Chapter Fifty-Six: Into the Belly of Moloch

Hermione Granger, easily the cleverest witch in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and one of the most powerful into the bargain, was rarely at a loss for words. There were things, though, which the wisest of us rely upon- axioms, constants, in which we instinctively trust without reference- for however fast and however deep our train of thought may run, for most it runs upon a solid foundation, or a fulcrum about which it pivots as it travels.

There was a small, open space to the side of the Ministry which faced into Diagon Alley. On pleasant, summer days, the staff of the Ministry of Magic had at times been wont to sit out there on the ancient, impractical picnic tables which are a staple of the worlds magic and mundane. In January, it would have been deserted now, save for six students, and the cold figure of their midnight-cloaked teacher.

Snape seemed in no hurry to move them onward- Hermione had anticipated difficulties with the Potions Master, when she and the others had made their plans, and she had hurried to the Owlery to send a message to the twins, to gather what she would need. Harry had spoken to Dumbledore, she knew, sought to make sure that he would impress upon Snape that what Harry had to do in London this evening, he did according to the Headmaster's express instruction, and that it was not to be gainsaid- but for all that, Hermione had anticipated some further messy confrontation between Harry and Snape, once the enquiry- the enquiry! To call it anything other than the gruesome show trial it had become seemed a grotesque mockery - had closed.

As it was, neither had spoken since they had left the courtroom, twenty minutes ago. Snape brooded away to one side, watching them in his hawk-like manner but saying nothing, and Harry stood motionless, his eyes downcast, and his face bleak. Ron had tried to speak to him, once, just after they had entered the little grassy square, and Harry had taken his place among the gnarled apple trees, but Ginny had intercepted her brother with a firm shake of the head.

Finally, the young man seemed to jerk suddenly into life, turning abruptly toward his friends.

"I have to ask you," he looked at Hermione, "Though I think I know what you're going to say," Harry added, unhappily, "But I've got to ask." He paused.

"Do you think somehow, tonight, we could use the Time-Turner, once you've modified it - maybe get into the Tower, get Malfoy out?" he suggested then, without much hope.

"Harry, first off, we have no idea where he is, in the whole Tower of London - I've been round it with my parents, it's a huge place, and I don't suppose we even saw any of the wizarding areas," Hermione shook her head grimly. "Besides, even if you managed it - what would you do? Lock him up in Headquarters? I can't see Malfoy coping with a life on the run, can you?"

"I can't just - leave him," the boy protested. Hermione looked at Ginny, helplessly, and the red haired girl laid her hand gently on Harry's arm.

"For now, we've got to, Harry. The only way we can possibly help the git is if we can manage to deal with Umbridge." She looked at Hermione, questioning. "A chance of an appeal, in a fairer court...?"

The older girl nodded.

"It really is all we can do."

Harry rammed his hands into his pockets and frowned distractedly.

"Besides," Ron added - a little hesitantly, "I'm not getting into what Malfoy does and doesn't deserve - but there's one of him." He exchanged a look with Hermione. "This thing with Umbridge - it's getting worse, and fast. We know what she did at Hogwarts last year, and now she's doing it to the whole country."

"You do usually have to sacrifice several pawns to win the game," Luna said in a matter of fact tone. "I expect we will have to lose some people that we care about more than Draco Scorpius Malfoy, before the game ends."

"Thank you for those encouraging words, Luna Lovegood," Hermione responded angrily, but fell short of continuing, as Harry hurriedly interceded.

"I suppose... there's no way we could do both? I know, we'd still have to work out what the hell to do with Malfoy, and there's no way we could trust him to keep his mouth shut for even half a second, if he did get recaptured, but - we have got a time machine, after all. Couldn't we -" he looked questioningly at Hermione, "Well, do both, like we did with Sirius and Buckbeak?"

She shook her head emphatically, and waited until two other visitors had passed by before going on, in a low voice.

"Impossible. I spent most of last night going over my notes on the Time-Turner from third year. I think I can do it this afternoon- if Fred and George have got me what I need to work on it - but it's going to be more of a struggle than I thought; I'd forgotten how complex some of the arcana mechanica are, and even if it does work properly, it'll be a massive drain on the power reserves. One trip into the Ministry, one trip out - that's all we can hope for."

