Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is not for profit.

A/N: Starting to pick up a bit.

July 1, 1997

Ginny's eyes slowly fluttered open as the very familiar gap in her curtains moved a spot of sunlight just over her eyelids. She still felt exhausted and sore, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep; but knew she wouldn't be able to. She had slept fitfully throughout the night; waking from a barrage of nightmare upon nightmare, crying herself back to sleep again and again; slumber only the result of utter fatigue. The waste basket next to her bed was filled with used tissue.

She tried to find her strength, that thing that made her the sister of six older brothers. That quiet determination and resolution. But fear shattered that strength against the rocks like unending waves—wave upon wave of hopelessness and nightmares. She would see the Burrow burning, her family's lifeless eyes, Harry…

Tears brimmed yet again in Ginny's eyes as she sobbed quietly. She buried her face into her pillow and wept.

She took a few deep breaths and tried to get her emotions under control. Nothing she did right now was going to change the circumstances. She needed to endure. She needed to be patient. A part of her ached for the feeling of Harry's welcoming embrace; an ache so powerful she could feel it in her chest, as if some part of her was actually reaching for him. She took another shuddering breath and fought it back; fought back the loneliness, the longing. She felt cold and she shivered, but she gritted her teeth and fought it back. 'I can do this,' she told herself, 'I can do this.'

There was a flash of utter panic when she wondered if every morning this summer would pass the same way. She fought off the hysteria quickly. After all, Harry had only broken up with her the day before.

Suddenly Ginny noticed that the house was stirring, and not in any kind of familiar way. People were downstairs in the kitchen, yelling. Something was wrong. Ginny felt her stomach tighten. 'Please, no!' Ginny screamed in her head before she threw her covers off and scrambled for her pajama robe.

She was out the door just in time to hear her mother screaming her and Ron's names. As she clamored down the stairs, she heard Ron's hurried footfalls behind her. Various nightmares ran through her mind as her breathing picked up, most involving her family or Harry. She entered the kitchen to find her mother—her face white with panic, her father talking in the floo, and Professor Lupin—who looked like he had seen better days.

"What's going on?" Ron asked quickly. "Professor Lupin?"

Lupin grabbed Ron by the shoulders. "Have you been in contact with Harry since the train station yesterday?"

'Of course it's Harry,' Ginny thought to herself as she held her breath.

Ron looked confused and worried. "No. When would I have--," he shook his head. "What's going on?" he asked again more forcefully.

"Ginny," Lupin said turning to her, "have you spoken with Harry? A letter? Anything?"

Ginny could only shake her head slightly; her eyes wide with panic.

Lupin's head dropped for just a moment before he looked up again. "What about Charlie? Have either of you seen or heard from him since last night?"

"Charlie?" Ron looked confused for a second before his eyes widened in realization. "Was there an attack on Privet Drive?"

"He never came home last night," offered Arthur as he came over from the fireplace. "I've spoken with Bill and the twins. They haven't heard from him either." The lines on Mr. Weasley's face were taught and drawn with worry.

Mrs. Weasley could only sit at the kitchen table; her hands folded and pressed against her lips as tears built in her eyes. Whispers of "Please, please, please" could be heard.

"Professor Lupin," Ron spoke with determination, "where is Harry?" His eyes were hard and blazing. When it came to his best friend, nothing else quite drew the Gryffindor out of him.

Remus, though, could only sigh and look at Ron with eyes filled with regret. "We don't know, Ron," he said very simply.

Ginny closed her eyes and turned away, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. She felt like she was going to be sick and she stumbled slightly out of dizziness. Everything was coming undone. She quickly took the seat next to her mother who gathered her up in a tight embrace.

Just then the fireplace roared and Hermione came stumbling out, the panic on her face matching everyone else's. Tonks followed behind, her pleading eyes immediately searching for Remus. He could only shake his head 'No'. He wasn't having much luck either.

"Ron!" Hermione yelped before running into his arms. He embraced her tightly before she pulled back quickly. "What's happening?"

Ron only shook his head in confusion before looking towards Remus again, Hermione following his gaze.

Remus, however, was flipping through the pages of a few small notebooks he had set out on the kitchen table. They were the logbooks for Order members stationed at Privet Drive. "We're not sure," he said as flipped another page, looking for a pattern, suspicious activity, anything; "all we know right now is that Harry and the Dursleys are missing and that the blood wards are gone." Remus' tone was even and collected. He was professional enough to realize that panicking would do very little to help.

Hermione covered her mouth with both hands in shock as Ron ran his fingers through his hair before gripping hard; his expression frustrated. "Was there an attack or not?" he asked crossly.

"We don't think so," Lupin said stoically, his concentration focused. "There were no signs of a struggle."

The way Remus said "struggle" set something off in Hermione. "What's that meant to mean?" she demanded quickly.

"Harry wouldn't have left without us!" Ron added forcefully.

This bomb of revelation caused several heads to shoot up. Hermione closed her eyes and quietly cursed to herself as she threw a quick glare at Ron. He was never very good with keeping secrets.

Remus' eyes bore into Ron's: "And just where exactly were the three of you planning on going?" he asked slowly, hoping this was the lead they needed.

Ron by now had learned to keep his mouth shut, but Hermione sighed in resignation. She knew the others weren't going to let this go without an explanation. "Dumbledore left Harry a task—a mission," she said before shaking her head, "but Ron's right. Harry wouldn't have left without us. He needs us!" she insisted.

"Besides," Ron added now that the cat was completely out of the bag, "we promised each other that we would stay until at least after the wedding."

"But if, for whatever reason, Harry felt compelled to leave without you," Remus began, ignoring Ron's shaking head, "where would he go? Where were you planning to start this mission of yours?" He saw the young witch and wizard exchange worried looks before he said, "It may be our only hope in finding him."

