to turn a blind eye when the stakes are this high."

The door to the Minister's office opened, and two people walked out. The first, a portly, balding man in a lime-green bowler hat - 'Are all modern wizards colour-blind?' Nicholas mused - was pale and shaking, while the second, Amelia Bones herself, simply nodded to them. The two jumped to their feet, and the three of them raced to the briefing room, Tonks rushing to join them along the way, while the Minister of Magic poured himself a glass of whisky, then took a swig from the bottle, ignoring the squawking of his Undersecretary at the man's actions.

"We got approval?"

"Operation: Dark Lord Down is go, Croaker. And don't laugh, it was the best I could come up with on short notice."

"Didn't say a thing, Amy."

The briefing room was packed, with every Auror in the Corps present, along with the Hitwizards, Law Enforcement Patrol officers, and the Unspeakables. Amelia had even firecalled Moody, justifying it as needing all the help they could get. Everyone in the room was nervous, wondering what on earth required so many wands.

"Thank you all for responding promptly. I won't beat around the bush, this mission is dangerous."

"How many hostiles?" Good old Moody, straight to the point.

"Two." That started a round of laughter, everyone assuming this had been a joke. "One of which is Lord Voldemort." That shut everyone up quick enough.

"The other?" Dawlish had a slight tremor of fear present in his voice, but Amelia couldn't blame him.

"Lucius Malfoy, with access to the H-Files." And any that hadn't already pissed themselves lost all bladder control. The H-Files were legendary, as were the effects of the rituals contained within. Everyone had heard the story of Hojo Snape at least once by this point in their lives. Even the trainees had been told the horror story. It was something of an initiation in the department.

"What are the orders?"

"Kill the two hostiles, and if possible, rescue the eleven hostages. However, and I never thought I'd hear myself say this, on this mission, the hostage's lives are not as important as eliminating the hostiles."

That shut them up. Amelia had been known for years for her 'preserve innocent life' policy. Nicholas shook his head. Sometimes even the best people had to put aside their morals to protect the world.

At Hogwarts, Harry had been feeling tense and nervous all day. And the worst bit was he had no idea why. When he mentioned it to Neville, the other boy suggested that he might be having some kind of premonition, and the Divination Professor might be able to help. Two hours - and a cloying stench of incense that Harry was sure would never leave his clothes - later, both boys revised their opinion of Divination downwards, and resolved not to take the class as an elective next year.

He had gone to Madame Pomphrey to see if he was ill - though only after Hermione put him in a Full Body Bind and dragged him there - but the nurse had been unable to find anything wrong with him, and aside from giving him a Stomach-Soothing potion, she wasn't able to help.

In the end, he decided to practise his Alchemy, performing more and more transmutations that were called out to him by the crowd of Gryffindors that had gathered in the common room. Eventually, however, even that lost it's allure, and he simply went to lie down for a while. Staring at the canopy of his four-poster bed, he realized that he still had to read the next chapter of his Alchemy primer. Digging the heavy book out of his trunk, Harry cracked it open to the last page he had read, and began reading once again.

Homunculi

A Homunculus can be made through the process of Alchemy, however it is important to understand first what exactly a Homunculus is. The standard definition of a Homunculus is; a humanoid body, uninhabited by a soul, which has been created through the process of Alchemy. While this is a workable definition, it does not cover every aspect of Homunculi. For example, if a Homunculus had been created purely by Alchemy, then theoretically it could be destroyed by a simple Alchemical reversal. Practical experience has taught me that this is not the case, however, and so there is some other component to the creation of a Homunculus.

This is, in fact, the one area of Alchemy that requires magic to be used in tandem. The base ingredients of the body must be transmuted while a steady flow of magic is poured into them by the person building the body. In reverse, the destruction of a Homunculus requires a 'magic-null field' ward, before a reversal transmutation can be performed. If only one of these is performed, the body will be able to reform.

That is another aspect of Homunculi - they are nearly impossible to destroy. Nothing short of the above process can in fact totally eradicate any Homunculus, and the body is often capable of boosting its strength and speed far beyond ordinary human standards. Homunculi have been noted to have a range of various powers - indeed, I once encountered a Homunculus which called itself Gluttony, and which contained an enormous mouth in its body, leading to an odd, shadow realm. Another that I encountered was able to turn his entire body into a form of impenetrable rock, though he claimed it was something called 'Carbon'. According to the Homunculus, whose name I sadly never learned, 'Carbon' is the element from which most life stems, which explained why I had been unable to create a Homunculus prior to the meeting.