"What about our alibis, then?" Ron wondered.

"We can't use it for that," she admitted. "I've had to come up with alternative arrangements," she glanced at Neville and Luna, then back to Harry, "But - no. Going back to your original question, no, I'm sorry. We get one shot at this, Harry, if I can manage it at all - and it's either Malfoy or Umbridge."

Harry fell silent, and stood motionless for a moment, his face like a statue. Then, abruptly, he nodded.

"Thank you," he responded quietly. Then, with a tone of decision, "We go on as planned. Umbridge. But can you do it?" He asked her. "In the time we have?"

"I can try," Hermione admitted. "If the twins came through - longer would have been good, but with the diary stolen we can't risk leaving the wand in the Department of Mysteries for too long-" she gave a frustrated sigh, "If only we could have told Dobby to hide it somewhere else, when he saw the diary was missing..."

"He only did what I told him," Harry said, "I didn't think - and its done, now - just have to do the best we can."

"Am I missing something?" Ginny frowned. "We've got a time machine, like Harry called it. Why doesn't Hermione take as long as she likes to modify it - weeks, even - and then come back to tonight and collect the wand - or why didn't we just bring it in with us?"

"The Time-Turner operates on essentially the same principle as a Portkey, Ginny," Hermione explained - "At least, it will when I've disengaged the safety interlocks. It'll get us through the Ministry wards - but the Dark Detectors will still register the changes in the magical field, passing the threshold. Only House-Elf Apparition goes through in a way different enough that the enchantments can't pick it up - and we know that worked, or there would have been total chaos the the court when Dobby came in."

"And what about the time factor?"

Hermione shook her head. "Again, there just isn't enough power. No Time-Turner has ever been made that could reliably turn back more than twelve hours - and that's without the extra strain I'm putting it under tonight. We'll be lucky to get two trips out of it."

Ginny looked disappointed. Hermione concluded, "What you want - free movement in time over a long period - well, it's a magical dream, but the energy you'd need..." She shook her head. "Anyone got a collapsing neutron star they don't need?"

Ron made some playful show of turning out his pockets.

"Could you get one in Knockturn Alley?" he suggested.

"I hope not," the muggleborn witch noted.

"We'd better let you get started then," Harry nodded. He turned, to where a gap in the low wall led to the street beyond, and hailed Snape, who stood as chill and bleak as ever, talking quietly with Blaise Zabini. "We have to get to the Leaky Cauldron, Professor. Dumbledore said that he would-"

"Professor Dumbledore has established the position clearly," the teacher snapped, icily. "It is to be hoped that you will defy my personal expectations and perform this task successfully." He went on."Regardless, he has instructed that I am to leave you at liberty and not intervene before tomorrow morning. Then - if you are not dead, or on your way to Azkaban yourself, we return to Hogwarts. Without fail." Harry gave him a curt nod. Snape jerked his head in the direction along the street leading to the pub. "Come along, Potter. The rest of you, follow - and in a line, Longbottom," he growled at Neville, who had had the misfortune to be walking beside Ginny and Ron. "Two of you, side by side, is quite sufficient, the people of Diagon Alley do not need a gaggle of schoolchildren cluttering the whole pavement."

"Should we hold hands when we cross the road?" Blaise asked him, innocently, earning a withering glare.

"As for you, Zabini," her Head of House told her, "In your case, I will not be overruled. You will remain within the rooms booked for our party at the Leaky Cauldron- and I strongly advise you to rest and recover your strength. You will recollect that you are still, at least in part, convalescent, and after this morning's exertions you will certainly not be participating in Mr. Potter's quixotic adventures." His eyes swept over an angry looking Blaise, and settled on Harry himself. "I trust that I make myself absolutely clear?"

Harry returned Snape's stare flatly, and made the slightest nod of his head.

"I couldn't agree more," he said quietly- "And- sorry Blaise- and thank you, sir, for telling her that yourself." Wordlessly, Harry Potter continued walking, his face set.

