The darkness was absolute—overwhelming.

There was nothing there—nothing except for a lingering sense of fright, as if from a nightmare only moments dissipated, and yet he felt something unseen rushing in at him from all directions, pushing him to the point of pure terror. He could see nothing. All his senses failed him completely. There was no faint breeze or distant points of light to tell him where he was. There was no smell of stagnant humidity in the air that would indicate that he was below ground. There was no explanation at all for this silent, sightless, crushing darkness.

And suddenly there was a faint blue glow in the distance, and soft marked footsteps. Someone was coming in the darkness. Footsteps echoed upon more footsteps as the deathly blue light grew closer but not stronger—never bright enough to illuminate faces or eliminate fear. Instead, it seemed to radiate fear as the black silhouettes of several figures paused just beyond his line of sight and the faint whisper of voices came to his straining ears. He tried to turn his head toward the light and panic overtook him as he realized that his arms and legs were bound. The ropes tightened as he writhed. He was caught. Again, after so much time.

Icy horror shot through him as he searched the row of vigilant shadows for the snake-like red eyes that he knew were somewhere very near. The ropes continued to tighten, burning his skin. A sudden tugging sensation revealed to him the presence of another rope slowly tightening around his neck and a fresh wave of panic washed over him. One thought clouded his mind.

Not again!

Never again!

And he searched desperately in his memory for any spell that would free him from these cutting ropes. They seemed to glow the same blue as the disembodied light that accompanied his captors. With dismay, he realized that all his thoughts were quickly focusing only on that blue. There was a quick flash to a distant Defense Against the Dark Arts class where a short, sinister-looking witch was explaining something about Brainbinding Cloth.

“…often used in wizarding prisons to subdue tendencies to resist...�

And then it was gone. He resisted, trying to remember any spells—anything at all that could help him now, and his mind jumped instinctively to the first spell that he had ever learned.

Crucio!

He thought it as hard as he could, but of course there was no wand to be found. The rope’s glow strengthened. They twisted and tightened and burned. The spell was disappearing from his memory—being replaced by a terrible blue oblivion.

“Crucio!� he shouted desperately at no one in particular as the last memory of the last spell left him.

His curse was met with worried laughter, as if the sound of the force behind it was enough to make some forget that it was spoken without a wand. The dark figures were moving now—growing larger with each ominous step forward, blocking light and sight, and he cringed as he felt many pairs of eager hands clutching at him.

He found his voice and screamed, but it was silenced as the ropes tightened around his neck, cutting off all air as he gathered the force necessary to raise the scream to the levels of insanity that he felt inside him—cutting off all breath, and life, and memory of all things good—cutting off thought, and suddenly he was falling into the same darkness that he had awoken to only moments ago.

But this time, his senses did not fail him. This time he felt something horribly familiar--something that overtook him and invaded every thought that his panicked mind would allow. It came in a blinding painful flash, originating as always, from a lightning shaped scar. This time, it did not come from his infamous forehead, but seemed to burn directly from his heart, doubling him over even as the ropes tightened more and eliminating everything except for one horrifying moment of memory.

A bright flash of green light and a horrible high pitched laughter, and then nothing.

---

Harry's scar was on fire!

He clamped a clammy hand to his forehead and rolled to his side, momentarily unable to process anything more than the pain. He stayed for several moments in a fetal position, gritting his teeth and feeling the dreadfully familiar pulse flow from his forehead down through his entire body. He half expected to slip into darkness again and find himself back in the Dark Forest, surrounded by Death Eaters watching with morbid fascination as The Dark Lord and The Boy Who Lived faced off for what promised to be the final time. Such a strong, piercing pain could mean only one thing--Voldemort was still alive. His grim defeat had only been a fleeting dream, and now Harry had awoken into a world where he still faced his horrifying destiny.

But the pain began to slowly subside, and the only darkness that Harry found was the tranquil red-black caused by his own tightly closed eyes. He could not remember where he had fallen asleep, and for a moment, as the pain became no more than a dull throb, he imagined a horrible blue light and faces in the darkness. His eyes snapped open.

Warm morning sunlight greeted him, and he had to close his eyes again to allow them to adjust. He was lying in the grass behind Ron's home. It had only been a nightmare--the ropes; the darkness—even the evil green flash at the end. Now, with a fragrant breeze carrying away the morning dew around him, he felt the panic of it leaving him, and he began to wonder if the pain in his scar had been only part of the nightmare. As if in response, his scar twinged--only a flash, and then gone again. He frowned and opened his eyes again to the daylight.

What he saw caused the frown to retreat instantly. Strewn around him, all still peacefully sleeping, were nearly everyone that he had grown to love in the wizarding world. Ginny, with her fiery red hair, was smiling in her sleep next to him. Her hand was stretched toward Harry, and he had a faint memory of falling asleep hand in hand. Ron and Hermione were not far away, huddled together underneath the invisibility cloak for warmth. The half visible pair appeared to have fallen asleep in each other's arms.
Just beyond Ron and Hermione lay Bill and Fleur, floating inches above the ground on a beautiful Moroccan carpet. Bill was just beginning to stir. He smiled sleepily over at Harry, and sat up, taking care not to disturb his wife, who looked incredibly comfortable beside him. She was already showing signs of the couple's first child, due in four more months.

A heavy snore to his right caused Harry to turn. He found Neville sleeping soundly in spite of the garden gnomes who seemed to be enjoying a rather vigorous game of King of the Mountain on his rising and falling chest. Luna was fully awake and smiling guiltily toward Harry, who had the sneaking suspicion that she had been playing along with the gnomes. He stifled a laugh.

George was asleep only a few meters away with his head perched comically on Percy's shoulder. The scene would have been sarcastically angelic had it not been for George's new ear. Since losing one of his ears nearly two years ago, George had taken up a rather eclectic collection of right ears, which he randomly attached to his face using a Binding charm. This morning, George was sporting what looked to be a Goblin ear. Harry silently wished for a camera.

Satisfied that there was no immediate danger, he lay down again, closed his eyes, and tried to remember the details of the nightmare that had caused his scar to ache after so much time. He could remember cold blue ropes, and panic in the darkness, but nothing more in such a warm morning light. It was as if his mind was purposely disposing of all things that could ruin such a beautiful morning. He shook his head and concentrated harder. Had he seen Voldemort? He didn't think so. Had he seen anyone or anything that he remembered?

It had not been him. That much he remembered. The nightmare had been full of a forbidding familiarity, as if everything that was happening to him had happened before. As far as Harry could remember, he had never even seen such a place. He vaguely remembered the Cruciatus Curse as well. In the nightmare, however, it had been the first spell he had ever learned. The first spell that Harry had ever learned had been a levitation spell. It had done wonders against a troll in the girl's bathroom, but it carried nowhere near the same power as an Unforgivable Curse.

His scar pulsed again. This time, it was as if small cold fingers were poking at his forehead, and he opened his eyes. They met Ginny's beautiful brown ones. She smiled and gave a second playful poke at his scar.

"Are you awake yet?" she asked, and the simple sound of her voice made the rest of the nightmare disappear from Harry's mind. He moved quickly up to grab her and pull her playfully down into the grass, filling her red hair with dew. She gave a surprised squeak, and both of them tumbled over into Ron and Hermione.

Hermione gave a slightly scornful glance toward whatever had so abruptly awoken her. Ron rolled onto his side and mumbled something that sounded to Harry like, “’m already up,� and was promptly asleep again. Hermione pushed him with absolutely no effect.

The delightful scent of bacon and sausages wafted down to them from the Burrow, rousing those who were still sleeping. There was a startled yell as Neville realized that he was covered in garden gnomes. Everyone else began their slow trek to the open back doors of the Weasley house, Percy and George walking as far away from each other as possible, and both with half-asleep, embarrassed expressions. Ron was left behind to become the next playground for the gnomes.

From inside came the laughter of more who had stayed after last night’s celebration. A faint cry from one of the second story windows indicated that Teddy, Lupin and Tonk’s son, and Harry’s godson, was awake as well, and equally ready for breakfast. One last dull throb of pain from his scar caused a flicker of worry in his mind. He looked around him. Everyone was together, and the Burrow was wide open with nothing to worry about. The survivors of Dumbledore’s Army and the Order of the Phoenix were gathered happily in the kitchen, and he was following a beautiful girl inside to enjoy their company. There was no possibility that Voldemort could be alive on a day like today, no matter how much his scar protested. Harry put the nightmare out of his mind.

Forty five minutes later, Harry was laughing with the last seven stragglers at the Weasley kitchen table. He was uncomfortably full, having just been force fed all together too many sausages by Mrs. Weasley, who seemed convinced that he, Ron, and Hermione were starving themselves at 12 Grimmauld Place, where they had been living now since the beginning of the year
.
He glanced around at the smiling faces: Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and George were gathered at the end of the table. They were laughing at Bill, who had enchanted the remaining bacon, and was halfway through a noteworthy dancing rendition of Rita Skeeter’s new book, Living With Death Eaters: My Decade of Insanity, starring the last sausage as Rita Skeeter. At the other end of the table, Mr. Weasley and Hagrid were engaged in quiet conversation, both occasionally applauding an impressive move by Rita the sausage.

Mrs. Weasley and Fleur had retired to the sitting room to laugh over baby pictures of the Weasley clan. Fleur had become suddenly interested in baby pictures since she had discovered that she was soon to increase the size of the family album. Andromeda and Teddy had been the first to excuse themselves. Neville and Luna had returned to Hogwarts by way of floo powder after a quick breakfast. Percy had escaped even a quick breakfast by insisting that it was his obligation as the personal assistant to the new minister of magic to put the needs of the ministry first.

“Better run, Perce!� George had chided as Percy had slipped into the fireplace. “Kingsley might not be able to govern the wizarding world without his morning tea!�

“Tell Kingsley that we missed him at the celebration!� Mrs. Weasley had called just before Percy had disappeared into a green flame.

Harry looked around him once again and couldn’t help but mourn the empty spaces. He remembered back to the last time that they were all gathered together around the Weasley table. It had been his seventeenth birthday, and there had been so many people that they had decided to celebrate outside. Remus and Tonks had been happy newlyweds, and Fred and George together had been wreaking their usual havoc at every turn. Looking around the table now, Harry realized how young everyone was. These were the people that he had started school with—the children who had learned to fight the Dark Lord by his side, and had suddenly become the adults before his eyes. Nearly all of the figures who had taught them to fight and who had earned their unconditional admiration--Dumbledore, Sirius, Moody, Lupin, Tonks…even Snape—all were now absent from the table and, as with his parents before him, the next generation had been left to carry on the legacy.

These grave thoughts must have reflected in his expression, because Arthur grabbed his shoulder and brought him back to reality.

“Harry!� he said cheerfully. “Have some more bacon. I’m sure that Bill can spare a back-up dancer for a good cause!�

“Thanks, Mr. Weasley,� replied Harry politely, “but if I have any more for breakfast, I’m afraid my stomach will have to apparate back to Sirius’s house separately.�

Harry never referred to 12 Grimmauld Place as his home, though Sirius’s will had confirmed that, in every legal sense, the house was his. He never used the term “home� to refer the morbidly mysterious house that had once been the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. To him, it would always belong to the Black family, and only truly earned by the loyalty and bravery of the last two heirs—Regulus, who had seen the error of his ways and had given his life to correct them; and Sirius. Oh, but it still hurt after so many years to think about Sirius.