Hermione, after biting he lip hard and seeing Ron staring at the ground intensely, finally relented: "We weren't sure yet, Professor. We hadn't figured that far ahead yet. But Professor," Hermione insisted when she saw Lupin's head drop in frustration, "Harry wouldn't have left us. Not without saying--,"

"I believe you, Hermione," Lupin said holding up his hand. "Besides, I don't think Harry is capable of performing the magic we found at Privet Drive."

"What magic, Professor?" Hermione asked, her worry spiking again.

Before Lupin could answer, the sound of floo arrivals drowned out all the conversation in the room. Fred and George arrived first followed closely behind by Bill and Fleur. Arthur had called a family meeting to address the growing crisis, though Percy was still at the Ministry. Not one, but two Weasley sons were missing, hair-color be damned.

After everyone had been brought up to speed about what was going on, Lupin was finally able to continue: "The Dursleys are not simply missing," he explained slowly, his eyes searching everyone's faces, "they've been replaced."

"What?!?" Ron yelped. "What do you mean 'replaced'?" His confusion matched everyone's.

"There's another family living there," Tonks explained, cutting off Remus. "And they sincerely believe they've been living at Number 4 Privet Drive since before Harry was even born. What's more, their neighbors suffer from the same delusion. None of them even remember the Dursleys…or Harry."

"What about Mrs. Figg?" Hermione quickly asked.

"She remembers them, alright," Remus supplied, "but she saw nothing last night. She slept through whatever happened during those eight hours when Charlie and Diggle were on watch."

"That's impossible!" Bill interjected; his pony-tail whipping as he shook his head vigorously. "Even if all the Ministry obliviators worked 24 hours straight it would still take weeks to erase and replace decades worth of memories in an entire neighborhood!"

"And it's not even just Privet Drive," Tonks said nodding her head to Bill. "I contacted Vernon Dursley's employer and Dudley's school," she said shaking her head. "Neither of them claims to have even heard the name 'Dursley' before."

"Something like this would take months of planning…," Fred said as he stared off into space, concentrating.

"…And a ton of manpower," George said, nodding his head in agreement.

"But why would anyone do such a thing?" Molly asked in utter confusion; some of her tears were now simply drying against her face. Ginny still clung to her, ignoring most of the conversation. All she needed to know was that Harry was missing. That was enough to break her.

"I think it's safe to assume it wasn't the Death Eaters," Remus said as he continued to scan through logbooks. "It's just not their style."

"And it wasn't the Ministry," Tonks asserted. "While the Minister would love to have Harry under lock and key inside his office; nobody has the manpower to pull this off right now, not with all the attacks. The obliviators are tasked enough as it is. Kingsley is at the Ministry now, in any case." She came up behind Remus and put a comforting hand on his back, letting him know that she was there.

"Per'aps a foreign ministry?" Fleur suggested.

"No," Arthur said shaking his head, "Scrimgeour would never allow it. The man's pride hardly knows bounds."

"Cui bono?" Hermione said more to herself as she began to pace back and forth; wringing her hands together. "Who benefits not only from Harry and the Dursleys going missing, but also from erasing any evidence that they ever even existed?" There was an intense look of concentration on her face.

"That's hardly true, though," argued Fred. "I mean, we all still remember them. Merlin, I'll bet you can't find a single witch or wizard in Britain that doesn't know about Harry Potter."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks as she spun around to stair at Fred with wide eyes. "That's it! My God, Fred, that's it!"

"What's it? What are you talking about?" Ron interrupted. Everyone else looked confused as well.

"The mass oblviation!" Hermione explained as if it was obvious. "It wasn't done for our benefit! It doesn't affect us! It was done for the mug--,"

In a case of perfect timing, Hermione was interrupted by the faint sound of two car horn blasts from outside the Burrow. At once everyone seemed to freeze in place. Ginny's eyes snapped open; now aware something very different was happening.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron asked breathlessly.

Bill moved quickly to the window in the front of the living room. Pulling back the curtain, he gave a small gasp of surprise. "Merlin," he said aloud, "they can see us!"

Arthur went to join his son and looked outside. Up the front path to the house, just next to the old oak tree that marked the edge of the wards, sat four Land Rovers parked abreast of each other at varying angles. Next to the vehicles stood about a dozen men, some milling about, others intensely focused on the Burrow itself. One in particular stood in the very center of the path, his arms held behind his back as if he were waiting. When he saw Arthur's head in the window, the man gave a small wave of his hand.

Arthur Weasley's face went very pale but his heart rate accelerated fantastically. He felt the adrenalin rush in his arms and legs. He knew these men were not Death Eaters, but he also had no clue as to who they were or what they wanted. Judging from the events of that morning, however, Arthur could only assume it was not good.

"Bill, Remus, Tonks," Arthur said as he turned and looked at each of them, "come with me. The rest of you stay inside." Arthur already had his wand out as he headed to the front door.

"I'm going with you!" Ron immediately demanded as he, too, gripped his wand. Hermione absent-mindedly grabbed his other hand.

"So are we!" Fred and George rejoined at the same time. Fleur also immediately moved to Bill's side.

Arthur sighed in frustration but nodded his head. "Fine, but stay behind the rest of us and keep inside the wards, understand?!?" Arthur's eyes were fiery and insistent. Once Bill, Remus, and Tonks had joined him at the door, Arthur opened it and slowly walked outside, the others following.

Ginny, just seeming to notice just exactly what was happening, suddenly felt the adrenalin coursing through her veins. She quickly jumped for her seat at the table and ran after the rest of them, ignoring her mother's cries from behind her.

As the Weasley family and company made their way up the path towards the old oak tree, the man ahead of them waved again. "Good morning, Weasleys," he said with a smile.

