Author's Note: Wow. It's been a MONTH already since I've updated. A bit more than a month, really. So I felt kinda guilty and whipped this up fer ya.

Dedications: More deserving people!

Mr. Blood: My former English teacher. He always supported and encouraged me even though my stories at the time sucked ass.

Anyone of significance that I've forgotten: So I don't get bitched at for not adding them. xD

Chapter 6: The Secret's Out

(The Three Broomsticks. Hogsmeade. August 16th 1996. 12:13a.m.)

Rita Skeeter sat at a table in the Three Broomsticks, twirling her poisonous looking green Quick-Quotes Quill through her fingers indolently, and occasionally sipping on her large mug of Firewhisky.

She was waiting for a certain Lucius Malfoy, who had owled her not even an hour ago, claiming to have big news for her. And Rita, being the ambitious journalist she is, agreed to meet him here for a chat.

Rita would interview nearly anyone for a story, so long as it was worth it, and that her safety was ensured. Malfoy, who she knew to be a Death Eater (that had just escaped from the Wizard prison, Azkaban, when the Dementors left it to rejoin Voldemort), didn't impose much of a threat to her, as he had been the one to seek her out. Lucius Malfoy, as she and many others well knew, had a way of getting what he wanted in the Wizarding World. He donated largely to charities of all kinds and lent large amounts of money to prominent Ministry employees so later, when he needed them, he could ask favors.

Though, on this occasion, Rita, who had never really liked Malfoy, didn't mind that he was getting his way, as she was getting a story out of it. And by the way he had talked, it would be a real money-maker.

She took a long draft of her Firewhisky right as the door to the pub swung open, and she ended up choking on it and slopping it down the front of her robes. Malfoy, who had been the one to enter the pub under a cloak and mask (quite different from his Death Eater ones, as these were green), took a seat across from her at the round wooden table and said, "Smooth, Skeeter."

Rita glared at him, annoyed, and then asked, "Can you even see with that thing on?"

"Of course," said Malfoy, "it has a one-way Translucence Charm on it."

Madam Rosemerta, who had been polishing cups with a dish towel, abandoned her task and called, "Can I get you anything, sir?"

Malfoy turned around in his chair, arm slung over the back, and said, "A Butterbeer would be fine."

She nodded and went to the back room to fetch one. Malfoy turned back to face Rita.

"So," she said, "what is this big news of yours?"

"First things first," he said professionally, as Madam Rosemerta brought his drink over to the table and set it in front of him. "Thanks," he muttered, paying her, and she walked back over to the bar. Lucius removed the part of the mask that was covering his face, leaving the hood on to hide from Madam Rosemerta, took a long sip of his mug, wiped the froth from his lip, and set the mug down with a clink before clearing his throat.

"Ahh. Butterbeer. I love the stuff. They didn't have it in Azkaban, sadly," he said with a sardonic grin.

Rita raised an eyebrow. "I didn't come here to hear about your prison life," she said coolly. "I came for a story."

Instead of threatening Rita or growing angry, he merely nodded. After all, he did want this information out in the open.

"I saw some things," he said seriously, "A few weeks ago."

"What kind of things?" she asked, scribbling on her sheet of parchment. "Where did you see them?"

"In Little Whinging," he said, "Near where Harry Potter lives. I saw…his parents."

Rita dropped her quill, but still gave him a dubious look before fetching her quill from the dusty pub floor. "You saw Lily and James Potter? Now, would you mind naming the drugs you were under the influence of at the time?"

"I'm serious!" said Malfoy, sounding indignantly annoyed. "All three of them were standing out in the street in broad daylight. The red-haired woman was even crying."

"Did you hear any of their conversation?" she asked eagerly, and the Quick-Quotes Quill was trembling slightly on the parchment as if it were awaiting his every word.

"The woman said something about Harry messing up her life, or something," he said nonchalantly, grinning over the rim of his mug as he took another long draft. "The boy had some kind of hourglass round his neck, as well."