“You’re not going today, are you?�

Ginny had momentarily redirected her attention to Harry and was in the process of employing her most effective weapon against him—her eyes. She gazed at him, innocent and imploring, and said in a clever, charming tone, “You promised that you were going to stay and help me with my
Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T.�

Just looking at her, Harry felt a weak smile creeping over his face. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she was excellent at it, but he couldn’t let her win this time. He, Ron, and Hermione really did have to go today. They had things to discuss that only seemed appropriate to speak of in the security of the house at Grimmauld Place. Harry wanted to tell Ron and Hermione about his nightmare and the aftereffects without having to dodge Mrs. Weasley every few minutes. There was also the subject of their N.E.W.T.s, which Hermione had been drilling them over since they had both agreed to take them this year. Hermione had taken them only one month after the battle. Harry, who had spent his seventh school year wandering around the whole of England looking for horcruxes, had never imagined that he would have lived long enough to take his N.E.W.T.s, let alone that he would be taking them alongside Ginny. It was already proving to be a somewhat unmanageable distraction.

Harry noticed Mr. Weasley smirking beside him. After enduring nearly seventeen years of the same cunning treatment from his only daughter, Harry imagined that he was experiencing some relief that this particular torch had been passed. Harry felt his willpower faltering. What would be the harm in staying one more day in very pleasant company? He did the only thing that he knew might work.

“Ron!� he said a little too loudly, pulling Ron from a spectacular finale in which Rita the sausage was preparing to perform a perfect pirouette directly into Bill’s mouth. “Tell your sister why we have to go today!�

“Of course we have to leave today!� responded Hermione quickly. “You both still have loads of work to do for Potions and History of Magic. Ron, you haven’t even started on your Draught of Distraction, and you both still need to finish your parchment on the Ghost Decree of 1642! I promised professors Binns and Slughorn that you would be able to turn it all in before the end of next week!�

Ron groaned. He and Harry had only escaped repeating their seventh year with the majority of their classmates by agreeing to enter into the auror training program—a condition that they did not hesitate to accept—and adhering to a strict study schedule that would catch them up on missing materials and require them to take their N.E.W.T.s at the end of the year with everyone else. This condition was not accepted as lightly, as Headmaster MacGonagal had appointed Hermione their official "tutor".

Ginny gave Harry a look of mock defeat that was somehow not convincing in the least. Her shoulders sagged slightly, but the sparkle did not leave her eyes as she smiled coyly back at Hermione. “Well, if it’s coming from his tutor, I suppose you win…� She rounded on Harry again with a smirk that nearly melted him. “For now.�

The play ended. Hagrid’s voice rang through the final applause and the cries for an encore.

“Great ceremony last night, wasn’t it, ‘arry?� he asked. “Poor ole Grawpy had a bit too much t’ drink. He was asleep afore the fireworks even started.�

Harry imagined a sixteen foot drunken giant stumbling around the Hogwarts grounds and grinned. The night before had been one of tragedy and celebration. It had marked one full year since Voldemort’s downfall, and the fight that would live forever in infamy as the Battle of Hogwarts. For one day, all classes had been cancelled, and for one night, students were allowed to forget about their upcoming exams. The night had been reserved as a tribute to those who could not celebrate Lord Voldemort’s demise—the 54 who had died right there in the Great Hall as well as the countless others who had met their final fate at the hands of The Dark Lord during his nearly two decade reign of terror.

All those who had fought side by side in the battle had been invited back to Hogwarts to celebrate the victory, as well as the changes that it had brought about. Many had returned. It had been a rather exhausting night for Harry. Most of those who had returned had wanted to thank him personally, or had wanted to ask him about his role. Some had brought their families, who were dying for the chance to see the "Great Harry Potter" in person. There had been a wonderful feast, and an impressive fireworks display featuring Weasley’s Wild Firewhizzbangs by none other than George Weasley himself in honor of his brother.
Fred’s real memorial had come after the feast, however. Those that were allowed were invited back to the Burrow where Fleur and Mrs. Weasley had spent the entire week making enough dessert to feed an army. That is exactly what they got—Dumbledore’s Army to be specific. All those who had shown up at the Burrow had been part of the original Dumbledore’s Army and all had come bearing brilliant memories of Fred, Professor Dumbledore, Cedric Diggory, Colin Creevy, Katie Bell, Lupin during his year as a professor, and all those who had fought and died so young only one year earlier.

Harry had spoken to Headmaster MacGonagal, and he had persuaded her to allow him the use of Dumbledore’s Pensieve, which was still kept in the headmaster’s office, even though the job of headmaster had changed hands several times since Dumbledore had last occupied the office. They had all taken turns placing their memories into the Pensieve, and Fleur had used an Augmentus Charm to project the images into the sky. They had fallen asleep laughing along to the pleasant memories of some very impressive Quidditch moves, horrifyingly witty pranks, awkward first moments, and stoic acts of heroism. Harry hadn’t truly understood how great a loss was actually suffered until he saw the fallen remembered through the eyes of those who loved them most.

He especially enjoyed Bill and Ginny’s memories of their brother. Only George had been closer to him, and he had refrained from sharing anything. Harry suspected that the memories he had shared with his brother were still so deeply a part of him that he could not share them with others who would never understand. Harry felt the same about his memories of Sirius. He had glanced over at George several times during the night, and had imagined once that he had seen tears reflecting off his cheeks, though Percy had moved quickly to block his brother from view. The last memory Harry had of the night was falling asleep hand in hand with Ginny, and a brief glance at an army of remembered red heads battling on brooms overhead.

Hagrid and Mr. Weasley were still staring at him, waiting for an answer.

“I think that it was brilliant,� he responded with a smile that he hoped seemed authentic. “But I'm sure that Fred and Sirius would have liked what happened afterwards more.�

A look of melancholy reflection appeared on Mr. Weasley’s face, and he gave a stifled snort that could almost have been a laugh. “Fred and George together! Imagine the chaos they would have caused! His voice took on a sarcastic tone. “Probably would have made a fortune selling some candy that turned teachers into toadstools. We’d be getting Howlers for a week!�

The sarcasm hadn’t reached his eyes, and Harry knew that Mr. Weasley loved to speculate about what Fred would be up to if he had not died such an untimely death. He had been so very proud of the success of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, and one of his greatest regrets had been that he hadn’t had the time to let Fred know this before the final battle. Mr. Weasley’s gaze shifted to his surviving twin, who was now fighting with his older brother over the last piece of bacon. Bill had George’s head in a vice grip, and was tickling his Goblin ear as George laughed hysterically and threw random unaimed punches at anything within hitting distance.

“George,� Mr. Weasley called across the table. “Have I ever told you how proud I am of you?�

“Only once or twice an hour this entire year,� George answered, He grinned and tapped his Goblin ear, which was bent at a rather odd angle. “Don’t worry, though. I can only hear you half the time.� Harry and Ginny snickered as George continued. “You reckon you’ll still be proud of me tonight when the Howlers start rolling in from all the Toadstool Truffles I sold yesterday?"

Bill made a second attempt at the bacon. George cut him off with a swift punch to the arm, and Bill’s scathing retort was cut off by Fleur’s musical laughter as she and Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen. A familiar sigh echoed as Mrs. Weasley surveyed the damage.

“Alright,� she said. “Who’s going to help clean up this mess?�

Harry and Ron agreed suddenly that now was the perfect time to start on the homework that awaited them at Sirius’s house.

They apparated to the front stoop of 12 Grimmauld Place as they had always done, and entered into a hallway that was nearly unrecognizable. The scent of new paint greeted them as they stared, open mouthed at the bright, strangely cheerful entryway. Moments later, a small dilapidated house elf appeared, wearing what looked like a slightly worn pillowcase and splattered from head to toe with light blue paint.

“Good morning, young masters!� he croaked in an unnaturally low voice. “Pardon Kreacher’s slowness sirs and miss, but Kreacher is finishing with miss’s quarters now.�

“Kreacher!� exclaimed Hermione. “Did you do all this in one night?�

“Of course, miss,� Kreacher replied with a note of pride. “Kreacher wanted to finish all rooms, but he is encountering—er—other matters requiring Kreacher’s attention.� His enormous eyes darted nervously to the closed curtain at the end of the hall that still housed the portrait of Sirius’s very foul mother.

It had taken Hermione a month to convince Harry to allow her to make any changes to the previous decoration. Everything had reminded him of Sirius. She had finally succeeded by reminding him that Sirius had been miserable stuck in such a dark and dingy place. She had found even greater problems in convincing Kreacher, who had argued so vehemently against it for the first few weeks that he had even resorted to using the term Mudblood again.

After two months of preparing her own meals and washing her own clothes, during which Kreacher was commonly seen once again in deep conversation with the portrait of the former owner of the house, Hermione had finally succeeded. It was as if the elf had always desired a change. Once his mind had been changed, Kreacher had followed her around the house, dutifully recording all of her ideas, and even offering some of his own suggestions.
Now, all three of them stood in awe of the complete transformation of the Black entryway.

“I can’t wait to see the kitchen,� said Ron as he made his way up the hallway. “Is anyone else hungry?�

“Ron, you have to get started on your potion first!� said Hermione, following him down the hall, and Harry recognized the beginning of a very busy morning. Hermione would soon be absorbed in talk of study schedules and making up for lost time. Once she was finished with Ron, she was sure to remember the parchment that Harry also owed to Professor Binns. Harry decided that now was the best time to mention his nightmare.

“Can we go into the parlor first?� he interrupted, hoping that the parlor had undergone the same miraculous change as the entryway. He had the feeling that it would be a much easier tale to tell in a bright and cheery place.

Neither of them questioned him, though both wore looks of worried curiosity as they followed him into the parlor, which was a thankfully off-white color. They sat down on the sofa expectantly. There was a moment's pause as Harry tried to determine how best to tell them without causing too much worry.

“My scar hurt again this morning,� he said simply.

Hermione’s eyebrows raised slightly, in alarm. She and Ron looked at each other, but said nothing. Harry told them what he remembered of the nightmare, finishing with his unpleasant awakening. They listened with darkening expressions. They had spent three years worrying whenever Harry’s scar had hurt. It had been so directly associated with Voldemort for so long that it was only natural to become alarmed, even though they all had been witnesses to Voldemort’s final moments.

A pensive silence fell over them when Harry had finished. Hermione was the first to speak.

“But you didn’t see Voldemort,� she reassured him. “Voldemort’s dead. We all know that. It was someone else you were seeing.�

“Could it have been a Death Eater?� asked Ron.

“I suppose…� began Harry, but was interrupted as Hermione continued, her brow furrowed in thought.

“It could have been simply because it’s been exactly one year since everything happened.� She was speaking more to herself than to the other two people in the parlor. “I mean—we don’t know exactly how curse scars react, do we?�

“Yeah! George says his scar hurts all the time!� Ron said hopefully.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ron, I hardly think you can compare George’s ear to the only killing curse scar ever known.�

Ron's mouth opened in response and Harry, recognizing the beginning of a typical round of bickering, seized the opportunity to bring the subject around to what had been worrying him.

“What if it was one of his more powerful Death Eaters?"

“If it was, I want to know which one so we can bring him in quick,� said Ron. “Whoever learns the Cruciatus Curse as their first spell has got to be really powerful!�

“And a very dark, twisted wizard.� Harry added, thinking more of those who had been able to capture and bind a wizard that dangerous.