Another time, Harry would have felt mortified by the attention his party gathered as they made their way along the flame scarred street. A scant few shops had completed their repairs and were plying their trade amid the bustle and chaos of rebuilding, makeshift posting boards and signage advertising their wares to the determined or furtive trickle of customers who still threaded their way along the shattered Alley. Some few more lay still in ruins - charred timbers and hollow, blackened frames around parched, empty, gutted buildings coated in choking black dust. Those the shops and homes whose owners either lacked the wherewithal to make do the devastation, those who had fled, to start life anew in some less remarked place, hoping thus that the Shadow might not fall upon them a second time, and, of course, those like Mr. Ollivander, whose boarded, shuttered, but unburned shop they now passed upon their left, who had left Diagon Alley for good, that terrible night in December, in a more profound sense, to begin life anew in no place, unless it were in some metaphysical manner beyond the certain ken of wizarding folk.

Twenty-one names. Harry knew them all.

It was another street he saw, as he walked through the wreckage of reconstruction, heedless of the silent respect and salutations he received from the witches, wizards, and other magical craftsmen intent upon the rebuilding of the remaining majority of the houses and businesses of Diagon Alley. A street with walls of fire and mouths of creeping shadow.

How many of those dead, would have lived, if the Ministry had acted otherwise, that night? It was a question he knew could never truly be answered with certainty - but, he knew that, had things been handled differently, had reinforcements been sent willingly before their hand was forced, had better plans been laid - there would have been fewer names on a quiet memorial stone from which he had shied away, at the back of that little walled orchard.

Yet, as he walked, a curiously unanticipated calm came upon him. Florean Fortescue hailed him from where he stood, selling hot chestnuts from a tin brazier mounted on an ancient tricycle in front of the maze of stepladders and Fortescue friends and relations intent on building and domestic dispute which might one day again be Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, outside of which Harry and Ginny had enjoyed a blissfully uncomplicated afternoon together on a warm August day several hundred years ago.

"This is how I started, forty-five years ago," Fortescue told him phlegmatically, as Harry bought Ginny a bag of roasted chestnuts, only to have his money firmly waved away by the moustachioed alderman. "Ices from a trolley in summer, chestnuts off the bike in wintertime. Fifteen little bambinos I couldn't replace-" he nodded to his sons, clambering and levitating over the re-emergent architecture, several of which little bambinos were roughly over half as tall again as Florean himself, "All safe and well on account of yourself and your friends, Mr. Potter, amongst others, but bricks and mortar, plaster and wood? These things we have built before and these things we can build again."

Harry exchanged a friendly greeting with the man, and walked on. Umbridge was, willing or no, playing into Voldemort's cold hands, this he knew. Her efforts to secure her own power, to try to dispose of two threats at once by playing off Harry and Dumbledore on the one hand, against Voldemort on the other, served Riddle's will far more than she could possibly imagine. It was a gift to him, no matter which way fortune's wheel spun. If Umbridge were triumphant, then she would merely frustrate and hobble the enemies of the Dark Lord, before finally, whether conquered or willingly, in some desperate last delusional hope of accommodation with a foe she could not hope to overcome, delivering into the grasp of Lord Voldemort a nation already shaped much to his liking. Yet, in turn, if the Order of the Phoenix rose up, struck down the Acting Minister of Magic to bring to an end the toxic corruption of that Ministry by her and those of her party, what then? At best, division and suspicion, at worst, outright civil war, as those who trusted in Dumbledore and those to whom, whatever their feelings before, the unmaking of a Minister was a step too far, came to strife - and in that division of the country, a broken and fractured nation, easy prey for the Dark Lord. This he knew - but now it steadied, rather than dismayed him. He felt no pleasure, in the way he was greeted, and watched, by the people of Diagon Alley, but neither did it horrify or mortify him with embarrassment. Rather, in a way he felt curious, it fortified him. Above all it was a reminder of a responsibility, a certain and inescapable duty. Months ago, he had admitted to Dumbledore, and to himself, the true, and absolutely categorical nature of his responsibility to stand against Voldemort. It had nothing to do with prophecy, valid or void. That might foretell chances of success or failure, but his duty - that was a far simpler thing. There were older, wiser, likely more powerful wizards- but that didn't affect his responsibility. He was there. That was reason enough.