It was an overcast and gray day with clouds that threatened rain, so it was difficult for Arthur to recognize any of the men standing at the edge of his property just yet, but he was sure he had never heard the man's voice before. "Good morning," he said in reply, his tone neutral as they continued to close the distance between them.

Some of the other men standing around the SUVs began to shift a little, moving out to the sides. "I was hoping we could keep wands away for the time being," the man spoke again, his tone light and congenial. "After all, we are all friends here." He cocked his head to the side; "At least I hope we can become friends."

"I suppose that depends," Arthur calmly replied as he and the others shifted their wands out of sight but not necessarily away, "what brings you and your friends to the Burrow this morning?" The group stopped just a few yards away. Ron and Hermione ignored Arthur's earlier instructions and took stances next to Remus and Tonks.

The man—tall and thin with gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a gray, tailored suit—chuckled slightly as he leaned his head forward. "Oh," he said amusedly, "I trust you already know why we are here."

"Where is Harry?" Hermione suddenly demanded, her fists clenched to her sides; her wand tucked up her sleeve.

The man's eyes drifted over to Hermione as his eyebrows arched sympathetically. He leaned his head to the side as he said, "I hope you will understand my reluctance to tell you."

"Who are you?" Remus challenged suspiciously.

The man's smile returned with a flourish: "My name is Paul Jenkins; I'm with the Prime Minster's office. I would offer you a handshake Mr. Lupin but," he gestured with his hand to the invisible barrier that separated them, "you know."

"The Prime Minister's office?" Tonks questioned; her tone perplexed.

"Indeed, Auror Tonks." A younger man to the left of Jenkins chuckled slightly at the word "auror". "I've been appointed Special Representative to oversee the Ministry of Magic throughout the remainder of the current crisis." The smile was more of a smirk at this point.

"What?!?" Arthur recoiled incredulously. "That's impossible! Scrimgeour—the Wizengamot--,"

"Ah," Jenkins interrupted, "I see you haven't read the morning news." Jenkins looked away and forced a sigh of fake reluctance: "I'm afraid the Prime Minister has invoked the emergency powers of his office and has suspended Minister Scrimgeour, the Wizengamot," a very wicked smirk turned the corner of Jenkins lips, "and the writ of habeus corpus indefinitely." Jenkins drew himself up and raised his head: "As of today, Wizarding Britain is officially under martial law."

"Just who in the hell are you people?!?" Bill demanded, clearly upset.

"Oh," Jenkins gave a quick look over his shoulder as he heard some of his men chuckle and snigger, "I'm afraid our work is quite…unspeakable."

Ron, being the hot-head that he was, drew his wand and pointed it at Jenkins. The men with Jenkins didn't startle or react immediately, but a few did shift their stances as they revealed the staffs they had concealed behind their arms and legs, twirling them in their hands. The doors of one of the Land Rovers off to the right popped open ever so slightly, and Hermione could have sworn she saw a flash of a rifle butt in the shadows. She immediately tried to pull Ron's arm down but he shook her away.

"What have you done with Harry?!?" Ron's arm shook precariously.

Jenkins merely held his hands up in a sign of surrender. "I can assure you, Mr. Weasley, that we have visited no harm whatsoever upon your friend and that he came with us of his own free will." He was still smiling; it was obvious he didn't feel threatened in the least.

"That's a lie!" Ron insisted, thrusting his arm; ignoring a command from his father to lower his wand.

A sickening feeling was spreading in Ginny's stomach as she took everything in. She wasn't afraid Jenkins was lying, she was afraid he was telling the truth.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Weasley," Jenkins continued, his eyebrows arched again sympathetically. "In fact, the purpose of our visit here today was to assure you all that Mr. Potter is in good health and free of duress." He turned and beckoned to a few men next to one of the Land Rovers to his left. "And of course, to return your people to you," Jenkins said with a smile.

The men opened the back doors of the SUV to reveal Charlie and Daedalus Diggle, both grinning from ear to ear. "Hey guys!" Charlie called out to them with a wave. "Is mom cooking breakfast? I'm starved!" Diggle was staring at a bush off to the side with a goofy expression on his face. He started walking towards it before one of the men took him by the arm and began leading him back towards the oak tree.

"What have you done to them?" Tonks asked, concerned.

"I assure they'll be quite alright; confused for a little while longer, but quite alright," Jenkins asserted with a smile. He turned and nodded to another man who moved to open the cargo hatch of the SUV closest to them. "Is Ginerva Weasley here?" Jenkins asked looking through the group. "Harry asked that we give this to her."

From the back of the Land Rover, the man emerged carrying a cage with a very familiar snowy white owl inside. Hedwig chirped at the sight of the familiar faces. The man carrying his cage presented it to Charlie along with a stack of envelopes. Charlie accepted them with a smile before he went straight over the ward-line towards Ginny.

"Here Ginny!" Charlie said excitedly. "I think Harry wants you to take care of her," Charlie's eyes looked glazed over and unfocused.

Ginny was hardly breathing at this point. She took the cage from Charlie with a trembling hand. She had always loved Harry's owl, but now she couldn't help but feel a twinge of contempt for the creature. She looked at Hedwig for what she was: a going-away present.

Charlie started to walk away. "Oh!" he exclaimed as he realized he was still holding the envelopes. "This is for you, too," he said as he handed Ginny a letter with her name printed on he front. Charlie then walked away and handed two identical envelopes to Ron and Hermione, though the one in Ron's hand seemed thicker.

"Please forgive the brevity of Mr. Potter's missives," Jenkins said sadly. "I'm afraid we were in quite a rush."

Ron tore his open first:

Don't look for me. Take care of your sister. Tell your family I love them.

Included with the note was the Marauder's Map, folded up tightly. Ron crushed the envelope in his hand; his face beet red.

Hermione opened hers next:

Take care of Ron.