"No one could learn that as their first spell,� said Hermione. “Not even a Death Eater. Even they have the trace on them as kids. If they performed Cruciatus anywhere…�

“Mum caught Fred trying to do it to a bee that stung him once,� interrupted Ron. “Didn’t know it was an Unforgivable Curse back then. Just learned it from friend.�

“And could he do it?� Hermione asked.

“Nah,� Ron admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “He still got it from mum though. He said his backside was red for a week!�

“Ron said it, Harry. A child could never do the Cruciatus curse. Remember in the ministry after Sirius…� Hermione paused. The reactive expression on Harry's face told her that she had entered dangerous territory. His neck visibly stiffened. “You tried to perform it on Bellatrix and it didn’t work.�

Harry’s eyes blazed momentarily. “I wouldn’t have any problems now if she were back by that veil,� he hissed.

“Yes, but you're stronger now," said Hermione quickly. "My point is that you have to really want it. It has to come from a really powerful wizard. No one could learn it as their first spell. Not even Voldemort could have done it. It had to have been only a nightmare, Harry.�

“Hermione’s got a point, mate,� said Ron, putting his arm around her. Harry felt himself growing more at ease. These were the words that he had been hoping to hear. He was unbelievably tired of living crisis after crisis. Now he just wanted to believe that everything was fine, and hearing it from his two best mates made it that much more real.

“I just don’t understand why my scar had to hurt afterward,� he said. “It hasn’t hurt in a year, and then just now, exactly a year after I killed him…�

“There were decades worth of memories dragged up at that ceremony,� interrupted Ron. “Everyone was talking about it. Even I thought I saw Fred sitting by George last night.� He paused and looked away for a moment. “It was great, but it was hard to remember everything that happened.� Hermione shivered, and he squeezed her tighter. “Especially when most of it happened to you.�

The hair on the back of Harry’s neck bristled. “Or because of you,� he finished.

“Don’t say that anymore, Harry,� snapped Hermione. “You know that’s not true. You sacrificed yourself for all of us.�
Harry found himself suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “You walked in knowing you were going to die, and you just stood there! Normal people don’t do that every day. Maybe your scar is going to hurt every twenty-first of May just because of that! You never know.�

Harry looked uncertainly toward Ron, who was nodding along with Hermione. “So neither of you think it could be…�

“Voldemort’s dead Harry,� said Ron firmly, and his ability to say the name without even the slightest grimace seemed to add to the finality of this statement.

“I know,� said Harry, “But there are a lot of bad wizards that are still out there.�

No one currently residing in the Black house needed to be reminded of this fact. Ron and Hermione had been by Harry’s side enough in the past five years to learn very well just how much he knew of the power of dark wizards. The past six months had only confirmed what he had been trying to tell the ministry since his first brush with them in his third year.

For the past six months, Harry had been directly involved in the tracking and capture of all those Death Eaters who would not turn themselves in. He had remembered every day what Dumbledore had once told him—that some of Voldemort’s Death Eaters were nearly as dangerous and powerful as Voldemort himself. Dumbledore’s words had been proven true in every confrontation. Harry had thought that the worst of Voldemort’s servants had been eliminated along with him in the final battle. Six months of disappointing dead ends, grueling nights without sleep, and horrifyingly bloody battles had shown him that he had been mistaken. Some grudgingly resigned themselves to capture after a chase, strangely terrified of a face to face confrontation with the only person who had twice survived a direct killing curse and defeated the most powerful dark wizard of this age before even completing his schooling.

Most, however, resisted with every force that they had. They used every Unforgivable Curse and dark vicious invention in an attempt to take as many aurors with them as possible. Harry had seen things during those battles that still kept him up some nights. Two aurors had been lost already, and three more very seriously injured. Harry had begun to understand exactly why Mad Eye had looked the way he did after a lifetime of pursuing dark wizards. In the end, he and Ron, together with the entire department of aurors, had sought and found nearly thirty more dark wizards.

“You’re also forgetting the reason your scar hurt in the first place.� Hermione’s voice brought him out of his reverie. “You and Voldemort were connected. You were his final horcrux. You've got no connection like that with any Death Eaters. There's no way you would be able to see into their minds."

“It was just a weird dream, Harry,� Ron said. “Don’t worry about it.�

Satisfied that his friends did not appear the slightest bit concerned, Harry excused himself to his room with the excuse that he needed the solitude to finish his essay. What he really needed to do was think. The ceremony at Hogwarts had brought back memories that Harry had gone to great lengths to bury. He needed some time to contemplate them and, if necessary, bury them again.

Harry had disappeared for three months after the final battle. He had stayed long enough to watch as Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Colin, Susan Bones, Justin Finch Fletchly, Katie Bell, and too many others were lowered silently into the ground. He had stayed that first sad night with the Weasleys, watching as, just like him, they bumbled about confused, shocked, and unable find any direction—occasionally finding a stray Skiving Snackbox and breaking off into tears.

Harry had been unable to sleep for days after everything that had happened. He had not been alone. He would watch each night as, one by one, each red head would disappear to their bedrooms, trying to sleep—pretending to sleep, but never really sleeping. Harry would hear them crying in the night—Ron sniffling quietly in the bed next to him, knowing that Harry was awake, but too overwhelmed with grief to care.

He would slip out those nights and walk. There was no destination—no thought in his head. There was only the slow constant pace that kept his thoughts from drifting back. Several times, when slipping out for one of his midnight walks, he heard muffled sobs through Ginny’s door. He would have given anything to be able to comfort her. Just a shoulder to cry on. That’s all she needed, but he found himself unable to do so. He couldn’t be there for her. He couldn’t say anything that she needed to hear. The fact was floating there somewhere in between them, making all of his intentions hollow. Ginny was missing a brother. Mrs. Weasley’s worse fear had come true. Teddy was an orphan. So many people were crying in the night at this very moment because of him. It had been Harry’s blood that had given Voldemort the power to return.

It was the weight of these thoughts more than anything else that had pushed him away one night about two weeks after the Battle for Hogwarts. He had wandered particularly far on one of his midnight walks when he had simply decided not to turn around. He had walked without stopping for the rest of the night, and a good part of the next day. Ron had come looking for him then. He had brought him his Firebolt and a bit of food that Mrs. Weasley had prepared for him, but he did not protest when Harry told him that he wasn’t coming back. Instead, his face had melted into a sad understanding, almost as if he had been thinking of doing the same thing.

Harry had apparated first to Godric’s Hollow to see the graves of his parents, and then to the mysterious seaside cave where he had last seen Dumbledore strong and commanding. He paid a visit to the cave on the edge of Hogsmeade, where Sirius had once spent half a year as a dog in order to keep an eye on Harry, and to the lighthouse in the middle of the sea where Hagrid had first revealed to him his true origins.

On it went for three months. Harry could not remember all of the places that he had gone, nor why he had thought them important enough to visit. He did not stop moving. He did not stop thinking. He did not wander with a purpose. He roamed instead with a line in one of his favorite muggle books repeating over and over in his head…

Not all those who wonder are lost.

His thoughts had been filled with the faces of the dead. Many times he had wished for the picture that Moody had given him of the old Order of the Phoenix. He had wanted to compare those faces with the ones that haunted his mind. It was to those faces that his mind turned now as he entered the room that had once belonged to his godfather. He was happy to see that Kreacher had not yet reached it with his new paint.

The album with the photo in it was in his closet next to Hedwig’s empty cage. He thought he had bought himself at least fifteen minutes to be able to look in relatively uninterrupted peace. He turned to the closet door hastily to get the album.

And found a wand aimed straight at his eye.

Harry went instinctively for his wand, but a vaguely familiar voice rang out before he could even get close.

“Expelliarmus!�

His wand flew out of his pocket and across the room. He found himself suddenly frozen, shocked into a state where he was unable to do anything more than stare into the darkness of the closet, the shadows of which hid his attacker perfectly. After facing off with the most dangerous wizard of his time and winning—after hunting down the last of his Death Eaters and walking away unscathed—after watching without fear as Voldemort used the killing curse against him, not once…not twice, but three times—after DYING, and coming back, he was caught completely off guard in his own bedroom. He laughed in spite of himself. The wand pointed at him faltered.

“Shut up, boy!� the shadow hissed, and this time, Harry recognized the voice. He watched as the figure stepped out of the darkness, revealing eerily familiar heavily lidded eyes. They were wild and desperate and focused only on him. Somehow, after successfully evading an entire squadron of aurors and finding her way through the countless protection charms and counter curses that now protected the Black House, Narcissa Malfoy had found her way home.

"Crucio!� she hissed without blinking.

The spell hit him in the forehead just centimeters from his lightning scar. Pain like red hot embers shot instantly down his spine, taking root and shooting flaming daggers down through his extremities. He writhed and curled in upon himself. The pain was too great to think or even to let out the yell that he knew would send Ron and Hermione rushing to help him.

“Where is he?� Harry heard through the mad rush of the spell in his ears. “I know you have him!� The voice was right by his ear, cooing to him softly from inches away as he flailed helplessly. “I know your people took him! Blood traitors, all of you! After he was cleared of any charges!�
Harry tried to turn—tried to knock the wand from Narcissa’s hand, but the pain was too intense. His fingernails had drawn deep half moon shapes into his palms, and he realized that he was biting his lower lip, which was torn and bleeding now. It took every effort he had to open his mouth and gather what little breath his burning lungs would allow.

“Stop!� he managed. It was intended to come out with enough force to sound defiant, and perhaps to reach the lower floors. Instead, all that Harry managed was a pathetic squeak that sounded almost as if he were begging. He didn’t care how it sounded. He wanted the pain to end. Then the voice came again.

“Petrificus totalus!�

The pain disappeared instantly—gloriously—leaving his entire body motionless and reeling from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus curse. He wasted no time in trying to call out again, but found that his vocal chords, like the rest of his body, were completely petrified.

From his place on the floor, he could not see Narcissa’s face, but he heard quick, sharp footsteps as she came nearer and felt the cold tip of her wand poke hard into his neck. For a short moment, she did nothing, almost as if she was contemplating something, and then the wand disappeared. Harry could do no more than lay there, feeling the stiffening heat from the pain before as it left his aching limbs. Now that it had diminished, a surreal sense of confusion was beginning to replace it. They had been searching for Narcissa since the night of the battle, but she had eluded even the keenest aurors. Why was she here now? How had she gotten past the ministry's most powerful spells to enter his room, and just who had disappeared that had caused her to come out of hiding?

“Muffliato!� Narcissa called toward the door, and Harry's hopes of third party rescue were destroyed. The wand was at his neck again, and she used it to draw a sharp line across the base of Harry's throat while whispering something that he could not understand. He felt a liquid warmth spread rapidly over his face, and he realized that he could blink again. Cautiously, he tried to move his mouth and found that he could, but further examination of his hands and legs revealed that they remained as still as stone. But he had his voice.

“Accio wand!� he called, almost as a last resort, not knowing exactly what he hoped to accomplish. He had seen Dumbledore and other powerful wizards use magic without wands before, and had even done it himself on occasion, but never on purpose. His wand did not move from it’s place in the corner of the room. His attempts were as futile as calling for Ron or Hermione would have been. Narcissa had planned her attack well. Her wicked laughter came from his left and he turned his head to fix his attacker with a defiant gaze.

“What do you want!� he yelled at her with more force in his voice than he felt in his body. Narcissa was not shaken.