Rita's quill had finished the page and was standing up on its point. She stuck it behind her ear, a slight satisfied smile on her face. She rolled up the parchment, stuck both it and the Quick-Quotes Quill into her alligator skin handbag and stood up.

"Thank you for your time this evening, Mr. Malfoy," she said with a wink, and kept her voice low in case Madam Rosemerta was listening.

Lucius didn't say anything, but rather lifted his mug in a sort of salute.

(The Ministry of Magic. London. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic's Office. August 16th 1996. 7:30 a.m.)

Mr. Cornelius Fudge walked briskly into his office, early for the first time that week. He set his briefcase down on his desk, removed his green bowler hat and hung it on the hat rack, and placed his usual order for a cup of coffee--two creams--to his secretary before seating himself comfortably in his over-stuffed desk chair.

"Your coffee and mail, sir," said his secretary five minutes later when she brought back the coffee. He took his small pile of letters and set the coffee aside for now. She walked out of the room.

"Junk…bill…bill…junk…fan mail…plea for help…ah!" he said, discarding all envelopes one by one save for the last one, which he slit open and read:

Dear Mr. Fudge,

I request permission for an interview with you on the subject of the Department of Mysteries. Perhaps some time today?

Sincerely,

Rita Skeeter

Odd, he thought. She was usually interested in different sorts of topics for her articles. But he agreed all the same.

(The Ministry of Magic. London. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic's Office. August 16th 1996. 12:04 p.m.)

"Good day, Rita," he said professionally, although the two of them had met before on many occasions. "Take a seat."

Obligingly, she did so and set her handbag on the desk in front of her. Cornelius surveyed her for a moment before discarding his serious expression and saying, "Come now, Rita. We both know that you're here for something, and I have a hunch that it's not the Department of Mysteries."

"Oh," said Rita with an excited grin, snapping open her alligator skin handbag and withdrawing her quill and parchment, "I assure you, Minister, that I am here to discuss the Department of Mysteries."

Fudge looked absolutely befuddled, but regained his composure and straightened in his chair muttering about how the Daily Prophet is going downhill these days. "Ask away, then," he said awkwardly.

"I heard there's a new project being worked on by Department officials," she said, as if she were blissfully unaware of the Potters' return. "Would you mind telling me a bit about it?"

'I knew it,' he thought to himself, 'there had to be some reason she was interested in the Department of Mysteries. She must have heard about the deal I made with Dumbledore. Rita certainly has a way of finding things out.'

"Actually," he said, "it was completed in late June. And I'm afraid that it no longer resides within the Ministry."

Rita lifted her eyebrows, feigning surprise. "And where, may I ask, is it now?"

"So I assume you know what they've been working on," said Fudge bluntly, a slight coolness in his tone.

"I have an idea."

"Would you like me to confirm it?"

"If you must."

He cleared his throat. "For the past year and a half, we've been secretly developing a new type of Time-Turner. It was designed to bear the same resemblance to its predecessor, but it's used in a much different way, and is much more efficient."

"How so, Minister?" she questioned, regaining her polite manner.

"I'm afraid that that information is none of your business," he said coolly, removing his glasses to wipe the lenses.

Rita cocked an eyebrow at him. "I see. Would you mind telling me the circumstances in which the Time-Turner was removed from the Ministry?"

"Indeed I would," he said truthfully. "I know what you're like, Rita," he said, and Rita shifted in her chair, forcing her face to remain impassive, yet aiming for indignance, "and all you'll do is wrench a story from anyone you can and publish it regardless of the affects it has on other people just to make a quick buck."

"I'm sorry you feel this way, Mr. Fudge," she said.

"So am I. Good day, Rita."

Without a word, she repacked her Quick-Quotes Quill and her roll of parchment, snapped her bag shut and marched from the room without a word. Cornelius got up from his chair and shut and locked the door behind her.

