A/N. What can I say? I haven't updated for ages. I had some excuse at the start (yearly exams) but after that I really should have cracked down and gotten it done. I better get it done before the seventh and ultimate book comes out. So, sorry, and if anyone is still interested in reading…

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Chapter 10

Daniel wanted to kick himself for letting it turn out this way. It was not just him. It was not even just him, Ron, and Hermione. Neville and Ginny had come, Luna too, who was one of Ginny's Ravenclaw friends, as well as a boy who was probably her boyfriend. In short, there were too many of them, and even with Sirius who had insisted on coming after sending out his Patronus to inform the Order, Daniel still felt like they were underprepared. Neville couldn't even hold his bloody wand straight, and Luna was away with the fairies most of the time. If they got killed, then Daniel would feel no small remorse.

He swore to himself and tried to keep up with Sirius as they pounded down the Ministry corridors.

'Dumbledore should be here,' he was saying. 'He's head of the Wizengamot, for crying out loud, and the Minister always wants him on hand to give advice.'

'Yes,' said Daniel. He didn't much feel like talking.

'I mean,' continued Sirius, 'lately he's been disappearing all the time. Off on various excursions… I hope they're important, because – Fu-Merlin.'

He stopped and bent down. Daniel couldn't tell what he was doing, and the others felt the same way, judging by their expressions. They were standing a little way from a door in a stretch of empty corridor. It was, Daniel realised with a jolt of fear, the corridor that had been in his dreams quite often. They were nearly there. But before he could dwell on this, his attention was distracted by a sudden jerky movement on Sirius' part.

One moment there was nothing, the next he was holding an invisibility cloak. A body, barely identifiable due to the cuts that lacerated it, lay at his feet. Daniel gulped and looked away.

'Who was it?' he said.

'Don't know. Too hard to tell. We'll find out later, I suppose.'

If they survived, of course, Daniel couldn't help adding in his mind. What had he got himself into? Was he really ready for it? But it was his father, he had to, he couldn't just lie in bed at Hogwarts and do nothing. And he followed Sirius across the threshold of the Department of Mysteries.

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The boy looked pale, terrified. It was no effort to smirk, it was almost easy to forget that this was the boy who had once defeated the Dark Lord. Lucius gripped his wand harder and repeated himself:

'Why don't you give me the Prophecy, Daniel? Your father will live if you cooperate.' Naturally he wouldn't; MacNair had orders to keep his wand trained on the Head Auror and to kill him if he tried anything. But now they needed him alive. Potter had to cooperate; no one else could take the Prophecy from its shelf, excepting the Dark Lord, and James Potter was an invaluable bargaining tool.

Daniel looked at his father. Lucius held his tongue, knowing that the wisest course now was to wait. Let the brat take it all in: his father's continued survival, his cuts and bruises, the marks of torture, his ragged clothes and hair. James Potter was dull-eyed, much as Bellatrix had been when she had come out of Azkaban. He looked similarly half-dead and, without medical attention, it was clear he wouldn't last another day. That ought to tug at the boy's heartstrings, that ought to make him want to give up the Prophecy.

'Don't give in,' rasped James Potter, before Lucius could stop him. 'They'll kill both of us anyway. Don't let them, don't give them any advantage.'

Lucius shot a Silencing Spell at the man, and he wasn't the only one who had that thought. An array of curses, some more permanently silencing than others, hit the spot where James Potter was – no, had been. The man had rolled out of the way, starved and injured though he was. Lucius at this point wanted to strangle MacNair, who was supposed to prevent this sort of thing from happening. But he didn't have time.

All he could do was duck out of the way as Daniel Potter and his friends unleashed a torrent of curses on them. He had enough time to respond with a couple of Killing curses, then duck out of the way. James Potter had somehow acquired a wand in this space of time, likely from one of the fallen Death Eaters.

Lucius gritted his teeth. 'Spread out, you fools, don't give them an easy target!'