"I want to know where you took my son!" she yelled back. Her hands were shaking with an anger that was only barely under control. "He was proven innocent! He was paying what you people said he owed! He has no idea where she is! We wanted nothing to do with her. I've always kept them apart!�

It was as if Harry’s mind had also been petrified. Pieces were beginning to fall into place. Draco was missing, but...

“Who are you talking about?� he asked, genuinely puzzled. Narcissa slapped him, stopping any further questions in his mouth, and sending blood from his mangled lip flying across the room.

“Don’t play dumb with me!� she snapped. “I know your aurors have him held without charge. Your new ministry is just as corrupt as the last one!�

Harry did not know what to say. The pain in his lip was growing by the minute, for the moment overpowered by his hatred for the woman who stood before him—who had managed to enter what he had grown to believe was impenetrable. His ears swam with the sounds of Hermione screaming as Narcissa and her sister Bellatrix tortured her in their own home not two years ago. His memories were tainted by the images of her and her husband at Voldemort's feet, torturing anyone at the will of their Dark Lord. He would have liked nothing more than to tell her that they had arrested Draco, but he did not have the slightest idea what she was talking about. As far as he knew, Draco was at Malfoy Manor, sitting alone on a mountain of galleons. All of this must have registered on his face because the anger threatening to ignite inside of Narcissa blazed anew and she stabbed him hard with her wand.

"Carignitus!" she screamed, and this time, Harry screamed with her. His head was suddenly on fire! Deep blue flames engulfed the part of his body that was not petrified, and Harry suddenly understood what it must have been like to be burned at the stake. His eyes bulged and he felt as if his skin was growing taut as the heat consumed it.

Then it was gone once again, and his face was left with no more injury than his torn lip. Narcissa was screaming at him once again.

"He was helping at St. Mungo's when he disappeared! Your people are the only ones who could take him from there!"

Harry's mind was reeling. His people? He didn't know who his people were. He searched frantically for anything that he could say to buy him time—anything at all that would keep her from using that last spell again. His mind was only able to focus on one question.

"How did you get into Sirius's house?" he asked, not really believing that it would serve as much distraction, but unable to think of anything else. To his surprise, the fire that had crept into Narcissa's eyes subsided and was replaced with a look of surprised arrogance as she approached Harry once again.

"This was my home more than it ever was Sirius's!" she retorted with a note of childish greed. "You’re in my room, not Sirius’s! It was mine before it was his, and it passed to me again when he betrayed his own family. I have ways of entering my own room!�

“How?� Harry asked. He was struggling to find any information that he might have missed, but once again, nothing more than questions came to him. Narcissa was again at his ear, whispering.

“Enough questions, boy,� she hissed malevolently, pointing her wand at him once again. Harry braced himself for more pain. "I can stay here all day.� She grinned in anticipation. “I have many more curses. You can’t possibly believe that the Cruciatus curse is the worst pain that you can experience.� And now Harry did not believe this. Narcissa continued. “I am very practiced in the art of torture. I'm sure you know that."

Anger surged in him. "I don't know anything about Draco!" Harry replied defiantly. "I don't care where he..."

"Foolish child!" came the interruption. "I know there have been reports! Even a minister as dim-witted as this one would see that she's not dead! I know your aurors took him because they think he's helping her. He would never help her. Especially not now!"

A stream of ice ran down Harry’s spine as he tries to think of a “her� that was supposed to be dead. Only one possibility came to his mind, and he spoke her name aloud before he knew what he was doing.

"Bellatrix…" he said, and he saw the confirmation etched into her sister's face. "Bellatrix is dead!" he shouted, more as a form of assurance than as a retort, but for some reason, he was not reassured. Everything that he had experienced was there in his memory to tell him that Narcissa was mad, but the cold calculation in her expression did not carry the look of the insane.

As he watched, that expression was contorting into a look of fear as it dawned on her that Harry truly did not know anything. “The ministry doesn't know,� she said, and Harry recognized a note of panic in her voice. “Then why would they have taken Draco?�

“They didn’t,� Harry said in a plainly bewildered tone. Narcissa was no longer facing him. She was pacing the room, suddenly oblivious to her prisoner.

“Then she took him.� Her voice had become a contemplative whisper. She turned her eyes back to Harry determinately, as if she had come to a very difficult decision and continued. “Draco knows nothing! He doesn't have what she’s looking for. The ministry can help him!�

Bellatris is dead!� Harry yelled, and this time he managed to convince himself. He had seen the look of shock that had distorted her evil face as Mrs. Weasley's curse finally hit home. Narcissa’s mouth curled into a snarl and her wand moved to curse him again. He closed his eyes in horrid anticipation.

And then a thundering crash to his left caused him to open his eyes again and he found himself engulfed in a cloud of dust. A series of red and purple flashes were flying near him from somewhere just beyond his line of sight. He heard Narcissa scream in frustration, and then Hermione's voice rang out from somewhere in the dust.

"Stupify!"

The scream was cut off abruptly, replaced by a dull thud as Narcissa hit the ground. Harry's heart lurched with the desire to participate, and he yelled out.

"Hermione! I can't move!"

Then Hermione was above him, and he could move again. The dust was already beginning to clear as he ran past an enormous hole in the bedroom wall toward the prone body of Narcissa. Ron was conjuring ropes to tie her with. He was white with shock as he stared back at Harry.

"Blimey, Harry," he said. "She could have killed you! Look at your face!"

Harry brushed off this comment and turned to retrieve his wand. Now that Ron mentioned it though, the pain from his mouth was growing more noticeable by the minute. He pointed his wand at his bloodstained face and thought, “Expingo!� The pain disappeared, but his lips did not heal He found himself suddenly missing Madam Pomfrey. “How did you know I was in trouble? She knew Muffliato.�

“Kreacher heard you yelling something about Bellatrix,� replied Ron. “Must not work on house elves. Good thing too! How’d she get in here?�

The question was answered by Hermione, who had disappeared into the closet, wand first.

"It’s a Caminus Charm," came the muffled reply from what seemed like a great distance. Her head appeared out of the darkness, and the volume of her voice increased suddenly. "It's used to make a portal from one place to another. Narcissa must have made it when she was living with her aunt. It’s been open all this time." She shivered, no doubt thinking of the years that the house had served as headquarters for all resistance.

Harry stood up. “Let’s see where it leads,� he said determinately.

“Harry, no!� said Hermione, who seemed more concerned with the state of Harry's face now that she had secured the room She reached out to touch a swelled cheek and Harry pulled away. “I already called for help. You’re not going in without them.�

“Hermione! She said that Bellatrix is still alive!� Harry protested. “She could be on the other side right now! She could be getting away!�

Both Hermione and Ron’s faces drained completely of color.

“Then she’s mad!� said Ron. "We all saw mum kill her."

“We all saw her die. Narcissa was trying to trick you,� said Hermione.

“I don’t think she was mad,� said Harry. He turned gravely toward Hermione. “And I don't think it was a trick. I don't want to make the mistake of thinking someone else is dead that turns out not to be. We have to see where that portal leads."

“I already know where it leads,� whispered Hermione growing paler.

"Where?" asked Ron and Harry together.

"Malfoy Manor," said Hermione.

“So all in all a pretty productive morning,� said George as he helped Ron pull clean sheets over his and Harry’s beds. It was a balmy late afternoon, and the three of them were once again at the Burrow preparing for a stay of unknown length.

“Yeah,� Ron agreed sullenly. “A little morning torture, bringing down the last big Death Eater, and another night with all of you. I’d say it’s been pretty much like…�

“Like being in Hogwarts with Harry again,� Ginny interrupted from the doorway. She sat down next to Harry with a caring smile and handed him what looked like a blue towel. “Put this on your face. Mum says it helps after flame hexes.� She bent over and kissed his cheek, which had been hot and swollen since Narcissa's rampage that morning.

“Thanks,� he said. He pressed the towel to his face and felt it ice over in his hands. It felt wonderful after passing the entire day with the burning memory of his face on fire. He leaned to give Ginny a hug. "At least I have the best nurse
possible."

A few carefully whispered spells and a rather large amount of Dittany from Mrs. Weasley’s plentiful stock had cleared up most of Harry’s injuries quite quickly, but Molly had not allowed him out of her sight all day. She had apparated to the front steps of the Black house the second that Ron’s silver terrier had appeared in the kitchen to warn her of the day’s destructive beginnings. She had arrived second only to Romulus Redberg, the new head of the auror division. She was just in time to find Harry swollen and shaking in the rubble of his bedroom, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood that was pouring from his mouth, relaying everything to a shocked Redberg, and angrily insisting on leading a team into Malfoy Manor to look for Bellatrix and Draco. One stern look and a few well chosen words uttered between gritted teeth had been enough to eliminate any illusions of dangerous expeditions, and he had reluctantly allowed himself to be treated without much protest.

The rest of the day had been a buzz of auror activity. It seemed that the entire ministry had been invited into the Black house to root through everything. Harry had repeated the same story no less than twenty times to various heads of departments. Malfoy Manor had been thoroughly searched using every detection spell imaginable. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, along with every auror and magical detection agent that could be spared, had spent the entire day rooting through even the smallest cracks with any hint of magic near them in the Malfoy home. It proved to be utterly in vain, however. There remained no sign of neither Draco nor the possibility of a revived Bellatrix Lestrange.

Narcissa had been taken in chains to Azkaban where she was to remain until her trial, scheduled to begin in exactly one week. During that time, her Caminus Charm was to be reversed, and the ministry had plans to paint the Black house with a fresh barrage of protection spells, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione once again at the mercy of Mrs. Weasley until all was back to normal again.

---

The front page of the Daily Prophet the next morning was a montage of struggling photos of Narcissa Malfoy in chains, her white blond hair splayed messily behind her as she raved silently. It brought back memories of the photos of her sister that had appeared in the paper after a massive breakout during Harry’s fifth year at Hogwart’s. Narcissa was being called "Voldemort’s last disciple", and the headlines rang of the final triumph of "The Chosen One". Harry had thrown the paper down without reading the article, amazed at the Daily Prophet's ability to over sensationalize everything that had to do with him. There had already been four owls requesting exclusive interviews, and Hermione had captured a shiny blue-green beetle in the breakfast table centerpiece that had turned out to be a shameless Rita Skeeter in search of any information that would put her in line for her next book. Harry had seen Hermione in the garden later with a glass jar, obviously contemplating whether or not to set Skeeter free. She had returned with an empty glass jar a great while later. Clearly, the decision had not been an easy one.

Even if he had been willing to grant an interview in the week before the trial, he would have found himself unable to do so. Mrs. Weasley occupied the majority of his spare time with incessant fussing to see if the flaming hex—apparently a Death Eater original—had left any long-lasting effects. Hermione, who still was not convinced that Narcissa's warning was anything more than random threats, had taken up her constant badgering of both him and Ron with renewed vigor. Their nights were filled with study schedules and homework assignments, all to prepare them for the ever-closer NEWT's. Ginny only needed to be somewhere near to serve as a welcome distraction for Harry who, faced with the horrifying new probablility of Bellatrix still being alive, had spent all his days at the ministry trying to find even the smallest hint of proof or clue as to where she and Draco might have taken refuge. What Narcissa had said about Draco had proved to be true. Draco had disappeared from St. Mungo's where he volunteered at weekends, but beyond that, any trail ran cold. Harry had requested formal interrogations several times with Narcissa, hoping that having been her final captor would have allowed him special preference, but his requests had been repeatedly denied with sincerest apologies and the excuse that Narcissa had become uncontrollable, even requiring the use of Sayers. Harry, who had no idea what Sayers were, had accepted the rejection with great disappointment and continued to offer his help in the search for Draco, as no one truly believed that a search for a long dead Death Eater was needed.