"I should never have given that Time-Turner to Albus," he muttered.

And he didn't notice a tiny beetle's head protruding from the crack beneath the door.

(Fourteen fifty-seven Maple Oak Lane. Godric's Hollow. August 18th 1996. 9:14 a.m.)

Three days after his visit to the Burrow, Harry trudged sleepily down the staircase, his hand gripping the railing for support. His mother was sitting on the couch next to his father; they both looked worried. He sat down next to Lily and noticed that there was a Daily Prophet laid out on the coffee table in front of them. A picture of himself was on the front cover, along with an older picture; it was his parents. Even though the picture had been scanned in and the whole paper was black and white, it was easy to see that it was flecked with brown age spots. And as in all Wizarding pictures, these were moving. He was scowling and looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else (not to mention looking a little nervous), and his parents were smiling rather nervously indeed while waving uncertainly. A cold feeling trickled down his spine and through his chest, but he picked it up and read anyway. Just the title itself made his nerves skyrocket:

Sightings of Lily and James Potter in Little Whinging

After a discussion this reporter shared with a person who wishes to remain anonymous, respectively, I have reason to believe that strange occurrences are taking place near the place where the Boy who Lived calls home. My interviewee witnessed him standing outside of his suburban home with two people on August the first. Many of you may wonder why exactly this is significant; it was the company Harry Potter was in that makes this sighting so extraordinary.

"It was a red-haired woman and a black-haired man. She looked a bit like the boy and had nearly the same eyes. The man looked almost exactly the same, except for the shape of his glasses and the color of his eyes," the witness reported. "I believe it was the boy's parents I had seen."

When asked why he thought this way, he said,

"The woman was sobbing and said that the boy had ruined her life," he said, "who else could she be?"

In a more recent interview with the Minister of Magic, evidence to prove the witness's case was discovered.

"For the past year and a half, we've been secretly developing a new type of Time-Turner. It was designed to bear the same resemblance to its predecessor, but it's used in a much different way, and is much more efficient.

"It was completed in late June. And I'm afraid that it no longer resides within the Ministry."

Then he disclosed the last amount of evidence just as I had finished jotting down the conversation,

"I should never have given that Time-Turner to Albus."

Of course he was speaking of Albus Dumbledore, newly re-instated headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Upon the completion of the Time-Turner, a deal was made between our beloved Minister and Dumbledore. Fudge saw it unfit to keep the powerful item within the Ministry after the unfortunate break-in of the Dark Lord and his followers, known as Death Eaters, so he gave it to his long-time friend for safekeeping.

It is believed that that very same Time-Turner was used by no other than Harry Potter himself to save the lives of his parents.

The question that needs to be answered is how the object found its way into Potter's possession in the first place. Did he steal it from his headmaster? Or is Albus Dumbledore guilty? If so, perhaps his sanity is waning as was previously thought when he suggested the return of the Dark Lord.

I believe we have a conspiracy on our hands. More on this subject to come soon.

Harry sat the paper back down on the table and glanced over at his parents.

"Who wrote this rubbish?" he asked them, spitting out the words like a curse.

"Rita Skeeter," said his mother, "her name's there." She pointed to the paper, where Harry could clearly see her name written in fancy script in black ink.

"And who the bloody hell did she interview?" he asked, growing enraged. His parents ignored the swearing. "It would have to have been a wizard. No one else would know who you are. Besides Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon," he added, "though I doubt they'd report it to Rita Skeeter. Terrified of wizards, they are."

"You don't have to tell me that," said Lily, forlornly. "It couldn't have been them anyway. They were asleep when we were in the lawn."

"How do you know that for sure?" asked James. It was the first time Harry had heard him speak all morning. "They could have been biding their time in their rooms, waiting for us to come downstairs."

Lily rolled her eyes. "You read way too much," she tittered. "Besides, my sister could never sit around idly. Especially for an hour."