Despite the Potters' heroics, they were still badly outnumbered. And, prolifically skilled as he was, James Potter was the only one who knew how to use a wand. Black was caught up duelling Bellatrix in an antechamber, and Potter's schoolmates didn't look worth much in a fight.

Lucius fired off a Cutting Curse, and hit one of the students. But at that stage, Potter senior must have realised that he was at a significant disadvantage. Lucius heard him and his son – pathetic that, as if the boy knew anything – calling 'Fall back! Fall back!'

Then they were all running from the room, sending shelves of prophecies crashing down. Lucius noted with relief that Daniel was holding the prophecy. That made his mission a little easier. One of the Death Eaters slipped and fell, cutting themselves badly on the glass, and making a bloody mess on the floor. Lucius stepped neatly over him, somewhat pleased to see it was MacNair, then focused on the pursuit again.

'Follow them!' he yelled. 'Can't you see? Potter's got the prophecy!'

He felt almost happy. There was only James Potter and Black, and Bellatrix would at least keep the latter busy if she didn't manage to kill him. All that remained was a bunch of school children between him and the glass ball his master so wanted. He raised his wand, and picked up the pace, pleased to see that Regulus was keeping up with him. The man had leapt at the dangerous mission at the Ministry when asked. No matter that he was a wanted man, that not even the Dark Lord wanted to risk himself in the heart of the Ministry.

He burst through the door, through a room of clocks, then another doorway, and found himself in the Amphitheatre. The place was quickly filling with Aurors. Lucius frowned briefly, ignored the anger that was seething in his chest, and cast a particularly nasty hex.

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Daniel screamed. He wasn't under the Cruciatus Curse, but it sounded like it. He was in the Ampitheatre, the room with the strange black veil in the centre. All around him Order members and Death Eaters battled fiercely. He dodged a curse, Quidditch-honed reflexes meaning he didn't even have to think to do it. Near to him sat Neville, nursing a broken arm and fighting off a lingering Jelly Legs Curse. Across the room he could see Lupin and his father fighting back-to-back. A Death Eater stood in the centre near the veil, and, with a smooth movement, seemed to throw something through it. It didn't come out the other side.

Daniel tried not to look at the other side, the far side of the veil, where a woman stood. He'd seen her a second before; he didn't want to look again. But he did. She held in her hand, high, so everyone could see it, a human head. Daniel knew, even from this distance, that it was Sirius'. She had killed him a half-second before, then chopped off his head, delighting in the Aurors' and Order members' reactions. And Daniel's reaction too.

She was not wearing Death Eater robes, nor was she masked. She was Bellatrix Lestrange, for all the world to see, and running down her white arm was her cousin's lifeblood. Daniel forgot Neville. He forgot the prophecy in his hand. He forgot everything but the fact that his godfather was dead. He rose and came at her, blasting through the intervening Death Eaters. She saw him coming, bowed mockingly, and dropped Sirius' head.

'Scared are you?' Daniel demanded. 'Too cowardly to face me?'

But no: Lucius Malfoy was calling out at the top of his voice, that it was time to leave. Bellatrix smiled at Daniel, then ignored him as if he were a little child. She jumped up the tiers two-by-two and sprinted out the door. Daniel followed. He almost hit her with a Cruciatus, but the spell missed, and soon it was all he could do to keep up and avoid her curses.

He skidded on smooth marble, and found himself in the entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic. He dived to the floor to avoid a Crucio from Bellatrix, then scrambled up to attack.

And found himself facing Voldemort, for the third time in his life. He barely had time to dive behind some statues and avoid a Killing Curse lanced his way.

'Give me that prophecy, and it'll be all right for you, boy,' Voldemort said.

No, it wouldn't be all right. Daniel knew what the Prophecy contained. Dumbledore had told him a few years ago, when Voldemort had first returned. Up to then, he'd enjoyed being The-boy-who-lived, the one who had defeated You-know-who. But when he'd found out what that entailed, he wished he were in Harry's place instead, even if that meant being a Parselmouth, and having other unsavoury characteristics.