Hermione, for her part, had been through the entire Hogwarts and Hogsmeade libraries looking for anything in the Black family history that would lead them to an explanation or a hiding place. None of them, not even Harry, knew whether or not to believe Narcissa. There had been hundreds of witnesses to Bellatrix’s death, and very few explanations to her possible undeath. Harry could think of only one reason that Mrs. Weasley's curse had been ineffective. Bellatrix herself would have had to make a Horcrux, and that possibility was too horrible to entertain for long periods of time.

The day before the trial, a regal golden brown owl appeared at the breakfast table with a golden envelope addressed to Harry. It was a summons from the Wizengammot requiring him to report to the ministry exactly one hour before the start of the trial at the request of the prisoner, Narcissa Malfoy.. There was a friendly postscript in Kingsley's handwriting saying "Better late than never!" Harry read the summons aloud and then looked up to a table full of puzzled faces.

“Why would she want to talk to you now?� asked Ron.

“More important, why would the Wizangammot allow you to speak to her now?� asked Hermione. “You’ve been asking to see her for a week and they've rejected every request.�

"Maybe she's calmed down enough for Harry to see her now," Ginny speculated.

Harry remained silent. He did not have an answer, but he found that he did not care. He had spent the majority of the week trying to speak to Narcissa, and now the opportunity had presented itself in the simplest form—a request from the prisoner herself.

He spent the majority of the day discussing his mysterious interview with Ginny, Ron, and Hermione before going to bed early to give himself time to think. He imagined being alone in an interrogation room with Narcissa and he suddenly found that he did not have the slightest idea what he wanted to ask her. Hundreds of thoughts and worries were floating around in his mind, but he couldn’t form a single solid question. If Narcissa's words were true, then he needed to gather as much information as possible. He needed to understand. If Bellatrix truly had survived Mrs. Weasley’s curse, then he needed to know how. Where had she gone? Most importantly, how could she be taken down once again. All of these thoughts formed a random sort of chaos in his head, and he fell asleep without having constructed a single feasible question.

---

He awoke very early in the morning and slipped out for a walk in the garden to clear the deluge from his mind. By the time the sun had reached the level of the garden fence, Harry was convinced that he had developed at least a proper amount of questions for the occasion, and he made his way back to the house.

Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley were all in the kitchen, and a warm breakfast awaited him on the table. They ate together in silence for a few minutes, and then Ginny said, "You'll send an owl right away telling us how it went, won't you?"

Harry was startled. “You mean you're not all going to the trial?" he asked.

"Oh no, dear," said Molly. "Ministry only at Death Eater trials. You know that! If everyone who wanted to go did, it would be a regular circus!" She glanced over at the famous grandfather clock. The hand that represented Mr. Weasley was now pointed to In Transit, which must have meant that he was headed to the trial. “It’s almost time."

From the expression on Ginny's face, the argument on whether or not to attend the trial had already been fought and won by Mrs. Weasley. Harry fixed her with a sympathetic look.

"I'll send an owl directly after the trial," he promised.

"Wonderful!" said Molly cheerfully. "Kingsley will be waiting for you at Apparition Point four.� She flicked her wand at him casually and Harry felt a tug on the back of his head as his hair tried in vain to smooth itself down. She gave up, frowning a bit. “Arthur went in early today to get good seats. You should be able to find him easily enough.�
"Don't forget to send an owl!" called Hermione as Harry nodded at Mrs. Weasley and made his way toward the door.

Ginny accompanied him to the garden gate and gave him a kiss for luck before he turned on the spot and appeared moments later in the middle of an elaborate hallway. To his left and right were two long rows of chimneys, all glowing green as wizards of all shapes and sizes entered the ministry, shaking soot from their robes as they went on their way to uncountable ministry departments. Ahead of him and behind him, even more wizards were appearing and disappearing from the seven apparation points that had only recently been reinstalled inside ministry grounds.

Harry looked around for Kingsley and found him not far away in deep conversation with a guard in dark purple robes. He greeted him warmly and accompanied him to the lift, where Kingsley gave Harry a much needed explanation.

"I'm sorry this took so long, Potter," he said, making sure no other stragglers were listening in. "Narcissa went absolutely mad when she realized that she was in Azkaban. Wouldn't stop screaming about her son." His voice dropped to a whisper as the lift arrived and they both stepped in. "We tried to assure her that we had ministry agents searching for him, but she was inconsolable. She attacked her own husband when we let him visit her."

"Do they know anything more about Draco?" Harry asked as the lift glided smoothly to a stop in the ministry basements.

"Nothing new," Kingsley replied. "The Healers saw him leave St. Mungo's at his normal time. The trail goes cold then. He lives in that mansion all alone now. Not even a servant to serve as a witness."

They exited into the sickly familiar hallway and turned right toward the large courtroom that had served the same dark purpose now for nearly three decades. Harry couldn’t help a glance back to the black door at the opposite end of the corridor that marked the entrance to the Department of Mysteries.

He paused at the courtroom doors, expecting Kingsley to do the same. Instead, he continued on to what seemed like a window. The sun shone brightly in on them, though Harry knew that they were at least seven floors underground. Kingsley tapped the window twice with his wand and the sun disappeared, revealing a small passageway guarded by two large wizards. They looked from Kingsley to Harry with grim, businesslike faces and Harry noticed that they were not carrying wands. The tallest of the two stepped forward and shook Harry’s hand almost bashfully.

“Clarin Sidehook at your service Mr. Potter,� he said with a shyness that didn’t show in his expression. “It is an honor to meet you. My wife will never believe me when I tell her.�

Harry grinned nervously.

"They are the Sayers that had to be called in to manage the prisoner." Kingsley explained. Then, seeing the look of confusion already forming on Harry's face, he added, "They've mastered magic without wands. Very rare. Very expensive."

Clarin and his partner looked down modestly, but Harry noticed the subtle smirk exchanged.

"She's in here," Sidehook said.

They continued down the passageway and into a tiny room with a chair identical to the one in the middle of the courtroom. Harry remembered his brief stint with ministry justice in his fifth year—how he had feared that the manacles hanging from both sides of that chair would wrap around his wrists and ankles as he sat unable to protest. Today, however, the chair was occupied by the pale, unmoving figure of Narcissa Malfoy.

“The Great Harry Potter,� she said as he drew closer. Her voice was tainted with bitter sarcasm. “How does it feel to take down ‘The Last Great Disciple?’�

“Are you the last?� Harry asked.

Narcissa looked around at the eager expressions on the faces of Kingsley and her two guards, and smiled a tired smile that was void of all emotion. “Draco has been missing for ten days now.�

“The ministry has had its best agents looking for Draco all week,� said Kingsley. Narcissa did not acknowledge his words.

"Your ministry will do nothing to find the son of two Death Eaters. But you saved him in the battle...twice. He told me that."

"I've been helping them all week," said Harry. Sensing the conversation headed in the wrong direction, he tried to steer it toward more dangerous matters. “They’ve been looking for Bellatrix too.�

Narcissa said nothing, but continued to stare around at the four men with a cool gaze.

“If Bellatrix is alive, then they could be together,� Harry goaded. “It would make it easier to find Draco if you…�

“If Draco is with her, it is against his will!� snapped Narcissa, and Harry began to see the rage that he had expected.

“Then it’s true!� exclaimed Sidehook's partner from behind
him. “Bellatrix Lestrange is still alive?�

Harry looked irately back at him. Narcissa had resumed her cold observation of the room around her. She would never give him the information that he needed with onlookers present. “Is there any way I could be left alone with her for a minute?�

Narcissa gave a crazy laugh. "Leave the mascot of their new society alone with a murderer?" she said sarcastically. "Not for all the information in England!"

Kingsley confirmed this with a tense shake of his head.

Frustrated, Harry turned toward Narcissa. “Mrs. Malfoy, why did you ask me to come here today if you don't want to tell me anything. I can’t find Draco any faster than the ministry unless you have something else to tell me.�

“Draco is not the same boy he was at school, Potter,� she said. “He is not a murderer, and had it not been to save his father, he would never have become a Death Eater.� She looked down in what seemed like shame. “I would never have been a Death Eater if I had not married one.�

Harry remembered the desperation in her voice in the Forbidden Forest as she listened for his heartbeat at the request of her master. She had saved his life in the end. He found that he believed her now. She was evil. She was arrogant beyond belief, and completely convinced of her own superiority, but it was not in her to be "Voldemort's Last Disciple". She was only a mother who had been given no other options. Still, he had trouble finding any amount of sympathy for her. She may not have chosen her path, but she had enjoyed quite a few steps down it just a little too much for Harry's taste.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me, then?� he asked impatiently. “Nothing about Bellatrix? Nothing about whether she’s still alive? Nothing about where she is?�

Narcissa glared back at him, defiantly silent, and then, reluctantly, "She's alive."

The silence in the room was palpable. Harry felt something ice cold wash through him. He hadn't truly believed it until that moment.

"H-How?" he stammered.

"I don't know how," Narcissa said. "She just appeared one day at the manor. I told her I never wanted to see her again. She left."

"And took Draco with her?" Harry asked.

Her face took on a sudden animation. "Draco isn't helping her! If he's with her, it's as her captive!" She struggled against the manacles trying to stand. Sidehook moved forward smoothly.

"Mrs. Malfoy, sit down," he whispered forebodingly. She continued to strain against the manacles. Sidehook's eyes narrowed for a moment and the manacles began to glow blue. Narcissa screamed and sat down immediately, eyes closed tight.

"What did she say when she came to your house?" Harry asked her.

But Narcissa was no longer talking. When she opened her eyes again, they were unresponsive. "Get out now," she whispered.

"Mrs. Malfoy..."

"GET OUT!!" she shouted, and it was clear that the interview was over.

“I’ll look for Draco,� he said, his frustration barely in control as he turned toward the door. “I’ll find him, but not for you. You chose to marry a Death Eater and follow a murderer, and you will spend the rest of your life in Azkaban because of it. But I think Dumbledore was right about Draco... There’s still hope for him.� And as much as it disgusted him to say so, Harry meant what he said.

He was halfway to the door when Narcissa’s voice rang out again. “Though everyone here may think differently, Potter, I am not a Death Eater."

"That mark on your wrist says differently," Kingsley replied.
"I gave up that life the moment I defied the Dark Lord to save your life," she continued. "It's not over, Potter, and I want it to be. That's why I asked you here. I want my son to be safe, and I saw you take the Death Curse. I saw you defeat him." The awe with which Narcissa had spoken about her old master had been replaced with something closer to disgust. "You are the only one who can end it."

"Then answer my questions," Harry replied, but Narcissa was not finished.

"I visited my family vault before I visited you, Potter. I hadn’t been there since before I married Lucius. I found a trunk of memories that I had almost forgotten were there.�

Harry stared at her, puzzled. Was she telling him that the answers were in her vault?