"Not on my watch."

"Hmm?" Ginny asked, distracted, around a mouthful of chestnuts.

"Nothing- talking to myself, sorry."

It ought to have weighed him down. He felt that in some ways it should, and yet strangely it did not - rather, it leant strength to him, as he walked from one trial to another. He was reminded, strangest of all, of his mother, and of that protection which, flowing through his veins, had once saved his life. Now, strangely inverted, it seemed to be the awareness that these people, in their own ways, those who acknowledged it, those who wove unrealistic heroic fantasy about it, or those who rejected it, that in some manner, all of them needed him to not fail - leant a strength, a determination to his arm. It was for that, he recognised suddenly, that had made him burn with fury at Umbridge's treatment of Draco Malfoy.

Under my protection.

He looked again at the girl at his side. He remembered how in the forest, he had fought on beyond all hope, beyond all strength, beyond all reason - because she was there, and she needed him.

Ginny was no helpless victim - but she was also not alone, and while he knew he could not save everyone, that Malfoy would not be the last dark chapter of this war - that was not what his responsibility demanded of him. Not the impossible. Not to save everyone, but simply to save as many as he could, for as long as he could. When he had let his rage, his hate, his fear rule him - those commodities that Lord Voldemort knew so well, their power dragged him on, down treacherous roads - and Sirius had died for that. There were other strengths though. His friends. Voldemort might surround himself with a coven of dark forces and Death Eaters - but in truth he was always alone. Harry had the people he loved, and, he realised with the slow turning of his thought, it was Voldemort's folly to think of that as a weakness, a vulnerability, as he had done when he arranged Ginny's kidnapping. The strength - both of them together, and the strength it kindled in Harry himself, was a far greater power, and one that Riddle did not know at all.

He shook his head, and, as they approached the brick wall leading to the yard of the Leaky Cauldron, turned his attention to more immediate matters, namely intercepting the penultimate chestnut as Ginny scooped it out of the paper bag, and steering it to his own lips.

"Bring Luna and the others up to date, would you?" he asked her quietly. "I need a word with Dumbledore."

"So…." Neville entered the small, private parlour on the first floor of the Leaky Cauldron's draughty east wing, bearing several small bottles of Butterbeer balanced on a tray. Once the door was closed behind him, he crossed the creaking floorboards to the somewhat wobbly table on the ill-fitting, mildewed carpet in the middle of the room, next to a battered old sofa which had embraced the backsides of better days, and set the tray down, before sinking into an equally run-down old red armchair, with the stuffing leaking out of the sleeves. "What exactly is this big plan then? I know this Time-Turner you had Dobby nick's got something to do with it- I'm guessing we're all in trouble again?"

He leaned forward. On either side of her on the sofa, Luna and Blaise turned to regard Ginny with interest. The red-haired girl sighed, and glanced briefly toward the second of the room's two doors, on the right-hand side of the measly fireplace, leading to a short corridor off which sprang the rooms Snape had arranged for the party during their stay in London. She had stayed in the Leaky Cauldron before, in far more pleasant rooms than this, in the main part of the pub, booked by her family, but Snape had clearly been aiming for privacy, rather than comfort, and this isolated, run down corner of the inn, connected to the back stairs, would certainly serve in that regard.

Professor Snape, himself, once he had seen them safely ushered into the suite- a term which conjured up far more opulent images in the mind than offered by the reality- had swiftly disappeared downstairs- Ron's suggestion that he had gone to get drunk might, at other times, have brought some shared humour to the little group, but after the horrific ending to Draco Malfoy's hearing, Harry had merely remarked that if it had been anyone but Snape, he would have had more than half a mind to try to join him, and headed to his own room to try to speak to Dumbledore by Floo powder. Hermione and Ron had disappeared as well, carrying several bags of paraphernalia emblazoned with the symbol of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, through to Hermione's room, and not- as yet- returning. Which left Ginny, herself, the focus of Neville's question.

She pursed her lips, and wrinkled up her nose, quirking her eyebrows in curious ways, and sat back. Finally, she sighed.