Hermione folded it back up quickly before Ron could read it, wiping tears out of her eyes. She recognized Harry's hand-writing easily. He had left them.

Ginny very slowly opened hers:

I'm sorry. Don't wait for me.

She gave a gut-wrenching sob before she dropped Hedwig's cage and stormed away; half-walking, half-running. Bill, who had always been Ginny's closest brother, called out to her and ran after her, Fleur in tow.

"Well," Jenkins said clasping his hands together, "I apologize for the dramatics. I'm afraid Harry insisted. I hope you enjoy the rest of the day and take solace in the knowledge that Harry could not be in a safer place." He turned and nodded to others who began filing back into the SUVs. The wind was picking up, and it blew their jackets and coats in the breeze.

"You know we'll look for him," Remus said, his voice harsh and angry.

"You'll try," Jenkins said over his shoulder. "Oh," he stopped suddenly and turned, "in regards to your little," he made a gesture with his hand, "'vigilante' group, might I suggest you concentrate on defending your homes and loved ones," he said as the engines of the SUVs roared to life. "We'll take care of the rest." There was a gleam in his eyes as he turned and climbed into the passenger seat.

Ginny kept her hand firmly clasped over her mouth to prevent further sobbing. She walked with determination, trying to will the pain out of her chest. Harry had left them, all of them. He had rejected them. Their love, their acceptance; he had walked away from all of it to fulfill his destiny, to complete Dumbledore's mission. There was nothing left of "Just Harry" anymore. There was only the "Chosen One" now; a purpose without identity.

Ginny's legs gave out and she fell to the ground. The pain was fading as a new feeling poured through her veins like a drug. She realized for the first time that she hated this Harry. This pathetically stupid lackey who did whatever people told him to do out of some false sense of nobility or duty. She had admired him, even felt sorry for him. Now it just disgusted her. This Harry was a tool to be manipulated and used by others. There was nothing worth loving in that.

"Are you okay, Ginny?" Bill asked with great sympathy when he reached her.

Ginny was breathing heavily; her eyes closed. She seemed to wince before her eyes flew open and she stood tall.

She sniffed once before she nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine."*

July 8, 2008

Harry didn't jump when he heard the knock on McGonagall's door, he was expecting it. He did, however, close his eyes as he took a deep breath; steeling himself for what was to come.

McGonagall, however, was surprised by the new visitor. She had never perfected Dumbledore's ability to sense guests coming up the spiral staircase. "Come in!" she called out.

As soon as the door opened, Harry winced ever so slightly. 'Jesus, woman!' he thought to himself. 'Turn the volume down!'

"I finished those syllabi you request—oh!" Hermione jumped when she saw the other two visitors in the Headmistress' office. "I'm sorry, Headmistress, I didn't realize you were in a meeting."

'Oh, God! Why did I have to bring these up now?!? Merlin, she's probably furious with me! Who turns in paperwork this late at night, anyway?!? What were you thinking, Hermione?!?'

If there was a telepathic equivalent to earplugs, Harry would have shoved them into his mind with gusto. As such he had to concentrate on reigning in his focus; bringing himself back into the real world as it were. Still, it was pretty hard not to listen when someone is practically shouting in your head.

"Not at all, Professor Granger, not at all!" McGonagall exclaimed with delight. She was suddenly ecstatic to have Hermione there. "Please come in! I--," and just as it came, that excitement quickly dissipated as Minerva suddenly found herself overcome with a profound sense of confusion. 'Wait, why should Hermione be here?' she asked herself.

Snape couldn't help but smirk and shake his head slightly. Harry's abilities were certainly impressive to say the least.

Causing McGonagall's mind to drift was easy enough. The thing that bothered Harry in that moment was the name "Granger". He knew she wasn't married, but it still made something twitch inside of him; almost as if it just didn't sound right.

"I promise I'll only be a moment," Hermione said as she strode toward McGonagall's desk. She stopped dead in her tracks though when she saw Severus. "Professor Snape!" she exclaimed.

Snape's smirk faded as he stood and bowed ever so slightly: "Miss Granger," he said in his all-too-familiar intonation.

'Of course he wouldn't address me as 'Professor'!' Hermione thought angrily. Harry just rolled his eyes.

"I had heard a rumor that you might be coming back to Hogwarts," Hermione said, trying to be polite even though she was bristling on the inside. "It will be nice to see a familiar face around here," she lied easily.

Snape sneered slightly: "I look forward to seeing what progress Horace made with your Gryffindors." Snape could never miss-up a chance to jibe the Gryffindor Head of House.

Harry suddenly felt Hermione beginning to panic. 'Oh God! Snape will know! He'll figure it out! God, Slughorn was easy enough to fool, but Snape will know what's missing from the stores!'

This piqued Harry's interest, so he decided to delve a little further. His eyes fluttered closed and he began to see the images behind Hermione's thoughts. He saw the potions vials and he felt the sense of shame before his eyes snapped open. He looked at Hermione and he saw the bags under her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands as she held the pile of parchment.

'Christ,' Harry thought to himself, 'she's got both barrels.'

Hermione was addicted to dreamless sleep draught and pepper-up potion; downers and uppers—a double-barreled addiction. Harry felt like he was going to be sick.

"Well," Hermione said pushing away her thoughts, "I trust you'll have them ready for their N.E. in no time." She feigned a smile before looking over at the other guest. "Hello," she said, trying to get his attention.

For a split second, McGonagall wanted to stand up and scream; to jump up and down and shout "IT'S HARRY! IT'S HARRY!" but her mind wandered again. 'What was I supposed to do with these papers?' she thought as she looked down at her desk.

Harry swallowed heavily, smirked, and shook his head. He lifted it and stared back into the eyes of his one-time friend. "Hello," he responded simply. He heard Hermione's thoughts on the state of his dress and resisted rolling his eyes in frustration.