“There were two things missing from inside the trunk,� she said. “One of those was a possession that Bellatrix never allowed out of her sight…for a time.�

She paused and looked up at Kingsley. “I arranged so that Potter…and only Potter…may enter the Black family vault.�
Finally turning back to Harry, she concluded with words that he would have never in his life expected to hear from Narcissa Malfoy. “Please, I’m begging you. Find my son. End this.�

And she turned away.

Harry exited into the hallway in a trance. He had expected to leave the interrogation quite convinced that Bellatrix was dead and that Narcissa had been insane. Instead, he had discovered a great swell of new problems that hit him only now as he watched a group of richly robed wizards enter into the large courtroom escorted by Romulus Redberg.

“They all think they're witnesses to the end of everything,� Kingsley said pensively from behind him. Harry jumped. He had completely forgotten about the minister. His mind was racing. Narcissa had told him that it wasn't over. Could that have meant that Voldemort, just like Bellatrix, had survived his curse? Were there more Horcruxes? Is that why his scar had hurt? Narcissa had given him so precious little information.

"I have to go to Gringotts," he said absentmindedly. Part of him wanted to stay for the trial in the hopes that Narcissa would give away any more information in her attempt to escape a life sentence in Azkaban, but there was a trunk full of answers waiting for him in the Black family vault. He looked up at Kingsley who smiled knowingly back at him.

“I think you’ve seen enough trials now to know how this one will go, don’t you think?� he said wisely, turning his eyes toward the crowd of trial goers. “Take the chimney in my office. No lines.� He started toward the courtroom, and Harry marveled at how composed he could seem after hearing such devastating news. He turned back briefly. “Be careful, Harry. Narcissa thought that you had taken her son when she planned this little journey. It could be a trap. I could arrange for Romulus to accompany you.�

Harry considered this for a moment and shook his head. “I’ll go alone. Redberg can tell me what I missed when I come back with the memories,� and the determination in his voice ended any protest. Kingsley nodded his agreement as Harry headed quickly towards the lift.

---

The goblin at the door to Gringotts Wizarding Bank stared quickly up at Harry’s lightning scar and touched a shiny silver bell behind him with an unfriendly scowl.

“It will be just one moment, Mr. Potter,� he grumbled. Harry shifted his feet guiltily. He had become somewhat unpopular among the goblins at Gringotts ever since he, Ron, and Hermione had made their destructive escape from the vaults on the back of one of the sentry dragons. He felt a flash of amusement as he imagined the look on the goblin’s face when he told him that his destination was the exact same vault that he had broken into—and out of one year ago. Then a familiar voice interrupted him.

“How may we help you Mr. Potter?� Griphook’s pessimistic tones were unmistakable.

“Griphook,� he stammered. The last time he had observed the tiny goblin, it had been from a distance as Griphook had disappeared into a frantic crowd carrying away the sword of Gryffindor. The sword had later appeared to Neville in the sorting hat, leaving the goblins once again without their treasure. “How…how have you been?�

“I have been well, Harry Potter.� He did not show any emotion that might reveal the month he had spent in close quarters with Harry planning to betray his own race for the good of wizardkind. “I have been asked to show you to the Black vault.� His voice took on a suspicious tone. “If, of course, that is your destination?�

“You?� Harry asked, confused. The Daily Prophet had reported Griphook’s heroic retrieval of Gryffindor’s sword and his subsequent promotion Gringotts Supreme Keymaster just before Christmas. “I thought you were supposed to cater to a higher class of wizard than me now.�

“I have been given this assignment especially,� said Griphook. “To disuade any aspirations of…repetition.� The first goblin made a guttural clicking sound that must have been an admonishment.

“There won’t be any repetition,� Harry said. “I have permission this time.� The urgency of the situation was beginning to weigh on him. “Yes, I would like to go to the Black vault now please.�

“As you wish,� replied the goblin, and he showed him through one of a row of doors leading off into the hall. He whistled shrilly and a small cart came to a stop in front of them. Griphook motioned for Harry to step in first.
As the cart began its twisted descent into the deepest regions of Gringotts treasure hold, Griphook turned to speak again, yelling over the rattle of the cart on the tracks.

“There are many here who believe that your possessions should no longer be housed here, Harry Potter,� he said, bracing himself for a particularly jarring turn. The cart tipped sideways and Harry was pushed toward the tiny goblin. “There are others who consider it an honor to protect them, as they owe you their lives and their well being.�

Harry said nothing. Griphook’s mannerisms had always given him the feeling that he was being mocked and judged at every turn, and he was not in the mood to argue with a goblin today. After a long pause, in which Harry guessed he was supposed to have responded, Griphook continued. “The sword is no longer in our vaults.�

“I know,� Harry said cautiously. “I saw it appear to someone during the battle—a Gryffindor. He used it to destroy one of the horcruxes.� The cart twisted to the left and into a darkened tunnel, saving him the trouble of having to meet Griphook’s eyes. He had himself, after all, planned to keep the sword much longer than he had promised the goblin before the break-in.

“It was promised again to the goblin race,� Griphook said simply.

“I can’t stop the sword from showing up where it does! It didn’t come to me! It’s not mine to give back any more.� The cart was beginning to slow and Harry saw a faint yellow light ahead.

“If it is returned by a true heir of Gryffindor, then the charm is reversed and it will remain with its true masters,� replied the goblin over the screech of break as the car slowed.
Harry guffawed. "I hope you don't mean me!"

The goblin looked mildly affronted. "His line was lost long ago. And you are not like any other wizard that I know."

"Is that why you asked me for the sword in the first place?� Harry asked unbelieving. "You thought that I was the heir of Gryffindor?"

Frustration spread across Griphook's face as the car came to a jerking halt in front of a waterfall. Harry recognized it as what the goblin had previously called the Thief’s Downfall. The year before, they had gone hurtling through it. It seems so much easier entering the legal way, Harry thought.

They exited the cart onto a weakly lighted path and walked a ways in uncomfortable silence. Then Harry, aware that he was being led deep into an inescapable maze with a goblin whom he had possibly offended, spoke awkwardly. “Listen, Griphook. If it serves for anything, I would give you the sword if it was mine to give—even if I were the true heir of Gryffindor.�

“Then I will wait for your return,� the goblin responded, pausing at a space of blank wall. “For it is sure to come to you again in time. As I said before, Mr. Potter, you are an unusual wizard.�

He ran his hand over the smooth stone and the mysterious golden outline of a large door appeared before them. Harry looked around astonished. He had not recognized where he was without the white dragon standing guard. With two of his long fingers, Griphook pushed the outline. There was a rush of stagnant wind as the door opened and Harry saw before him what seemed like a transparent field of green light. He turned apprehensively.

“What is that?�

“The sentry dragon has been retired,� Griphook responded. “It has been replaced with a Truth Line. You must pass through it with no secrets in your heart. If there are any lies, then you will be closed inside. It was placed at Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy’s request.�

Harry frowned. Narcissa had to have known that a Truth Line would have prevented her from entering her own vault. Why had she arranged for something so drastic? Unless, Harry thought as he walked carefully toward the green shield, she had been that anxious to keep Bellatrix out as well.

Thinking of the trunk of answers awaiting him, he walked through. A warm wind swept through his clothes and tousled his untidy hair. The green field turned red for a moment and then melted away, leaving Harry with a clear path to the vault. Griphook remained dutifully just outside the door.

A year ago, he had been nearly unable to move from the sheer amount of gold and silver, goblets and jewels, but this time he entered into a half empty cavelike entrance. The ministry had stripped the Black family of all of their valued treasures to pay for the treatment of victims and family members they had tortured and killed during their twenty years of faithful servitude to Voldemort.

He passed through a row of tarnished silver candlesticks and strangely colored leatherlike skins, and rounded a corner stacked with ancient books. There, on a small thin shelf stacked to the ceiling was row upon row of sparkling potions in hundreds, or perhaps thousands of stoppered vials. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end. The memories had to be somewhere near. He scanned the shelves for any sign of a trunk, turned another corner, and discovered another shelf larger than the one containing potions. This one contained trunks of all shapes, sizes, and ages. He silently wished that he had asked Narcissa more about the memory trunk’s appearance. Frowning, he brandished his wand and thought, “Accio memory!�

Just as he suspected, nothing happened. The horcruxes had been protected with anti-summoning spells as well. Should it really surprise him that the memories fell under the same protection? Unable to think of any easier solution than to look through every trunk, he pulled out the lowest one and opened it. It was full of aged photographs of smiling moving wizards. Harry looked closer at the top photo and recognized the white blond hair of both Narcissa Malfoy and a baby Draco. He rummaged deeper, but did not find anything more than stacks of photographs. Perhaps these were the memories that she had spoken of. Perhaps her information had been nothing more than a clever attempt to gain more sympathy for her missing son by showing Harry how Draco had been as a child.

A strange shuffle from outside the vault made him look up.

“Griphook?� he called, worried. There was no answer.

“Are you alright?� Harry called again, louder.

“We are to remain outside always, Mr. Potter,� came the businesslike response.

Satisfied, Harry turned back to the shelf, but a gleam of light from the opposite corner caught his eye. He slipped slowly over to the source. It was coming from under a very strange skin of an animal with metallic purple scales. He lifted a flap and elation overtook him. At least thirty vials full of shining, flowing, nearly liquid memory sat safely in a tiny half-open trunk. Harry grabbed them up hastily and exited the vault as quickly as he could. There would be time to search for whatever Narcissa had told him was missing at some other time. For now, the priority was to find Headmaster McGonagall and procure from her once again the all important Pensieve.

There was one triumphant moment before he realized that something was wrong. Then he noticed Griphook slumped over and unconscious on the pebbled floor and he went for his wand.

“Lumos!� he whispered, for he had suddenly become aware of the absolute darkness that had surrounded him upon exiting the cave. His wand tip lit up and illuminated a comfortingly familiar face. “Hermione?�

But it wasn’t Hermione’s eyes that stared out from her friendly face. Her eyes were blood red and nearly slitted, and her wand was pointed directly at him. She spoke in a voice that was only half Hermione. Harry recognized the wickedness behind it quickly. “Yes, Harry. The minister told me everything. I thought you might need help getting the locket out of the vault.�

“There wasn’t a locket in the vault—Hermione,� he nearly whispered, certain that it was imperative to make whatever was in front of him think that he had fallen for its horrific ruse. He backed up one step for every step the Hermione doppelganger moved forward, slowly inching toward the prone body of the tiny goblin. Doubt appeared to blossom in the imposter’s face as it eyed the tiny trunk under Harry’s left arm.

“What are you carrying then, Potter?� It asked and surged forward to grab the box. Harry saw excitement in the bloodshot eyes, and he used the opportunity to snatch up Griphook from the cold floor.

“Stupify!� he yelled offhandedly, and he saw red sparks fly past Hermione’s right ear. The thing let out a horrible laugh and looked straight into Harry’s eyes, and he suddenly grasped the situation. He had recognized that demonic, childish laughter and he glared into the eyes to be sure. He was staring into the face of the one and only Bellatrix Lestrange, revived and transformed somehow into Hermione. He tripped on a protruding boulder and fell backwards just as her wand shot a dangerous green flash through the place his head had just been.

He sent a distracted counterjinx that hit her in the left shoulder. She spun in her tracks and fell with a yelp of pain. It gave Harry the time he needed to regain his footing and begin his frantic escape back to the cart. He ran, zig-zagging as best he could with a trunk under one arm and a goblin under the other, making it impossible to fire off any defensive spells.