"Ok." She adopted a cheery tone. "Harry, Ron, Hermione and I are going to use an illegal magical modification to a stolen Time-Turner, to break into the Ministry of Magic-"

"Again?" Neville groaned.

"- then hex everything that gets in our way until we find Umbridge, then use Voldemort's-" after Harry's discussion in court earlier, none of the three others were panicked by Ginny's use of the name - "Wand - also stolen- to burn the Dark Mark into the old cow's arm so that Dumbledore can blackmail her, and threaten to expose her as a Death Eater if she doesn't back down- then hex our way out again." Ginny leaned forward, and cursed the top off her butterbeer. "Any questions?"

Neville considered this for a moment, as Ginny took a long drink.

"Ok, what's the real plan? Seriously?"

"That's it."

The young man massaged his forehead with one hand.

"I'm going to regret asking you what Harry's got planned for me and Luna, aren't I?" he asked, then looked at Ginny. "You're a bad influence," he told his friend, half-seriously. "I remember the lovely peaceful days when those three just used to hit me with a full-body bind and then let themselves out."

"Wonderful," Hermione smiled broadly as she began to set the bags out on the bed in the narrow little room.. "Everything I said about those infernal twins, I take back."

Ron looked dubiously at her.

"Well, almost everything," Hermione admitted, seating herself next to them and beginning to unpack.

"This is Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes stuff," Ron frowned. "Are you rebelling, or something?"

"What've ya got?" the girl drawled under her breath, and looked up, seeing his confusion. "Never mind, Ron. And that depends - do you think that -" her voice dropped as it took on tones more heavily laden with irony, "Does plotting to break into the Ministry of Magic and help Harry curse Umbridge count as 'rebelling'?"

"I mean - I didn't think this was exactly your sort of thing -" Ron produced a doughnut from a paper bag and examined it.

"Don't eat that."

"I'm not a half-wit!" the boy protested, while hurriedly returning the doughnut to its bag. "What's it for, anyway?" he asked, after a moment, seeing that no response was forthcoming.

Hermione made a small, exasperated sound, and looked up from her examination of the Time-Turner.

"Disguise," she explained, and began rummaging through the other bag. "We don't have time to brew Polyjuice potion, my best Disillusionment charm so far lasts about fifteen minutes, yours and Harry's rather a lot less- and that's if we didn't get hit by anything- and we won't all be able to use Harry's cloak."

"And you're trusting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes...?"

"Your brothers are brilliant, Ron." She grimaced. "Undisciplined- annoying-" she was unpacking the bag as she spoke, "Delinquent attention-seekers with a borderline sociopathic contempt for the consequences of their actions on others- but, creatively, they're spectacularly talented- ah, here we are…" she looked under the bag, and pulled out a slender brass-bound tool case, monogrammed with the triple 'W' of the family business. Ron whistled.

"Is that a…. that is- that's a Do-it-Yourself Wheeze-Making Kit- Hermione, those things cost serious money- Fred and George have only sold three-"

"Given their usual customers, I'm glad," the girl noted, opening the case and regarding the collection of strange, glittering, shimmering tools with satisfaction.

"Seriously, how did you get them to let you have that?" Ron eyed the kit with undisguised envy. "Last August, just before Harry turned up, you wouldn't believe what Fred said Tonks offered-"

"Moving swiftly on, Ronald Weasley," Hermione murmured, her hands moving speculatively over the tools. "I think these will do the trick. I know the twins based them on your father's set of Muggle Artifact disenchantment tools."

"Oh yeah-" Ron lifted a thin metal rod with a square block at either end from the kit, and weighed it in his hand. Its balance seemed strange, as if somehow, even when not moving, its weight was shifting slightly from end to end. "This looks like the thing Dad used to take the flying charm off of one of Mundungus Fletcher's second-hand carpets, and put it on our car."

He considered, slowly swishing the device through the air, until Hermione glared at him and held out a hand meaningfully. Ron dropped it into her hand.

"Thank you," she noted, primly. "It's a neutron ram. Though it's a bit big for… ah," she twisted part of the casing, and with a curious, bell-like note, the rod and its attachments dwindled in size, until they fitted comfortably into the palm of one hand.