"Are you applying for a position as well?" Hermione asked politely; her smile genuine and her eyes curious.

Harry breathed heavily through his nose before he nodded towards McGonagall: "We were just working that out, actually." His smile did not go to his eyes.

"Well," Hermione's smile grew a little wider, "I should warn you that there's a curse on the Defense position. We never seem to keep anyone for very long."

Harry felt a lump in the back of his throat. This all felt so wrong. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, keeping his false smile plastered on his face.

For a brief moment Severus found himself tempted to drop the bomb; to shout out as Minerva wanted to. But as soon as the temptation came, Snape found himself swept away in a river of confusion. 'What was the name of that other Gryffindor? The one that blew up everything? Irish I think…'

"Well," Hermione said as she smiled again and looked away nervously, "it was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you, too," Harry lied easily.

Harry decided he would have to have Mike burn Hermione's simultaneous thoughts of 'He's cute!' and 'He's too old for me!' out of his head later.

She passed her paperwork to McGonagall and turned to leave. As she was nearing the door, Minerva suddenly stood up: "Professor Granger!" she nearly shouted in desperation.

Hermione turned around, startled. "Yes, Headmistress?"

But it was already too late. Minerva couldn't stop wondering how Dumbledore always knew who was coming up the stairs. "Nothing, Professor," she said looking perplexed.

Hermione, looking confused herself, simply nodded and left; never questioning just who exactly the man in the suit with graying hair really was.

As soon as she was gone, McGonagall's sense returned to her. She turned to Harry, a profound look of shock on her face. "Mr. Potter?!?"

"If it's alright with you, Headmistress," Harry said as he looked down and brushed some ash off his pant-leg, "I would prefer that the news of my appointment be kept confidential until the beginning of the school year." His face betrayed nothing, a calm passivity.

Snape couldn't help but shake his head—if not in admiration then in a genuine sense of respect. Harry was powerful, and like all those with power he used it to serve his own ends. He dictated terms, her controlled events—hell, he could direct people's thoughts. 'The world is what you make of it' the saying goes; Snape decided Harry was doing a pretty good job.

"Headmistress?" Harry said catching McGonagall's attention which had wandered out of shock. "The paperwork?" he asked gesturing at the forms in front of her.

Minerva was still trying to put all the pieces back together. Having "THE Harry Potter" in her office was one thing, having someone as powerful and manipulative as Harry controlling her thoughts was quite another. It was as if in that moment—when Harry had invaded her mind—that the storybook had ended and the music stopped. She had a feeling that no one was going to enjoy Harry's homecoming, at least not initially.

Still, she was determined to see this through. The Wizarding World needed its hero; as ill-prepared for him as they might be. It would be rough at first and plenty of arguments, apologies, reconciliations, and catastrophes would ensue; but Minerva reasoned all of that was so much better than not knowing; so much better than the endless speculation and barrage of theories. Harry could have had horns growing out of his forehead, and she still would have signed.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said as she reached for her quill, "welcome back to Hogwarts."

'It's a shame "Faust" isn't more popular in wizarding circles,' Harry thought to himself; the corner of his lips turning.

The Gringott's checks were first, both disappearing in a flash of orange flame after McGonagall endorsed them; the trolleys of the banking goblins would already be moving in between the vaults now. Once that was done, Harry signed his contract as did McGonagall; officially installing Harry Potter as Hogwart's new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

"I'll have my syllabi and other materials to you by the end of next week. One of my assistants will contact you in regards to the security inspection and upgrades," Harry said as he snapped shut the flap of his leather brief case. He stood and offered a hand to McGonagall. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Headmistress."

McGonagall stood as well and took Harry's hand in hers: "Likewise, Mr. Potter…" she responded, nearly breathless.

Harry turned towards the fireplace and walked briskly. It was clear he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. There wasn't a moment in that office that he relaxed; that he let his guard down. He was wound up tighter than a knot, and he needed to release.

Alas, it was not meant to be…

Before he could reach the escape of the floo, Harry's brisk walk was interrupted by a simple question.

"Will you not even look at me, Harry?" the portrait of Albus Dumbledore asked; his eyes filled with genuine confusion and a hint of pain.

If Harry was stiff before, he was positively stone now. He froze in place; his breathing stopped and his knuckles cracked from the strain of his fists. If he clenched his jaw any tighter, his teeth were liable to snap into pieces. The sounds of the room seemed to fall away only to be replaced by a low whistle in his ears; like white noise. Out of everything he had dreaded in anticipation of this meeting; this was what he had dreaded the most.

Snape sat bolt upright. He wasn't sure what Harry was going to do, but something inside of him screamed that he should be ready for anything. McGonagall just looked on; hopeful that something would come from their exchange.

Harry finally moved; he very slowly and deliberately turned to face Dumbledore's portrait, his eyes still lowered. Finally, when he was fully facing his former Headmaster, mentor, and guardian; Harry picked up his head and looked directly into his eyes.

The portrait of Albus Dumbledore gasped and recoiled in shocked horror.

Harry stood still; his face defiant and his stance unwavering.

"Oh, Harry," Dumbledore exclaimed softly as a wave of misery seemed to descend on him. "What have you done? What have you done?" he whispered more to himself.

Harry's expression did not change.

Dumbledore's portrait lowered and shook his head slowly; his grief and desolation more than evident. He picked his head back up, and with a voice full of anguish asked, "Why, Harry?"

"Because you lacked the strength," Harry responded immediately, his voice only trembling slightly from the flow of adrenalin in his blood. He turned quickly and marched to the fireplace; the roar of green flame signaling is departure.

McGonagall was out of her chair and in front of Dumbledore's portrait in a flash. "Albus! What is it? What's wrong?" she asked; her worry evident.

The eyes of the portrait found Severus who refused to look up; his head held in shame. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this…" the portrait said as he shook his head in sadness.