Twice he felt Bellatrix’s curses breeze past his face, the last time coming so close that he noticed the smell of singed hair and he wondered crazily without stopping, if she had hit her target. As he emerged onto the platform where the cart sat awaiting them, he heard her scream another spell from just behind him. He whirled around in one last desperate attempt to defend himself, but he tripped on his own spinning feet and his wand flew out of his hand. It disappeared into the cart and Bellatrix’s curse caught Harry in mid-fall. By pure luck, or pure misfortune, as he would come to think later, he had pulled the trunk of memories in front of him to prevent them from being destroyed as he fell backwards into the cart. The curse smashed full-on into the half open trunk, sending shards of crystal and glimmering smoky memory flying everywhere.

“Give it to me Potter!� Bellatrix screamed as he pulled Griphook into the cart and felt it begin its jerking ascent. Harry reached crazily under the seat for his wand, desperate for one last shot at the crazed Bellatrix-Hermione that was quickly diminishing into the darkness, but by the time he had righted himself, she was nothing more than a maniacal scream in the distance.

He wheeled around to look at Griphook. There was a cut over his left eye, but he was otherwise unhurt and already showing signs of waking. He chanced a painful glance at the remnants of the trunk, but it was too disappointing to look for long. Shining bits of crystal rolled around on the floor as the cart wheeled unsympathetically upward carrying the memories of a generation of Death Eaters away into the tailwind.

“Honestly! You’d think they’d be familiar with Polyjuice Potion with the amount of attempted break-ins that must occur here!" ranted a very furious Hermione nearly four hours later as they watched the Leaky Cauldron disappearing slowly into the distance from the back of a Ministry of Magic issued vehicle. “I mean really! Griphook was even with us in Malfoy Manor! He saw Bellatrix torturing me! I could have lost any amount of hair then! I was practically tearing it out myself! That's all she needs, isn't it? Why didn’t he say anything?�

Ron was seated beside her with a sick expression on his face. The memory of being locked in a cellar, listening from a distance and unable to help as Hermione screamed in pain was still fresh in his mind, as was the ruthless line of goblin questioning that they had all just been subjected to.

"That's just it, Hermione," he said complacently. "They understand how Polyjuice Potion works. They just couldn't understand why it hadn't worked completely on you—her—or how you...I mean SHE got past them when she was only half-transformed without raising any suspicions."

"Or how she got to the Black vault. There was no other cart to take her there, and no goblin to guide it," added Harry. "And Narcissa had a Truth Line, so she couldn't have ever gotten inside in the first place."

The goblins had closed down Gringotts immediately when Harry had entered the main lobby once again with a dazed Griphook mumbling about wizard greed, and a search had ensued from the highest tower to the deepest vault in an attempt to find Hermione's malevolent double. The search was still in progress, of course—the Gringotts vaults ran an incomprehensible distance below nearly all of London. But Harry had little hope that it would turn up more than the skeletons of a few unlucky thieves who had got themselves locked in years before.

Harry sat quietly on his side of the car watching the London scenery pass quickly by and clutching the valuable remainder of Narcissa’s trunk—seven undamaged memories out of the dozens that had been stored there. They were on their way once again to the Ministry, where Headmistress McGonagall had agreed to meet them with the Pensieve.

Harry’s mind was reeling. He had spent the last hours telling and retelling his story to goblins and Aurors and Ministry agents, and finally to Ron and Hermione after both had arrived and had passed through the same merciless interrogation. He had been filled with the terrifyingly useless sensation once again of being held against his will while the culprit got away, as indeed she had. Other than the gash on Griphook’s head, a small empty bottle of what had later been revealed as Polyjuice Potion, and the shattered remnants of what Harry had come to retrieve, there was no sign at all left of the Hermione/Bellatrix that had appeared out of the darkness.

The car jerked to the right slightly as a traffic light and a large amount of Muggle rush-hour traffic jumped out of its way. Harry saw a small child smile at him through the back window of one of the stationary cars as they passed by. They made a sharp turn to the left, and he began to recognize the scenery. They weren’t far from the visitor entrance of the Ministry. Harry’s thoughts drifted back to the vault. Those strange half slitted, frighteningly bloodshot eyes kept appearing again and again in his head.

Why hadn’t the Polyjuice Potion worked properly? Had a skilled Death Eater such as Bellatrix misjudged the amount she had to take? Had she taken so long to arrive at the vault that she had begun to transform into herself again? Harry didn't think so. Those hadn’t been the eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange either. Harry shuddered to think of the only person he knew who had slitted eyes. But it couldn't have been him. His scar would have hurt in warning.

They slowed to a near stop as they entered an underground car park. The bar that kept Muggles from leaving without paying lurched up and out of their way quickly and they were plunged momentarily into an underground darkness. When their eyes adjusted to the dim yellow of the artificial light, Harry saw that they were winding steadily downward into a Muggle parking garage.

The garage wall curved ahead of them, taking them downhill to another level, but instead of slowing down for the inevitable turn, the driver accelerated and drove straight into the wall. Hermione gave a startled gasp and caught both Harry and Ron’s hands as the concrete structure disappeared around them and they entered onto a brightly sunlit plain where no less than one hundred unmarked black Ministry cars sat, shining in the sunlight.

The car came to a stop and Harry, Hermione, and Ron stepped out in quiet wonder, looking back toward the wall where they had just entered. There was a vast expanse of undulating prairie grass where the wall had been.

The driver caught their attention with an unobtrusive cough. “It’s Mrs. Mary Cattermole’s creation. She spent last year stateside and came back craving wide open spaces.� He led them toward an inconspicuous rocky outcropping—the only outstanding object in their view, as they smiled around at each other. Harry and Hermione had been the ones to save Mrs. Cattermole, and to suggest an elongated vacation abroad. The driver continued. “Kingsley said she could do it as long as maintenance didn’t object.�

“It’s beautiful,� gasped Hermione following the driver as he walked through solid rock and disappeared.

"Brilliant," said Ron following Hermione. Harry held the seven tiny vials tight against his chest and walked into the rock. There was the fleeting sensation of being spun uncontrollably that Harry had come to associate with floo powder, and then he appeared in the green flames of one of the Ministry's entrance chimneys. Hermione was saying goodbye to the driver as she shook the soot from her robes. Just beyond the line of chimneys, Kingsley, Professor McGonagall, and Percy awaited them with anxious expressions.

As soon as Harry got within arm’s length of his old transformation teacher, she grabbed him in a relieved hug.

“Let me get a look at you, Potter," she said firmly, holding Harry at arm's length and examining him from head to foot. "Are you absolutely certain you’re not hurt?�

Harry nodded, smiling sheepishly. Professor McGonagall hugged him again for good measure and greeted Ron and Hermione, who had both found something suddenly fascinating on the entryway ceiling far from her gaze.

“I’ve grown tired of seeing you three in the Prophet headlines for such horrible news all the time. You’d think that after killing You-Know-Who, you would be able to finally have some peace!� She pushed the Pensieve into Harry’s arms. “We've all watched the three of you grow up in front of us. We’ve grown quite fond of you, and I can’t help but ask myself if you couldn’t just leave this one for the Aurors, or someone else. Why does it always have to be you?�

No one responded. Everyone around her had asked themselves that question several times on many different occasions in the past eight years and had always come up with the same answer—of course it had to be them. There was no one else. That fate had been written for Harry ever since that horrible night in which his parents had given their lives to save him, and Ron and Hermione had unwittingly sealed their own fates during that first uneventful train ride. They had all been signed, sealed, and set in motion by Voldemort himself.

Judging their expressions as the only response she needed, she turned to Kingsley, frustrated. “Well, let’s have a look at those memories then, shall we?�

They decided that it would be best to view the remaining memories in the seclusion of Kingsley’s office on Level One. They set off determinedly for the lift. A calm woman’s voice announced each floor as they passed, and it was only arriving to the third or fourth level that Harry remembered he had already been to the Ministry today.

'Did anything else happen at the trial?" he asked.

“Nothing,� said Kingsley, nodding a polite hello to a stout wizard who entered, stared opened mouthed for a moment at Harry's lightning scar, and pushed the button for level two. "She was sentenced to life in Azkaban, but we all knew that was going to happen. That mansion was used as the center of all ministry resistance."

The short wizard exited the lift among a flock of interdepartmental paper airplanes on level two, and Harry remembered Ginny. "I told Ginny that I would send her an owl!" he exclaimed.

"I can do that while you're viewing the memories," said Percy. Harry started. He had forgotten that Percy was even there. He really was good at working behind the scenes.

The lift arrived at Level One and they exited into an empty hallway. Only the Ministry’s most elite were allowed on this level. Kingsley showed them into his office and shut the door behind them.

"You know the drill," he said smiling at Percy. "No visits, no interruptions."

Percy nodded haughtily and closed the door. Kingsley focused on Harry.

“How many are left?� he asked eagerly. Harry extracted the seven remaining bottles and placed them in a line on the desk—three blood red bottles, one pure white, one a brownish grey, one a morbid purple color, and the final one, a swirling dancing vial of jet black memory. He placed the Pensieve beside them and looked up expectantly at Kingsley.

“Which one should go first?�

“The red ones,� said Hermione simply. “There are three of them.�

Cautiously, Professor McGonagall picked up the first tiny red vial and poured it into the Pensieve. She looked up in anticipation at Harry.

“I believe you’ve earned the privilege to go first, Mr. Potter,� she said.

Eagerly, Harry walked up and placed his face into the Pensieve. There was the familiar feeling of falling and the dark purple walls of what he recognized as the drawing room of the Malfoy Mansion blurred slowly into view around him.

He stared at the large crystal chandelier that he had seen broken the year before, and glanced toward the large marble fireplace half expecting to find Lucius Malfoy in the ornate chair in front. Instead, he found Ron and Hermione looking around reluctantly. As he watched, Professor McGonagall appeared beside Hermione, and Kingsley followed quickly. He looked around briefly before pointing to a spot somewhere behind Harry.

In the corner, sitting at a small table and immersed completely in the task of writing a letter was a younger and much happier-looking Narcissa. Her eyes had the sleepy, half lidded quality that made her look so much like her sisters, but the permanent snarl that always reminded Harry of someone who was smelling something rancid was missing from her face. She was even half smiling as she wrote. The smile gave her a completely different aspect.

Narcissa’s musings were interrupted by a frantic pounding from the next room. All five of the onlookers jumped alongside Narcissa who jerked violently and gave a quick worried glance toward the stairs that Harry imagined led to the bedroom of a sleeping Draco, depending on exactly when the memory occurred. She made her way gracefully to the next room and gazed worriedly out of the side window.

The spectators strained their necks to see who was making such as scene just as Narcissa gave an annoyed sigh and flicked her wand toward the door. It opened wide. Five curious figures watched as Bellatrix fell in through the opening.

She was much younger and much more beautiful, though the crazed expression on her face reflected a shadow of the murders that she had yet to commit.

"Bella! What are you doing here at this time of night? I'm expecting Lucius in just..."

“I’m going to Hell Cissy!� she interrupted and fell at her sister’s feet, clutching at her robes as Narcissa backed away in shock.

“Bella what are you…�

“I can feel her inside of me now!� Bellatrix screamed unaffected. “Look at me! Am I different now? Can you see her? It was to save her, you understand!�

The look of utter confusion on Narcissa’s face matched those on every one of the onlookers. She glanced back toward the stairs once again.