"Carpet still got stuck to the ceiling," Ron observed, as Hermione, returning the tool to the case, opened the rest of the bags. "Mum transfigured it into a lampshade in the end."

"Ah, here we are," she remarked, producing a round metal biscuit tin. "Perfect," she smiled.

"...Isn't that Canned Pandemonium?" Ron looked at her. "Last year you threatened them with disembowelment after you caught them trying to offer the trial version of that to a couple of first years," he looked accusingly at her.

"It's their new recipe," she told him. "Take it through to Harry and the others in the parlour, would you?" She turned back to the Wheeze-making kit, and, fingers hovering over the tools, dipped into her robes with her free hand and produced the Time-Turner, carefully laying it on the bedspread. "That," she nodded to the biscuit tin, "is our new alibi."

"This is an alibi?" Ron stared at it. "How is…" he stopped, a grin spreading slowly across his face. "Oh. Ok, you're clever."

"It has been mentioned," Hermione murmured, carefully unscrewing the Time-Turner's chain and screwing a jeweler's eyeglass into her eye as she peered at the magical device.

Ron shook his head, not without a certain amount of fondness.

"You're also mental," he observed. "You are sure you're ok with doing this- do you need anything else?"

Hermione glanced up, distractedly, and took a length of copper wire from between her teeth.

"Peace and quiet to work." she told him, in a pointed tone. Ron held up his hands in surrender, and made to leave the room.

"Also," she counted on her fingers, "That fire evacuation plan of the Ministry you stole from your dad's office this lunchtime, a lump of coal from the parlour fireplace for carbon balance calibration, a flask of coffee from the bar downstairs, and a kiss before you go." Hermione looked up shyly from under her bushy hair. "And make sure it's a good one."

"Harry?" Ginny stopped, embarrassed, in the doorway of Harry's little room in the inn, as two faces turned to her. Harry, sitting on the narrow bed facing the fire, lifted a hand in greeting and gave her a wan half-smile. Flickering in the green-hued flames, an elderly, bearded countenance scrutinised her for a moment, and a hand appeared to wave. "I'm sorry," Ginny apologised. "I forgot."

"Not at all, Virginia," Dumbledore's head bowed to her. "I should, I think, like to thank you for your courage, in court today."

"It didn't help," she said, her face falling.

The Headmaster nodded slightly.

"I fear there is very little, with hindsight, that we could have done. Delores' rise to power is based upon fear- and upon shame. They are forces of great and deplorable power- forces which it is to my deepest regret that your group has been forced to treat, in this effort to bring the current situation to heel."

"Can we talk about this- over the Floo?" Harry asked, glancing quickly at the firegrate.

"Oh, I have certain… resources, still at my disposal," Dumbledore smiled pleasantly, "But you are right to be cautious- we can only do so for a certain and limited amount of time, I think, Harry." He paused. "I'm afraid that I must agree with Miss Granger's conclusions- and your own- Mr. Malfoy's only hope of reprieve now lies with the law, not outside it- and that will take time, even once our plans for tonight come to fruition."

"If it works," Harry cautioned him.

"I have the greatest confidence in you, Harry," the old man nodded.

"No pressure, then?" Ginny crossed the floor to her boyfriend and sat beside him, facing the fireplace.

"I'm sort of hoping this counts towards my Defence NEWT coursework," Harry nodded, looking wryly at the Headmaster's image.

Dumbledore considered this.

"I will bear that in mind, Harry," he told him, gravely. "In the matter of tonight, Delores has agreed to speak to me by Floo for one hour. Our meeting is due to start at seven o'clock this evening- she will be in her office. I trust that your own plans are laid?" he looked questioningly at the younger man.

"They are. With the holly and the beech wand, we can home in on the yew, when we jump into the building." He glanced at Ginny. "How are things going?"

"Neville and Luna have set out to Gringotts to change some Muggle money," Ginny told them. "Then they'll head straight out into London and get everything they need in the shops. Luna promised me they'd be back by six."

Harry turned to regard Dumbledore's projection in the Floo fire, with a wry quirk to his lips.

"See what monstrous horror I unleash upon the people of London at your command, my master," he intoned in as deep and reverberating a voice as he could muster.