"Albus?" McGonagall asked again, becoming more insistent.

The portrait looked up and forced a smile. "While I am glad to see Harry in good health, Minerva," he said looking into the eyes of his long-time friend, "I fear it was a mistake to make him a professor." His expression showed nothing but disappointment.

"Why?" Minerva asked out of shock.

Albus shook his head slowly before he said, "Because I would not trust him with the children."

Mike was just starting to read Declan Moffitt's essay "Harry Potter: A Phoenix Animagus?" when he saw Harry approaching the Range Rover out of the corner of his eye. He opened the rear passenger door first and threw his briefcase in the back before he jumped in the front seat, ripping his tie off as he did so.

"Sooo," Mike said closing his book, "how did it go?" he asked with a ridiculous smile.

"We're in," Harry said simply, retrieving his cell phones and turning them back on. He checked his messages for anything critical.

"You see?" Mike asked as he slapped Harry on the shoulder; his smile wider. "And you were nervous."

Harry quickly scanned through an e-mail from one of his site managers for Blackstone Construction. Apparently there was an accident at the new quidditch stadium they were building outside Wellington and a worker troll and his two goblin handlers were killed. 'Oh well,' Harry thought to himself, 'at least they weren't human. We have enough problems with our bond company as it is…'

"Contact our people in Dubai," he said absentmindedly as he continued to read through his messages. "Tell them to convert over some of our assets into gold and to ship it up here. We're going to need it if we intend to maintain any kind of liquidity in Wizarding Britain after what I just dropped on this project."

"The plane is already on the tarmac in Sharjah. You know, I'm a very good assistant," Mike said; his smile unwavering.

Harry gave him a look. "How much did you transfer?"

"I don't know," Mike said throwing his hand up. "There were a lot of zeroes," he said as he playfully made a show of counting on his fingers.

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head before returning his attention back to his Blackberry. Most of the messages were mundane: cost overruns at various job sites, equipment malfunctions at one of their mines, maintenance reports on their cargo aircraft, estimated crop yields from their farms in Brazil, performance evaluations from their team in Kinshasha, etc. His fingers stopped when he noticed one of his missed calls and he saw Mike wince beside him.

"Toby called?" he asked stoically.

"Yeeeaaahhh…" Mike responded slowly, his face in a grimace.

"And what did he want?" He had asked the question, but it was obvious Harry already knew the answer. The air in the car was getting warmer.

"She was with him again…" Mike looked like he was ready for Harry to explode.

Harry sat completely still for a moment; a living statue. It would've been hard for someone to determine if he was still alive. As quickly as the statue came, however, it quickly dissipated as Harry's fingers began dancing over his Blackberry again. "That's fine," he said dismissively.

Mike gave a frustrated sigh as his shoulders dropped. "That's great, Harry, keep all that bottled up. That'll work out real well in the end," he said rolling his eyes.

"What would you have me do, Mike?" Harry asked unconcerned, his attention still on his e-mails.

"Shoot him!" Mike shouted as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Fuck, I'll do it! I'll drop you at the pub, kill him, and I'll be back in time for you to buy me a drink for my trouble! That's kind of—like—what we do, you know?" he said giving Harry a look.

"She has the right to decide for herself," Harry said; his face impassive.

"Bullshit!" Mike shouted out the sunroof. "She's a fucking idiot! If we let every dumbass witch and wizard actually make their own decisions, we'd all be fucking snake-food by now! I mean, for fuck's sake, Harry, why in the hell do we have her under 24-hour protective surveillance if we're not going to protect her from herself! Did we forget about the diary--,"

"Leave it alone, Mike," Harry interrupted; his anger evident.

"Harry--,"

"I SAID LEAVE IT ALONE!" Harry roared.

Mike's hands jerked up in surrender. "Alright, alright," he said as he turned away and spoke under his breath, "keep suppressing that shit for all I care. It's not like I'm the one that has to clean up the mess in the end," he said sarcastically.

Harry huffed harshly: "You really want me to do something about it?"

"YES!" Mike shouted. "HELLFIRE! BRIMSTONE! LET'S LAY WASTE TO THE MOTHERFUCKER!" He held up his left hand for a high-five.

Harry just glared and put his Blackberry away. To Mike's surprise, however, he simply took out his obsidian mirror instead.

Mike just looked confused. "Or we could do that…" he said as he lowered his hand.

Lucius Malfoy stood at the window of his office looking out over his pride and joy: the casino floor of New Atlantis, the finest wizarding resort in the world.

Rising out of the English Channel, surrounded by wards that prevented it from being observed by muggles, New Atlantis lived up to its name: beautiful sandy beaches that always seemed to be in the sun, hundreds of shops, pubs, and restaurants catering to only the most exquisite tastes; a massive quidditch stadium that had hosted the World Cup for the past three years running (despite the objections of many gaming and sports ministers); a 36-hole golf course for the muggle-borns; plenty of pools, saunas, and natural springs; and a towering, pearly-white hotel and casino—where every vice, desire, hunger, or thirst could be quenched for a price. The entire island formed the track for the now infamous New Atlantis Winged-Horse & Broom Races; the racing being observed from specially designed rooms inside the tower.

New Atlantis was the culmination of Lucius' greatest vision. He had been prosperous enough with the cavernous underground casino his family had built centuries ago beneath London, but the environment had been too dark and stifling; catering only to wealthy purebloods with a taste for the darker side of magic and life. New Atlantis was the type of place where even muggle-borns brought their families.

They arrived everyday by the thousands; many by portkey if they were lucky (or if they had the money to grease the right wheels), but most by ferry from England or France, by the massive air-cruise ships that always seemed to hover over the island, or by the Lady Luck: a luxorious, fully-rigged sailing ship that could cruise underwater. Day after day, hour after hour they arrived; each with their eyes wide and money burning holes in their pockets.