"You look fine, Bella," she whispered distractedly. Please stop screaming. Draco is asleep upstairs!�

“Draco!� Bellatrix repeated, turning her wild eyes toward the stairs as well. “He’s sleeping, and he’s safe, isn’t he Cissy? Your sweet little boy…� she leaned closer to the stairway. "What will you do when the Dark Lord comes for him?"

Harry recognized the look of savage protection that flashed in Narcissa’s eyes. “We serve the Dark Lord faithfully, whatever he may ask," she hissed ominously. "You're not making any sense, Bella. Where have you been? Did you drink some kind of potion?�

Bellatrix, who was still on the floor, suddenly began to writhe. From her stance only yards away, Hermione grasped Harry's shoulder in alarm and glared from him to Ron. All three of them recognized the effects of the Cruciatus curse, but Narcissa was the only one in the room, and she had done nothing. In fact, she was bending over her sister, pleading with her to tell her what was happening.

A horrible sound began to emerge from Bellatrix, and Harry realized that it was somewhere between gales of mad laughter and disconsolate sobs. It was not the Cruciatus curse after all, but Bellatrix’s own raving.

“It burns!� She screamed between gushes of noise. “I don’t want it any more, Narcissa, I take it back! Get it out of me!�

“What!?� Narcissa screamed back anxiously as Bellatrix’s eyes rolled up into her skull, showing only whites. “Tell me what you did, Bella, and I’ll help you!�

“It was for her!� she screeched. “There was no other way!
She was the strongest!�

“Who are you talking about!? What did you do, Bella!?�

Ron, Hermione, Harry, Kingsley, and Professor McGonagall leaned forward in anticipation. They were so eager to hear the cause of this chaos that they did not notice the tiny white head that came scampering in from the room they had all just left. He ran right through Kingsley and wrapped his arms around his mother’s legs. Draco looked about two or three years old.

“Aunt Bella, leave my mummy alone!� he yelled, and with his wide eyes he seemed too pure to ever become the malevolent teenager that Harry had come to know. Bellatrix stopped sobbing and lunged toward him, but Narcissa was too fast. She grabbed Draco up in her arms and turned away.

“Leave him alone Bella!� she said forebodingly, and no doubt was left in anyone’s mind who would win out if she were forced to choose between sister and son. Bellatrix did not recognize the threat, however, and she lunged again for Draco’s hanging bare foot.

“Why not Draco?� She sobbed. "I don't understand, why not him? I did everything right!" She continued to pull at her sister’s robes to get to Draco, who was emitting a terrified squeal and grasping at his mother's neck for dear life.

Bellatrix gave one last pull, and Narcissa lost her footing. She reeled for a moment before regaining her balance, but Bellatrix had a firm grasp on Draco's little leg. Narcissa furnished a well positioned kick directly to Bellatrix’s head. There was a sickening crunch as her nose broke. She wailed and retreated, releasing Draco, and curling up on the floor.

“Stay away from my son, Bella! I’ve warned you before!� Narcissa shrieked, backing quickly toward the stairs with her wand pointing threateningly in her sister’s direction. “If you harm one hair on his head, I will KILL you!�

And the memory turned away from the thrashing figure on the floor and began to dim. By the time that Harry had looked around to see where Narcissa was headed, there was nothing left but a faint gray glow. He glanced around at the others.

“Let’s go,� he said solemnly.

When they were all once again in their own time, Kingsley spoke grimly. “She had to have just made a Horcrux. That's what I think this is. Narcissa remembers her sister right after she made it."

The rest of them nodded without speaking. They could think of no other reason for Bellatrix's behavior.

"It made her insane," said Harry quietly.

“You mean more insane,� corrected Ron.

“I want to know who she was talking about...and why did she want to get at Draco so badly?� asked Hermione.

"Well, I cannot imagine murdering a person and tearing your soul to pieces for the good of anyone else. How could that possibly help another person?" pondered Professor McGonagall.

"Maybe it was for someone she loved," said Hermione pensively. "Her mother, or sister...Bellatrix didn't have any children that weren't in the books, did she?"

Professor McGonagall laughed. "She hardly seems the type to sacrifice her soul for a member of her family, Ms. Granger. In any way, Bellatrix and Rodolphus never had children. It was quite a scandal in some of the more wealthy social circles when she was first married. Bellatrix was...well, she couldn't have children."

She blushed slightly and both Kingsley's and Harry's eyebrows rose in amusement. "You travelled the gossip circuits, Minerva?" asked Kingsley with a smirk.

With a contemptuous look at Kingsley, she started toward the next red vial. "I don't think any of the gossip that I've heard in my lifetime is going to help us at all," she answered curtly. "There's no point in discussing rumors if the facts are in this next little bottle, is there?"

There was a communal nod, and she exchanged the first memory for the next one. It settled in the Pensieve like liquid crimson smoke, and Harry wasted no time in placing his face once again into the ancient blue bowl. He fell through the surface and into what seemed to be an elaborate banquet hall filled with smiling, chatting people. Harry recognized many of them. A superior looking Nott and Mulciber were whispering to each other in a corner, and Travers and Rookwood were gathered around a much younger, but no less conceited Lucius Malfoy, who was clothed in very ornate dress robes.

“The hall is impressive, Malfoy,� Rookwood was saying, “I bet it took a fat lot of galleons to steal it from the Prewetts. I heard they had reserved it nearly two years ago for their daughter’s wedding.�

“Yes, well, it wasn’t a matter of money, of course,� replied Malfoy haughtily. “A marriage so encouraged by the Dark Lord these days provides a great deal of…influence in the Ministry.�

So someone was getting married. Harry turned away from the three Death Eaters in search of a bride, and found her on the other side of the great hall. Bellatrix was standing motionless and solemn in her shining purple satin robes. She still held the wedding bouquet, though the look on her face was not that of a normal blushing bride. Her features were fixed in stone hopelessness. She was not looking around at her laughing, dancing guests. She was not seeking the face of what must have been her new husband, Rodolphus Lestrange. In fact, she did not even seem to be conscious of the celebration going on around her at all. She stared straight ahead with the same numb expression, and did not react in the slightest when Narcissa appeared at her side to congratulate her.

“Bella, you are radiant!� she said genuinely. “I’m sure you will have a long and happy life with dear Rodolphus. He is an extremely talented wizard.�

Bellatrix flinched at her words, but she did not meet her sister's eyes. Instead, she said in a monotone voice, “We thank you, dear Cissy. I am sure we will be happy.�

Narcissa stared at her sister, puzzled. �Bella, is something wrong?� she asked. “You do not seem yourself today. The Dark Lord even commented on it before he left."

At the mention of Voldemort’s presence, Bellatrix seemed to brighten. “What did he say?"

"He told me that he was quite alarmed that he seemed more content on this glorious day than you," Narcissa revealed. "He advised me to help you to see what a wonderful match this is...do I need to?"

Bellatrix's face darkened. "Did the Dark Lord tell you how long he would be gone, Cissy?�

“Of course not!� replied Narcissa quickly. Bellatrix resumed her stony gaze. Narcissa made a second attempt. “What a lovely necklace!� she said too sweetly, and made to touch the glittering trinket that hung around Bellatrix’s neck. “Was it a gift from Rodolphus?�

Bellatrix tore away from Narcissa’s grip as if her touch were searing pain. “Do not touch it!� she hissed, and Harry saw red glowing momentarily in her eyes. He turned to see if anyone else had noticed. Hermione was nodding back at him. Narcissa seemed to have noticed as well, for she retracted her hand very quickly, and fixed her sister with a worried gaze.

“It was a gift from the Dark Lord himself,� boasted Bellatrix, staring straight ahead once again. “It is a great honor to receive such a thing from him…an honor you have not earned.�

Harry moved closer to look at the necklace. It was a heavy gold locket, tarnished and faded with age. It did not look like anything that would normally stand out, and yet, Harry had the faintest idea that he had seen it somewhere before. Could this be the locket that Bellatrix had been after in Gringott's? He looked at Ron, who wore the same puzzling look upon his face.

Narcissa smiled complacently at her sister. “It is a truly great gift then,� she sighed. “I can only hope one day to earn such a privilege from him.�

At this comment, Bellatrix adopted a look of pure horror. She fixed upon her sister for a moment and whispered in a shaking voice, “Cissy, pray that you never earn such a great and terrible privilege. Pray with everything that you have that he never confides in you the things that he has confided in me.�

“Bella, what do you mean?� Narcissa asked in alarm, but at that moment, Rodolphus interrupted them. By the way that he was walking, it was obvious that he had been at the bar with his brother.

“How is my dear…new bride today? He slurred, and the memory began to fade. Harry tried to steal a last look at the locket around Bellatrix’s neck, but Rodolphus was now hanging from her, blocking it from view.

“Harry,� Hermione said as they came out again in Kingsley’s office. “I’ve seen that necklace before. It’s the one you and Dumbledore brought back from the cave!�

Harry’s heart nearly stopped. He HAD seen the necklace before--had, in fact, carried it in his pocket for many months, taking it out religiously and pondering over it, wondering where the real locket with the real Horcrux could have been. He should have known every last engraved detail of that locket. He frowned.

“But I must have opened it a thousand times,� he said. “The only thing ever inside it was a note from Regulus. I know what a Horcrux feels like, and that locket certainly didn't feel like a Horcrux, if that's what you are thinking.�

"But you didn't know how a Horcrux felt when you had that one, Harry," replied Hermione. "Besides, who knows if all Horcruxes are alike. We felt it when we had Voldemort's Horcruxes, but maybe that's only because he was such a powerful wizard."

“It doesn’t matter right now whether or not it is the Horcrux," Kingsley interjected. "That's what Bellatrix is after. That's how we'll find her. Where is it now?�

A cold chill ran down Harry’s spine. He had given the locket to Kreacher as a gift. He had inadvertently made Kreacher Bellatrix’s next target. “Kreacher has it! At the house!�

Ron shrugged. "Call him," he said simply." Kingsley shook his head.

"He won't be able to apparate from inside your house," he explained. "We put some of our most modern protection spells on it. They make apparation impossible, even for house elves."

"He'll be fine as long as he stays at Grimmauld Place then Potter,� reassured Professor McGonagall. "Still, I wonder if it wouldn't be prudent to bring him to your office, Minister."
Kingsley nodded as Hermione stood up. "I can get him," she volunteered. "I wanted to talk to Ginny and Mrs. Weasley anyway—send a message with Pig that no one is under arrest. You all find out what's in that third red memory."

Ron stood up to go with her.

"Don't be stupid, Ron!" she said nonchalantly. "Grimmauld Place is probably the safest place in all of England right now." She walked toward the door. "I'll be back before you even leave the Pensieve."

"Please, take my personal chimney," said Kingsley, pointing her in the opposite direction. "It has been getting more use today than it has in the past four or five months!"

With a reassuring glance at Ron, she grabbed a small handful of floo powder and disappeared into the green flames. Harry replaced the memories once again and gestured for Ron to enter first. Kingsley had to nudge him before he noticed the invitation, as he was still staring worriedly into the fire.

"If I wasn't convinced that she's headed for complete safety, I wouldn't have let her go, Ron," Kingsley said.

"Nor I," reassured Professor McGonagall. "Now, let's see what else, Mrs. Lestrange has been up to, shall we?"

Ron nodded half-heartedly and looked deeply into the Pensieve.

Harry followed quickly after wondering how long it would take Bellatrix to find Kreacher if he left the house.