"Harry, why ever are you wheezing like that?" his girlfriend asked with some concern, turning him toward her, as, in the fire, Dumbledore wore a novel expression of perplexity.

"I'm fine, Gin," Harry assured her. "It's just a... never mind. Muggle thing. Did they remember to take the Cloak?"

Ginny nodded.

"They'll sneak back into the Cauldron under it," she explained to the Headmaster. "So as far as anyone watching us is concerned, Neville and Luna are out in Muggle London tonight."

"Well, then, Harry," Dumbledore told him agreeably, "It all seems entirely settled. I shall beard - so to speak," a hand flickered into view through the flames, stroking his long silver beard, "- Delores in her office by a Floo call at seven. By eight o'clock you and your 'troops' must be in place in the Ministry. Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley are to engineer a distraction- as his head teacher for many years I have the utmost confidence in Mr. Weasley's talents for causing mayhem, whilst you and Virginia here proceed to perform the incantation upon Delores Umbridge." He turned his head once more to Ginny. "Are you confident that you can mask the magical signature of the incantation?"

"I think so," Ginny quailed slightly under the Headmaster's kindly stare. "When you cast a spell, it's that sort of halo that funnels out from the wand that gets detected and sets off Dark Detectors, Hermione said. But my wand's on the same frequency as Voldemort's, so I should be able to - well, turn it around, funnel it back in while Harry's casting the spell."

The Headmaster mused.

"If it is of assistance, by the time I have spoken with Delores for an hour, I should have been able to determine which of the Dark Wards is operating over her office at the present time, and be able to provide you both with the necessary incantation to temporarily render it inert," he noted. "It will, I'm afraid, only be effective over a very short range of yourselves, but in combination with Miss Weasley's work to minimise the thaumic leakage from the incantation, the two should prove more than sufficient."

"That would help- thank you," Ginny nodded. Dumbledore looked thoughtful.

"One other thing, if I may?" he hazarded. The two of them waited, and the old man went on.

"You are a close friend of Miss Lovegood, I understand," the Headmaster went on, slowly, his brow slightly furrowed. "Forgive me for intruding upon the friendships of the young- the poor child has endured much in her life as you know, and I am delighted to know that she has made such good friends- but, whilst our understanding of Professor Milner remains much in doubt- I should advise you to say no more than you must to her of either your part, in tonight's work, or of the account you gave of…" he paused, "Of the individual manner, in which you describe your perception of magic." Dumbledore looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Ginny nodded, though with both unhappiness and a trace of annoyance in her manner.

"All right," she said, a trifle curtly. "Sir," she added, after a moment.

"An honorific clearly learned by close study of Mr. Potter's deep respect for the esteemed Professor Snape," Dumbledore noted, with a slight wince. "I apologise, Miss Weasley. I have no desire to turn Luna Lovegood's friends against her, I assure you- but neither do I wish for her - or others' trust in her- to be turned against those same friends who are of the greatest importance to her."

Ginny sighed.

"I'm sorry-" she nodded. "I do understand." She looked at Harry. "When we do get back, I'm starting to think maybe we should have a bit of a look round Milner's office one night, and see what we can find there."

Harry nodded, then looked up sharply, at Dumbledore's amused chuckle.

"I am not entirely sure that you should be discussing that matter in front of me," the Headmaster reminded them, gently, "However, more importantly, perhaps, I would recommend that for the present, you focus your attentions upon the immediate criminal enterprise." He glanced back to Ginny. "I can assure you, Virginia, with the confidence of one professionally very familiar with Mr. Potter's disciplinary record, that whilst you are in his company, further troublemaking opportunities will never be all that far away. However," his face grew more serious, "I cannot maintain this shielding against Ministry observation for much longer without attracting undue attention- so, unless you have any further questions, or there is anything urgent we must discuss before tonight…?"

The two looked at each other, and shook their heads.

"Then take care," Dumbledore nodded to them gravely, but, as the image in the fire faded, his eyes twinkled through the flames, and his dwindling voice added, in conclusion, "... my young apprentice."

Harry jerked his head up to look into the flames and laughed.