"An hour?" asked Harry, wrinkling his brow. "Where'd you get an hour from?"

"That's about how long we stayed in your bedroom," she shrugged.

"Well," said Harry, after a long silence, retaking his seat on the couch (in his outrage, he had stood up). "What are we going to do about this?"

(Somewhere in Albania. The Sewer. August 18th 1996. 9:52 a.m.)

A small, fat, brown rat scurried through the winding pipes of a sewer deep underground, his tiny paws pittering and pattering against the cold, smooth stone. This section of the sewer was no longer in use, as there were no neighboring villages, towns, or cities, so it remained dry and virtually odor-free. Several times during the course of his journey, he had met up with some rather formidable creatures that took residence in the sewer. A cockroach had been the first thing he met, which he scattered past at lightning speed due to a fear of them, and that fact that cockroaches are very quick, followed by a tarantula, big and hairy, the site of which nearly made him collapse with anxiety.

The worst of all, however, was a kitten that had somehow found its way to the depths of the sewer. She'd been a frisky little thing and had followed him for quite a while, until he worked up enough courage to bite her leg, after which she mewed in distress and limped away, her cries echoing through the tunnels.

But still he jogged on. Eventually, after he thought he was going to collapse from his trip, he spotted the small opening in the wall that let in a thin, dusty beam of light. His way out. He squeezed his fat self through it and landed in open, forest air.

He looked up at the tall, looming, stone building before him; Maison Serpent. It was here that his master, Lord Voldemort, resided. And he had rather important news for him. A heavy gust of wind that sent the leaves at feet airborne hid the sight of a rat growing taller and taller until he took the form of a squat, fat man with mousy brown hair. His two front teeth protruded from his mouth, which quivered not only from the breeze, but also at the sight of the drafty residence in front of him.

He stepped up to the front door, shakily, and pressed the left eye of the carved serpent upon it. A soft hissing ensued and the door dissolved into nothing, taking form again only after he had passed through. His hand snuck down to his pocket, and a slight crinkling sound told him that his prize was still there. He nearly wet himself with excitement.

"Who's there?" hissed a voice from the shadows. He saw a cloaked figure materialize from the darkness to his left--a hallway he had never gone down--and felt a wave of nervousness sweep through him.

"P-Peter Pettigrew!" he squeaked.

The figure lowered its hood. "What business do you have here?" asked the cold voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, sounding rather condescending and haughty. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at him. He blushed under her scrutiny.

"I h-have something f-f-for the Master," he squeaked, patting his pocket again in reassurance that he still had the paper.

She raised a thin eyebrow. "Were you summoned?"

"N-no."

"Then leave. The Master is far too busy to deal with the likes of you, Peter."

Peter's heart sunk. "But it's v-very important!"

Bellatrix seemed surprised at his protests. "Alright," she said, a warning tone in her voice, "but if you don't come back out, you'd better keep your ghostly hands away from me!"

He nodded shakily and walked forward in the direction her gesturing hand indicated. He swung open a tall, wooden door and entered a room he jokingly called the "Diabolical Planning Room." Or 'DPR' for short. The DPR was the largest room in the entire castle; it was easy to see that upon entering. Its cold brick walls stretched nearly 100 feet on either side of the large throne in the center of the back wall in which Lord Voldemort currently sat. There were two dementors in the room, though they were off to the right--Peter's right--guarding the several cages. Most of them had bones from who knew what laying in them, but there was a person in one of them. A red-haired woman Peter had never seen before. She seemed unconscious.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" asked Voldemort, sounding bored. Peter could see the piercing red eyes from the shadow inside of the hood he wore.

"No, M-Master," he confirmed, stepping forward. For once he was glad not to have the critical stares of the Death Eaters upon him as he entered.

"What have you come for?" he asked, sounding uncharacteristically curious. "You never show up anymore."