Malfoy let his eyes scan the floor: trays of drinks floated through the crowds—the house elves guiding them invisible—as goblins manned all the tables and monitored the enchanted machines—easily adept at spotting cheats and thieves. Most of the older witches and wizards manned the slots; dropping thousands in sickles and galleons. The tables hosted the various card and dice games where most of the real money was made. It was easy for Lucius to spot the veelas in the room; always hanging on the edges of the bars or stuck to a craps player too mesmerized to remember which way to throw the dice. He had thought about having them banned since they took home almost as much money as the house did, but thought better of it when he realized they quickly spent much of their spoils on jewelry, shoes, or the various designer dresses and robes offered by the shops both in and outside the casino. In the back sat the dozen sports betting pools. Set up like miniature stadiums, each pool sat roughly a hundred people who could watch their favorite sports teams (quidditch, quodpot, aingingein, football, etc.) play from around the world reflected in the crystal-like surface in the center. And that was just this floor.

Lucius noted that the casino was packed a little tighter than usual. He had expected this considering the championship wizards' duel being hosted later that night as well as the performance of Myron Wagtail, former lead singer of the Weird Sisters. Malfoy could only thank Merlin that Gringotts had finally decided to start printing promissory notes; otherwise the weight of all that gold would have brought the whole building crashing down. Life was good for Lucius Malfoy, life was very good.

He felt the itch again in his left arm and unconsciously went to scratch it, his fingers thudding against the wood where his forearm should have been. A familiar pain made Lucius cringe and close his eyes. Life could've been a little better.

"Master Lucius," came the ethereal voice from the disembodied, white face in the center of the massive obsidian mirror hanging against the center of the far wall, "you have a scry-call, sir."

Lucius nodded and tapped his wand against the glass causing curtains to slide into place; the only light in the room now coming from the colossal stone fireplace. Lucius took a seat behind his desk as he nodded toward the mirror: "Yes?"

The white face and the blackness of the obsidian faded away as a face filled the expanse; a face Lucius was all too familiar with. "Hello, Lucius," Harry said in greeting, "it's been too long." His voice was cold and his eyes hard.

Malfoy resisted the urge to kneel as his heart rate spiked. "M-Mr. Potter!" he said stunned. "I apologize, I wasn't expecting a call," he desperately tried to remember if this had been scheduled or not.

"Think nothing of it, Lucius. I trust our business is doing well?" Harry asked with a smirk.

A flame stirred within Malfoy. He hated being reminded that the Black Group owned New Atlantis. Even though Lucius was a member, he knew full well Harry dictated terms. "You'll be delighted to know that our profits are up, Mr. Potter," he said forcing a smile.

"Excellent!" Harry exclaimed with false enthusiasm. "You continue to prove the merit of my decision to leave New Atlantis in your hands."

Malfoy's right hand fisted so tightly his knuckles cracked. He wanted to smash the obsidian into a thousand pieces. He could've sworn he heard a muffled giggle come from Harry's right.

"I look forward to visiting soon…"

Whatever rage Malfoy felt before quickly evaporated into shock. "Mr. Potter?" he asked breathlessly.

"You heard me correctly, Lucius. My self-enforced exile from Wizarding Britain will soon be at an end." Harry's eyes narrowed: "I trust you know what that means."

Lucius could only nod his head as his mouth went dry. Former Death Eaters, pureblood racists, and the Seekers were going to be coming out of the woodwork; men and women Malfoy had helped scurry away into the dark recesses of the world with his financial clout and network of corruption following the war. Potter had known this, and so did whatever organization he worked for. They accepted it because they expected Lucius to point each and every one of them out when the time came. The former servants of the Dark Lord still trusted Lucius because they believed he had led them to safety. In reality, he had simply put the cheese in the mousetrap.

"My return also does not, in any way, change the conditions of your oath, is that understood?" Potter said authoritatively.

"Of course, sir," Lucius responded meekly.

"Very well," Harry's expression shifted. "There's another matter I wish to discuss with you, this one concerning that son of yours."

His fatherly instincts were allowing some of Malfoy's spine to grow back. "What about him, Potter?" he asked defensively.

Harry ignored Malfoy's tone. "I have been informed that he his sleeping with members of the staff at our London casino." Harry's voice was hard: "I trust you can understand the type of scandal this information would cause if it got out, not to mention the damage to his marriage."

'Oh, Draco,' Lucius thought despondently as he closed his eyes briefly, 'what were you thinking?' Lucius sighed before he nodded: "I will see to it that nothing like this happens again, Mr. Potter."

"I trust you will, but in order to help young Draco resist the temptation, I want you to have him fire the object of his infidelity. Be sure to instruct him to give the girl an incredibly generous severance package. You can take it out of Draco's salary." Harry's tone was callous and cold.

Lucius suddenly had a very bad feeling. "The name of the girl, sir?"

"Ginerva Weasley." There was a flash in Harry's eyes that caused a shiver to run up Malfoy's spine.

'Draco, you FOOL!' Malfoy screamed in his head as he regarded Harry's face in the mirror. The familiar itch returned with vigor as Malfoy winced again.

"It will be d-done immediately, sir," Malfoy said shakily.

"See that it is."

Just as the mirror appeared to be dimming, a thought flashed though Malfoy's mind; a peace offering. "Mr. Potter!" he shouted unnecessarily.

"Something else you wised to discuss, Lucius?" Harry asked; his tone unkind.

"It's about your friend…Ron Weasley…" Malfoy was attempting to be delicate.

Harry's eyes, if possible, grew even colder. "We had an understanding concerning him, Lucius."