He faced Voldemort, clutched the prophecy tighter, then dived into one of the Ministry lifts. It was a pretty stupid plan, he thought, as he punched, waved his wand, and willed the doors to close. But amazingly it worked.

There was a soft musical chord, and the lift began ascending. Then there was a quiver, and a jolt, and the lift sunk down again. The doors came open, as if they were as light as window curtains, and Daniel met Voldemort's glaring red eyes over the threshold.

For an instant he felt strange, like he was at the bottom of a great pit, with a huge, evil creature coiled around him. He tried to struggle, but there was no use. It was crushing the life out of him. He should try Occlumency, he knew, but all he could do was struggle, and thrash, and his movements became weaker. He felt himself sinking deeper.

But then there was a loosening, and he was stumbling back. Voldemort looked at him with his inhuman face set in what might have been loathing, then reached forward for the prophecy. Which a second later shot out of Daniel's hands, away from him, and away from Voldemort. Voldemort turned, or rather one instant he was facing one way, the next he was half a metre away facing the other.

'Dumbledore,' he said, acknowledging the elderly man standing at the opposite end of the room.

There was a brief flurry of curses, but Dumbledore emerged with life and prophecy intact. Voldemort, however, was not put out. He looked calculatingly at the Aurors and Ministry members pouring into the room, then addressed Dumbledore, a mirthless smile on his lips and in his words, 'I can't say you look well, Albus.'

This was true. Dumbledore appeared very grim and pale, ill-looking even. He had done well to escape the duel unharmed.

'I want you to know,' (he nodded mockingly to the bystanders), 'that as I grow in strength, you Dumbledore, you and your Order, only weaken. You may try to hide the contents of that prophecy from me, but I will eventually know, or not need to know.'

Then he turned tail and Disapparated.

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Harry got up in good spirits, still feeling content at the news he'd received from Regulus yesterday. He got dressed, checked that his school books were in order, and went to the Great Hall to take an early breakfast. Surprisingly – or perhaps not so much so, the boy was always following him of late – Draco was already there, bent over the morning paper. He folded it up and put it away as Harry approached.

'Good morning, isn't it?' he commented.

'Yes,' said Harry. He got himself some toast and began buttering it. 'I was just thinking… about what to do after I leave school.'

'Ah yes?'

'I mean, usually it's just get a job at the Ministry, or at Gringotts, or start a business – that sort of thing. But it'll be different, won't it? If he's in charge, we'll be important, won't we? And there won't be any purpose for the Ministry of Magic. All it does is just regulate us and magical creatures, and keep it all a secret from the Muggles… and he doesn't exactly plan on doing that, does he?'

'No.' Draco sounded amused. 'What are you getting at?'

Harry shrugged. 'I don't know.' He did know, in fact. The whole point of this conversation, one he'd rehearsed in his mind several times already, was to get Draco to talk about the Dark Lord's education. Draco was, after all, much better placed to know things than Harry.

'What did he do?' Harry said suddenly.

'Who?'

'You-know-who, after he left school. They say he went overseas.'

'Oh, northern Europe, eastern Europe. Somewhere.'

'It's just, wouldn't it be great, to do something like that?' The ambition in Harry's voice was nothing if not convincing. Perhaps because it was partly real. 'To become a really great wizard, a powerful wizard like him. Do you know where he went exactly?' Harry lowered his voice. 'Or what he did?'

Draco appeared to be more interested now that Harry had mentioned greatness and power. 'Well, I did hear my father say he went to Norway – that's where Durmstrang is meant to be – it's renowned for Dark magic. And I'm sure he spent some time in Romania or Bulgaria; I can't remember which.'

'Where -.'

'Mr Potter.' It was Snape's voice that interrupted him.

Harry turned and glared in annoyance. What did Snape want at this time of morning? It can't have been that important, and now his chance was gone. He would have to ask Draco later and that would make him seem a little too curious.

At Snape's word, he got up and followed him out of the Hall. To his surprise the man didn't think the deserted Entrance private enough to say whatever he wanted to say, even though it was extremely early in the morning. He led Harry out and into the grounds, not stopping until they were a good fifty metres from the castle.