Peter riffled through his jean pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. He stepped farther forward, smoothed out the paper, and handed it to his Master. He read in silence and set the paper on fire with the tip of his finger when he finished, allowing the ashes to pool at his feet.

"Do you see that woman over there?" asked Voldemort, indicating the unconscious red-haired woman. Peter nodded.

"Her name is Anna Potter," said the Dark Lord conversationally, rising from his seat and linking his hands behind his back. "and she will be of great use to us."

"How, Master?"

Voldemort cocked an eyebrow. "You don't know who she is?" Peter shook his head.

"She is the mother of James Potter," he explained. "She will know where to find the rest of the Potters."

"How did she get here?"

"How do you think?" asked Voldemort, giving him an odd look. Peter took this question to be rhetorical and kept silent. Voldemort cast a glance over at her cage and the dementors looked at him (their hoods turned in his direction), awaiting orders. "But right now she is unconscious," he said, turning his attention back toward Peter, "and we don't know if we'll be able to get her to speak. That is why I'm sending you on a little mission, Wormtail."

"A-a mission?" Peter squeaked, staring hopefully at his master. He hadn't been on many missions, as they usually ended in failure.

"And," Voldemort added, turning sharply in his direction, "I expect this one to be a success!"

Peter cowered; apparently his master could sense his fear of failing. "It w-will be!" he piped, not sounding too reassuring.

"It better be," he threatened. "Because there is no way that woman will tell us the location of her son's family. We've already searched the Muggles' home. They said that they didn't know where they'd went. This was alright for me, I knew they weren't lying, but it was when they got shirty with me that I had to kill them. Now, be off, Peter!"

"B-but you ha-haven't told me where to go!"

"I want you to go to Godric's Hollow," said Voldemort after a moment's pause. "It's a good chance that they're hiding there. Bring them here once you are through with your little visit. I daresay we'd all like to know how they accomplished this."

"I-Indeed, M-Master."

"Off with you," said Voldemort with a dismissing gesture, "and I'll be sending a search team for you if you're not back in two days. Potters or no Potters."

Peter gulped.

(Fourteen fifty-seven Maple Oak Lane. Godric's Hollow. August 18th 1996. 9:58a.m.)

Harry was upstairs in the room he had comforted Lily in the night of his parents' first real fight. Well, the first real fight he'd seen from them, anyway. It was kind of funny the way they were behaving nowadays; they used the fight as an excuse for all of the snogging they'd been up to lately. Whenever Harry caught them at it, one of them would say, "But, Harry! We're just making up!" "Feh. Making out, more like," he usually retorted with.

He stretched out on the couch. There were a lot of things about this room that he loved; the darkness it was always shrouded in, the bookshelves, the privacy he always got when he was up here, the silence, and the tranquility. It was a very good place to think, which is what he needed to do at the moment.

When he thought of the night he went to the Burrow, he felt a great rush of happiness flow through him. He always loved the Weasleys' get-togethers, but this one was very different; his parents had been there to share it with him. They'd also got a bit of talking done too. Apparently, Mr. And Mrs. Weasley had been friends of the Potters back before their deaths. All of them had chatted animatedly about the Order, Quidditch, and the Ministry for hours.

But the most memorable part of the entire night had not been the dinner, or seeing his best friend, Ron; it had been seeing the person that Snape had brought with him. The extraordinary part hadn't even been seeing him, but seeing him after what had happened.

The person Snape had brought with him was Harry's godfather, Sirius Black. A person that everyone, including himself, thought to be dead. Harry hadn't saved him with the Time-Turner, so how had he come to be in the Weasleys' yard?

That was simple.

But before we get there, Harry must finish with his bit of the story.

And while Harry had been delighted to see Sirius, he was not delighted that his godfather had mixed up his facts. It hadn't been James that had left him that note, it had been he, Harry, who had left it, hidden cleverly on his younger self. He had slipped it under his shirt before descending the stairs.