"I know that, sir, and believe me when I say that we have bent over backwards trying to accommodate Mr. Weasley and his…excesses. However, he's lost a significant amount in the quidditch pools and…I've been hearing rumors…"

'Goddamnit, Ron,' Harry thought to himself as he looked away from the mirror. He had known about Ron's gambling and drinking problems for some time now. He had made quite the mess at the casino on more than a few occasions. Thanks to Harry's influence, the goblins learned to always make sure Ron walked away a winner, and there was always a veela ready to take him upstairs when he had finished one too many at the bar. But Ron invariably took his trade elsewhere, getting himself into more and more trouble.

"How much is he down?" Harry asked impatiently.

"Around five thousand galleons," Malfoy responded with a cringe.

Harry heard Mike splutter next to him, but he ignored it. "And how exactly did you let him get so deep?"

"Mr. Potter, I'm afraid I can't control the outcomes of a quidditch match," Malfoy said with a small smirk.

"Can't you?" asked skeptically.

Malfoy felt the hairs of the back of his neck stand up, but he remained silent.

Harry sighed. 'Fucking "Cannons"' he thought to himself. 'I dropped a fortune on that goddamn team and they still can't win shit.' He looked back to Lucius: "Comp him. I'll cover it. What about these rumors?"

"Well, Mr. Potter," Malfoy began hesitantly, "as I'm sure you're aware, we are not the only people in Britain that take bets on quidditch matches; and unlike us, these bookies offer lines of credit…" He didn't think he needed to say more.

'Damnit, Ron,' Harry mused. Ron was always trying for the big score; always trying to win bigger and better. Harry knew that Ron's issues of jealousy and self-esteem were at its core, but he hated it nevertheless. He really wished he could just punch him in the face and get him to snap out of it. Still, he was Ron…

"Lucius," he began slowly, "these bookies—they are competition, no?" Harry's emotionless mask was back in full force.

"Technically I suppose we could call them minor competition, yes," Malfoy responded, not sure Harry was going with this.

"So, if they were to…go away, we would all be better off, correct?"

Malfoy knew exactly what Harry was talking about now. "I'll see that it's done…sir." He had nearly said "my lord".

"Thank you, Lucius. I appreciate you assistance in this--," Harry was interrupted by someone Lucius couldn't see.

"Gimme the mirror!" Lucius heard a voice whisper excitedly. "Come on! Just for a second!" Harry was whispering back and glaring.

Finally, the view of Lucius' mirror was obscured for a moment as Harry appeared to be struggling with someone. The view cleared again and Lucius found himself staring up into the grinning face of a man he recognized, but he couldn't remember his name.

"Hey Malfoy!" Mike said excitedly. "I just wanted to congratulate you on the bang-up job you're doing over there!" Lucius could hear Harry demanding the mirror back. "In fact, you're doing such a good job I think you should give yourself a hand!" He laughed uproariously. "Get it?!?! GIVE YOURSELF A HAND!" Mike laughed harder as he finally returned the mirror to Harry.

"Remember what we discussed, Lucius," Harry said quickly before the blackness of obsidian returned, bathing Malfoy in light of the fire again.

Slowly, Malfoy removed the black leather glove from the enchanted wooden prosthetic attached to his left arm. He gripped it into a fist as he felt the itch again; the itch from an arm that was no longer there.

He cried out in rage as he slammed the wooden fist against his desk; the fingers splintering into pieces.

Mike was still laughing when Harry finally put his mirror away. "Oh man," he said holding his stomach, "is fucking with that guy ever going to get old?"

Harry just glared at him as he opened the glove compartment, looking for an old pack of cigarettes.

"So," Mike said as his laughing finally stopped, "check out Don Potter over here?"

"The world is going to be a far better place with a few less bookies in it," Harry said as he finally managed to find a pack of Marlboros under the clutter. He popped one in between his lips.

"I thought you quit," Mike observed with a knowing smile.

"Yeah, I heard that one, too," Harry said as he cupped his hands together in front of his face. Suddenly a flame sprang to life inside Harry's hands, floating in air. He lit his cigarette and took a long drag. The flame disappeared.

"I don't know why you go out of your way for this guy," Mike said shaking his head. "He's a degenerate gambling drunk. He's going to get worse before he gets better if you keep bailing him out like this."

"I owe him," Harry said as he blew out his smoke.

Mike scoffed and shook his head. "No offense, Harry, but you don't owe these people shit! I mean, for Christ's sake, you walk around your whole life feeling guilty for God's knows what, while all these people get to keep on breathing because of what you did!—what you're doing!" He looked at Harry to see if any of it was sinking in. "It's not like we did anything wrong, you know. Hell, Harry, they owe you everything!"

"Yeah, Mike, what about Portsmouth?" Harry asked, staring off into space; breathing out the smoke through his nose. "Or Neville?" He turned to look at Mike.

Mike seemed to think about it for a second before he simply shrugged his shoulders. "Shit happens."

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Just take me to the pub already," he said before taking another long drag on his Marlboro.

"I thought you didn't drink?" Mike asked with a smile.

"I don't," Harry responded immediately.

Mike just laughed as he took the keys out of his jacket. After he turned the key in the ignition; the speakers immediately began blasting the first few chords of Jimi Hendrix playing "Voodoo Child".

Harry rolled his eyes and looked over at him: "Seriously?"

Mike had his eyes closed, playing air guitar.

Harry shook his head with a smile. "Just turn it up, asshole…"

"Yeeeaaahhh!!!" Mike shouted as he cranked the radio and put his foot down.

A/N: You really have to listen to "Voodoo Child" right now to get the full effect.

Okay, so obviously I've been putting a little more time into this story as of late than TDK; I'm hoping to change that.

Action will pick up a lot in following chapters as well as revelations and confrontations. Also, a lot of questions will be answered.

Reviews always loved and appreciated.

*Kudos to anyone who recognized this as Harry's dialogue in the prologue.