Homunculi are useful for a variety of manners; if a large enough number were to be produced, Homunculi could theoretically be used to create an army without posing danger to the living inhabitants of wherever you happen to be - Britannia, in my case - allowing a large defense force that feel no pain, and are far stronger than normal humans.

Finally, a warning. Homunculi are dangerous enough on their own, especially if one loses control of their creations. Which is why it is highly advisable that no alchemist ever attempt to infuse a Homunculus form with a Philosopher's Stone. This has happened only once in history, to my knowledge, though it may well have happened again by the time this book is read. A Homunculus which has been infused with a Stone will not only have its already formidable physical abilities boosted further still, but it will also gain the ability to regenerate its body near-instantaneously. The only method of destroying a Stone-infused Homunculus is to destroy the Stone within it, and that is no easy feat. Indeed, myself and my three greatest friends and allies were barely able to walk away with our lives from the battle against the Homunculus I mentioned before.

Thus, you have been warned. You who has read this book, now know the basics of Alchemy, though the art is full of secrets, and I doubt that they will ever all be found. I hope that you have found my book to be informative, and should he still be alive, I advise you to seek out Nicholas Flamel for further instruction, should you need it. This is, after all, merely a beginner's primer. Included on the last page of this book is my own personal transmutation circle-matrix combination. To a Master Alchemist, this is as unique as one's soul, and indeed, is a physical representation of one's soul. To you who read this book I give one final challenge. Discover who I am. Fare thee well.

Malfoy Manor was in flames, Narcissa and the house elves having fled through the Floo Network when the Aurors arrived. Lucius Malfoy was fighting a pitched battle with Amelia Bones and Nicholas Flamel, while the rest of the forces attempted to breach the wards surrounding the basements of the manor house. Magical energy, corrupt and tainted, was swirling in the air around Wiltshire, poisoning the land to the point that nothing would grow. Trees withered, plants died, and no animals could be heard. Deadly green jets of light shot from the elder Malfoy's wand, and borderline illegal curses were flung back. Enormous pillars of stone erupted from the ground, flinging themselves towards the Death Eater at Nicholas' bidding.

Croaker broke through the thirteenth ward of the day. It seemed that Voldemort and Malfoy had gone for quantity over quality, though each ward was still tremendously powerful in its own right. The worst thing was, however, that Thaddeus Nott had been spotted entering the house while the 'Lord of the Manor' had been spotted leaving it. Malfoy Senior was pinned down, but Nott could be starting the ritual any second.

"Hurry it up, you damn fools! Get these wards down now or we'll all be dead!"

A fourteenth ward broke even as he was speaking - yelling, Reno would say - and the entire house seemed to shudder. Recognizing the signs, Croaker attacked the fifteenth ward with renewed vigor.

"We're almost through! Keep pushing!"

Amelia and Nicholas were hard pressed to keep fighting - Lucius Malfoy had apparently enacted some of the smaller gain rituals in the H-Files in preparation for this fight, meaning he was easily a match for the two of them. Even as Nicholas shoved Amelia out the path of a Decapitation Curse, a Killing Curse struck him square in the chest, throwing him back several feet, landing spread-eagled on his back, eyes staring vacantly up at the sky. Amelia howled in rage, and began throwing spells that could best be described as moderately Dark, with several of her own Killing Curses interspersed occasionally. Croaker had looked over, hearing the almost-primal scream of rage that she had let out, and his eyes widened as he saw what had happened.

At Hogwarts, Madame Pomphrey was rushing around the infirmary, pouring as many pain-relief and headache-curing potions as she could find down Harry's throat, who had been brought to the infirmary by Colin Creevey after he collapsed, screaming in agony, in the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room. Nothing she did seemed to have any effect, however. Five minutes after the screaming started, it stopped just as suddenly, and Harry simply passed out.

In Devon, Perenelle had also experienced something similar to Harry, though had managed to control the pain, using it to Apparate to Nicholas' location. Upon arriving, she took note of the enormous number of DMLE and DoM operatives, as well as Amelia Bones throwing curses at Lucius Malfoy, not relying on words, rather simply screaming in rage every time she cast another spell. And about five feet away from the fight, on the grass, was Nicholas' body. Stepping over to it - breaking through two of the wards at once on her way - she stood by her husband's body, looking into his eyes. Smirking slightly, she stood up and kicked Nicholas in the side, to which the man responded by rolling several times in the opposite direction, before sitting up and saying, "Ow."