Of course, it wasn't Sirius's fault he had guessed that James left the note; he had no way of knowing that an older form of Harry was in 1981, or that it was even possible for an older form of Harry to be in 1981.

What made matters more complicated was the fact that Harry neglected to mention to anyone that it had been he who'd left the note. James had denied, truthfully, that he had left it, but Sirius, thinking he was being modest, didn't believe him.

From below, Harry heard the doorbell ring and the sound of shuffling feet as someone went to answer it. He too got up and bounded down the stairs to see who their visitor was. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard mumbled voices and the tinkling sound of his mother's laughter. They had moved into the kitchen.

He crept along the wall silently, avoiding a potted plant, and listened for sounds within.

Sirius's voice could be heard, telling Harry's parents of the first time he'd seen their son on a broomstick. All Harry could make out at first were words such as "great, shaggy dog" and "went all white" before he heard entire sentences,

"I could smell dementors approaching from the right, so I ran off into the forest. When I looked back over my shoulder, I could see a boy tumbling from his broom. It was Harry."

There was silence except for Lily's gasp, and Harry felt himself going a bit red.

"So tell us about the Ministry ordeal at the end of term," said James, sounding slightly nervous.

"Which bit?"

James shrugged. "All of it?"

So for the next fifteen minutes, Harry had to endure the tale of his latest adventure at the Ministry of Magic. Sirius didn't seem to want to leave anything out. It was slightly different from what he had experienced, since Sirius hadn't gone out to the lobby with Bellatrix and him.

"…And she got me right in the chest with a stunner. You should have seen it! It was like one of those things on Muggle TV. Football, I think they call it. Anyway, I nearly lost my balance and went through the arch, but I bumped my head on the side of it, and I only got knocked out."

Harry heard his mother laugh. "Only? Only got knocked out? You say that so casually, Sirius."

He laughed too. "Well, better than falling in, isn't it?"

"What next?" asked James eagerly.

"Well, when I woke up, Moony and the others had the Death Eaters all bound up with jinxes, so there wasn't much left to do but wait for Ministry officials to cart them off to Azkaban. Got out though, most of them did. A couple were…kissed."

"Serves them right," said James bitterly. He changed the subject after a moment of staring nervously at his friend and wife. "But you said Remus saw Harry running after your cousin. What happened?"

"I'm not sure," Sirius admitted. "I think he was trying to avenge me or something."

Even though Harry was sure that his parents would have been very proud and pleased with him for doing so, he still felt his cheeks grow hot. He changed his position. His legs were getting stiff and he wanted breakfast. What was even more irritating was that potted plant; its itchy leaves kept brushing up against his leg.

All of his problems were solved, however, when the doorbell rang again. He walked casually over to the front door, sneaking a glance into the kitchen, where his mother had begun to push her chair out to stand. Sirius looked the same as he had remembered him and he felt a rush of pride at his plan.

Though fear replaced pride when he saw their visitor.

: : :

I should make a movie; "The Cliffies Strike Back"!

It's Howdy Doody Time!

Er…well…sort of. Let's thank the reviewers.

Quinny and COUSIN: She wasn't lying--it's MY cousin! And keep yer damn goose eggs out of my chapter! There will also be no Draco/Harry. You know this. Even though they are two extremely pretty boys, they won't be getting together. -wink-

Piper of Locksley--Alright, I see the point. Sowwie I called you names, Kitty! Am I forgiven? -puppy dog eyes-

XxSacredDreamsxX--You have possibly the most annoying penname I've ever encountered, Nat! And I'm including Becca's in this. (Just kidding!) But there is a lot of caps/un-caps in the name. Anywho, glad we cleared up your confusion. And I'm pleased that you like it!

AmishFreckle--I'm touched. I really, really am. But there's no way you can compare me to J.K.R., as much as I enjoyed the compliment. -big grin-

Megan