'You must know now, though the school will no doubt be buzzing with it in a few hours.' The professor adopted a hypocritically dour expression. 'Your godfather is dead.'

'Oh, just like my brother was dead,' Harry said. He was past irritated and starting to get angry. Was this some excuse for Snape to harass him with Legillimency again?

'Incontrovertibly dead. Avada Kedavra dead,' Snape continued. He explained roughly what had happened in the Department of Mysteries, and about Harry's idiot brother and father who, unbelievably, were still alive. And about Sirius.

'The nature of his death, I am sorry to tell you, was particularly grisly. She killed him and severed his head. But no matter – he died in a blaze of wasted glory, as he no doubt would have wished.'

Harry was suddenly extremely pissed off. Somewhere he was aware that his father was alive, his father who he'd thought dead, was miraculously alive. But Sirius was gone. Sirius, who, even if he'd favoured Daniel, had always given him more of a chance than his father ever had. And here Snape was, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was pleased.

'You could at least pretend you're not happy he's dead,' Harry said with loathing.

'I won't pretend I didn't dislike Mr Black intensely, but I assure you, that does not mean I am pleased at his death.'

Harry was about to bite back with some insult when he felt a searing sensation in his arm. Not now. Yes now. Of course the Dark Lord wants to call us after his triumph.

'Can you feel that?' he said.

'No,' Snape said irritably.

Harry wanted to shout at him. He was supposed to be consoling him. But Harry forced himself to calm down, to Occlude his mind, and realised that he didn't need to be consoled. At least, not by someone like Snape. 'My mark's burning,' he said. It wasn't till after he'd said it that he realised he'd never confirmed whether Snape was really a Death Eater. Thankfully his suspicions were correct.

'Not here, you fool.'

Harry shrugged. 'Like anyone doesn't know. So your mark's not burning, it's just mine?'

Snape shook his head, and eyed Harry with curiosity. He was definitely a traitor. And he definitely knew that Harry was one too. Harry hoped that he was the only one who knew, and that this meeting would go smoothly. He turned and headed for the gates of the school.

Voldemort was sitting in a red leather and oak chair, with the ease and recumbent power of a king in his throne. He was practically basking in the glory of his recent success. Harry had about a second to take in the fact that they were alone, Voldemort's pleased mood, and the richly furnished room he found himself in.

'Are you pleased at your godfather's death?'

Harry didn't permit himself the time to draw in a breath. Any delay would make Voldemort suspicious.

'Yes… and no,' he said. 'I would have liked to have had the honour of disposing of him myself.'

'Nevermind,' said Voldemort. 'Such things can't be helped. In any case, I did not call you here to discuss the Ministry of Magic. I have just been questioning Lucius.' The dark tone with which he said 'questioning' called to mind a torture session rather than a placid interview. 'Perhaps I pushed him too far. He let slip many secrets I did not care to see, but one interested me. It concerned you and Regulus.'

Harry felt his stomach churning. Voldemort smiled as the shock of the realisation crept across the young man's features.

'Yes, Potter,' he hissed. 'I know. Only traitors go behind my back.'

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I expect to update pretty soon (asap, in fact) and shame on me if I don't. I don't really like this chapter at all, I've had most of it written for ages except a couple of paragraphs (which I have rushed, and which are probably dodgy). Also I'm losing track of the horcruxes. If I did ravenclaw's I got that wrong – it's meant to be a wand, isn't it?

Oh yes, and I couldn't remember whether 'lift' is british or american english (I'm australian, how can I tell? Elevator, lift, etc, it's all the same) – if it's not british english, apologies.

I also feel pretty crap that I killed Sirius (how repetitive, esp for AU), but I had to kill someone, and James is more interesting to keep alive.

Sorry for any embarrassing editing mistakes. If you're unimpressed at my characterisation, let me tell you, so am I (and honestly, the pitiful melodrama when Sirius dies, apologies for that too).