"Yes, ow. You did just get hit with a Killing Curse, you old fool. Now come on, Amelia looks like she's running out of steam."

Blinking his disorientation away, Nicholas got to his feet, and together the Flamels rushed back into the fray. Of course, Nicholas had to pull Amelia out the path of several deadly curses after she realized he was there, promising that he'd explain later. With three of them fighting, the tide started to turn, and not even a full minute after Croaker and the rest of the 'strike team' - which could more realistically be called an army - managed to break the final ward on the manor, Lucius Malfoy lay dead on the grass in front of his manor house. Turning to Nicholas, Amelia glared at him.

"Explain. Now."

"Later, my dear. When there isn't the imminent threat of Lord Voldemort becoming a deity."

Glaring, Amelia aquiesced for the time being, but informed him that 'after this is over, we are going to discuss this'. Turning to the rest of the small army she'd assembled, she gave them their orders. Narcissa Malfoy had been called to the Ministry on some trumped up excuse earlier this morning, and Fudge's wife was delaying her for them. How a sensible woman like Dorcas Prewett had ever married a bumbling fool like Cornelius Fudge, she'd never understand.

The main strike team; composed of herself, the Flamels, Croaker, and the affectionately named 'Turks' - the DoM's elite - would head into the manor, and attempt to evacuate the hostages. If they were unsuccessful, or those remaining outside hadn't heard from them within twenty minutes, the rest of the army was to hit the house with as much Fiendfyre as they could, and pray it was enough.

Heading inside, they made their way into the basement levels, only to have to jump out of the way as a barrage of Killing Curses struck the walls their heads had been in front of moments earlier. Returning fire with their own spells, the team began throwing everything they had short of Fiendfyre and Unforgivables into the ritual room. Instantly, an almost snake-like voice was heard from inside the room.

"Enough, Nott. Begin the ritual, I will keep them distracted!"

"Yes, my Lord."

Nott began chanting in a language that only four people present recognized, and only two were fluent in. Exchanging glances, the group edged round the corner, throwing spells as they did so. They never made it completely round the corner before Voldemort threw several Killing Curses at them, though.

"Now what do we do?"

"Hm. I might have an idea, Amelia. Perry, dear, would you check to see if the hostages are wearing anything? Or lying down?"

Shoulders slumping, Perenelle glared at her husband of the past thousand-or-so years. "You owe me for this, Nicholas." Waiting until the man nodded in acceptance, she turned and jumped forward, turning her body as she did so to get a better view of the room. Three Killing Curses were sent at her, though only one actually hit before Nicholas summoned her back via her robes. Amelia and Croaker, needless to say, were a little shocked.

"What the hell did you do that for?"

"Easy, Amelia. Give her a few moments." True to his word, a few moments after her 'death', Perenelle suddenly sat up, gulping in huge breaths of air as her lungs began working again. Not wasting a moment, she turned to Nicholas and said, "Give me some rocks."

A few Blasting Curses later, and eleven small chunks of rock were handed to Perenelle, who wasted no time turning them into Portkeys. Amelia looked away pointedly, knowing full well that the woman didn't have a license - or at least, not one that had been valid since the mid-1500's. Croaker simply smiled. Once the Portkeys were made, Perenelle waved her wand one final time, and all eleven vanished.

"What was the point of making eleven illegal Portkeys if you were just going to vanish them?!"

Nicholas smiled, and just after Amelia yelled the word 'them', there was a rushing sound in the ritual room, followed by outraged screeching coming from the Homunculus that hosted Voldemort's soul.

"What happened to my sacrifices?!"

Nott replied, clearly terrified. "I don't know, my Lord. It looked like they were Portkeyed out of the room."

Amelia turned to Perenelle, who quirked an eyebrow. "I sent them to St Mungos. They'll be safe there. Now, shall we finish this?"

Agreeing, if only to save the last of her tenuous hold on sanity, Amelia pointed her wand round the corner of the doorway, and flung a blast of Fiendfyre into the room. The rest of the group quickly followed suit, and they soon heard the outraged yet pained screams of Lord Voldemort. (Nott had been directly in the path of the first gout of cursed fire, and had been incinerated before he got a chance to cry out.)

Five minutes later, after the flames had been extinguished, the group made their way into the room, noting a pile of ashes that had apparently been Thaddeus Nott, before making their way to the prone form of Lord Voldemort. Reno, as usual, had to add his two cents.

"That is one ugly piece of work." Looking round and noticing the glares he was getting, he - wisely - shut up.

Amelia reached out and slapped magic-inhibiting cuffs onto the Dark Lord's wrists, then added a second and third pair for good measure, before wrapping him in chains. "He's all yours, Croaker."

"Thanks, Amy. Should be easier to contain and question him in this form, too. Let's head back to the Ministry."

"Agreed. What do we do about the manor?"

"Eh, have Tseng and the rest of the Turks go over it with a fine-toothed comb for any dangerous objects." Turning to 'Tseng', he continued. "Once the H-Files are found, you call me, and once I'm present, you burn them. Then burn the ashes. Then scatter the ashes of the ashes to the four winds. Am I clear?"

"Yes sir."

Nodding, satisfied that his orders would be carried out, Croaker turned back to the others. "I should have done that when I first got them, I know. But I just couldn't stand the thought that all that knowledge could be lost. Foolish, I know. I'll see to it properly this time."

"Good enough, Croaker. Let's get the hell out of here."

Two days later, the H-Files had been destroyed, with Amelia, Nicholas and Croaker present to ensure nothing of them remained. Nicholas had explained their ability to survive the Killing Curse to Amelia, and she had agreed not to reveal it to anyone. Perenelle had visited Hogwarts upon learning that Harry had been knocked unconscious by the backlash, and had managed to stabilise the boy's wildly fluctuating magic. After which, the two Flamels departed for a holiday in the Caribbean, claiming that if surviving a Killing Curse each didn't earn them the right to a holiday, what did? Harry was due to be released from the Hospital Wing today, and was looking forward to his freedom. Surprisingly, Loghain McGonagall had stopped by once a day while he was in the Hospital Wing, bringing him copies of any materials he had handed out in class, and written versions of the man's lectures that he had recorded with a dictation quill.

Harry had been strangely touched by the man's kindness towards an almost complete stranger, and had resolved to send the man something nice for Christmas. Halloween was fast approaching, and somehow Hermione and Ron had roped him into attending a 'Deathday Party' for Nearly-Headless Nick. He had glared at them when they told him, on principle, but hadn't stayed mad, agreeing with Hermione that it would be interesting to meet all the ghosts that would be present. Colin had stopped by a couple of times to say hello, and Harry, feeling quite grateful towards the younger boy for getting him to Madame Pomphrey on his own, had agreed to have a few pictures taken and sign them for his Housemate.

Blaise, Lisa and Neville had all stopped by to offer their well-wishes, as had Oliver and the Quidditch team. Cedric Diggory had visited him too, and he had even received a care package of Fizzing Whizbees - his favourite magical sweet - from Marcus Flint, with a note telling him that if he said anything about Flint sending him sweets, there wouldn't be a hole deep enough for him to hide in. He had smiled at that, and told anyone who asked that they had been from Nicholas.

Susan Bones had stopped by earlier to fill him in on what had been happening while he was in the hospital, and as far as anyone could tell, Nicholas being hit with Malfoy's Killing Curse had occured at the same time as Harry had collapsed in agony. Shocked that Voldemort had nearly returned again, Harry asked Susan to thank her aunt for rallying the makeshift magical army that she had, and helping defeat Voldemort.

A/N: Does the extra-long chapter make up for the utter lack of one for such a long time? I hope so. In any case, in this chapter, I've given you every clue you need to figure out how Nicholas and Perenelle made themselves immortal. And the H-Files are gone, Lucius Malfoy is dead, and Voldemort is back in custody. Also, I know in canon, Snape was a Half-Blood. Well, in this story, I swapped the parents around, i.e. Eileen Prince was actually born Eileen Snape, and Tobias Snape becomes Tobias Prince. As to why Snape's surname is Snape in that case...he hated his dad enough that he took his mother's maiden name when he was old enough to have it legally changed. I'm always surprised, based on what we know of his childhood, that he didn't do this in canon. I guess Severus Prince doesn't have as nice a ring to it. That's why Hojo Snape can be his grandfather. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please remember to review!