"There's obviously something going on here that I don't quite know about," Ginny remarked with slightly narrowed eyes, folding her arms, but a smile hovering about her lips nonetheless.

"I'll explain later," the boy promised, then stopped himself. "No, actually, better idea. Muggle date." He bowed his head to her. "This Easter holidays, would Miss Weasley care to accompany me to the pictures?"

Ginny giggled and offered him her hand, "Miss Weasley would be delighted," she accepted, "Though," she added, as he kissed her knuckles in courtly fashion, "You realise I honestly don't really know what I just agreed to?"

"And you still said yes?" Harry looked quizzical at her.

Ginny nodded. "Maybe I have a tiny bit of a reckless streak?" She suggested, with a grin, turning and sitting on his lap, folding herself in his arms. After a moment, she spoke.

"It feels unreal, doesn't it? What happened in court, what we're going to do tonight..." She twisted around to look at him, her closeness and the scent of her hair spreading a warmth from his heart, despite all that had happened and was yet to happen. "It's like we've just come up from diving in the lake, taking deep breaths before plunging back again."

"Were you referring to today, or to life?" Harry Potter enquired archly, then stopped to look seriously at her. "Thank you, Gin. For what you said in court. From me too. Don't worry that it wasn't enough - today. Even if you only changed one person's mind - it's a victory, it's a step closer." He held her gaze. What had it cost her, he wondered, to finally speak that secret kept quiet for so long? Yet, in turn, what had it rewarded her, to be free of the burden of it?

She clasped his hands.

"You're in a worryingly positive mood," Ginny noted. "What's on fire?"

He considered.

"Like you said - we're pausing for breath. Or maybe I'm getting used to all of this - but we've had three weeks of waiting," he grated the word. "We lost to Umbridge over Malfoy, but now at least we're doing something."

Ginny drew her wand.

"I read through Hermione's notes on the Protean Charm," she explained. "If you're up for a bit of fine-tuning before this evening? I know you've not got the yew wand- but, you're welcome to borrow this one," she smiled. "Turnabout's fair play, after all."

"If you're willing." Harry looked at her intently as they sat together in the damp, narrow little room. There were shadows in her eyes, and her face was still more intent, more careworn than it had been, before that terrible day in October when so many paths had been set, but there was a ferocity about her now which had been born in those shadows, and something of the implacable determination he had sensed in her last summer at Grimmauld Place, now grown to fruition. Still, he too had changed, he supposed. He gently laid his hand over the hilt of her wand.

"You do realise, if we get caught tonight, we'll probably end up in Azkaban right next to Malfoy?"

Ginny's eyes flickered to meet his.

"The thought had occurred," she agreed.

Harry gave a slight nod, and went on, quietly.

"Just in case, say, Ron asks, I assume that if I were to ask you not to come tonight..."

"Neville and Luna will be back in a couple of hours, Harry," she replied gravely. "If you asked me that, we'd need a lot more time to argue about it before I came anyway."

Harry concurred.

"We'd better get practising then."

"Let's."

Sadly, they had barely begun to practice the spell when, for the second time that afternoon, the door to Harry's room was flung back and a diminutive witch entered in haste without knocking.

"What's the big idea?" Blaise growled, and Harry tensed slightly. He'd not failed to notice the girl's displeasure at Snape's instructions, and it was clear that, rather than taking time to rest, Blaise had instead dwelt upon her injustices. "Wasn't getting my head bashed in enough to show you I'm on your side?" Beneath the bluster, she looked hurt, and there was a bruised, defensive air to her. "What do you think?" she snapped, in response to a question from Ginny. "Potter there getting all chummy with Snape and telling me to stay right here and rest? I'm not six!"

"First - Snape's right," Harry told her. "You're still feeling ill. It's too soon- and I'm sorry, but that's just plain true. Second - it's Harry. I told you that this morning."

"Well, try acting like a friend then!"

"Stopping you getting yourself hurt by doing something you're really not up to yet, even if it means getting a mouthful of abuse over it?" Ginny asked, with a certain quiet anger. Blaise's jaw dropped, then snapped shut.

"Who asked you?" she bristled.

"Actually I kind of think my brother did," Ginny retorted.

"The Weasel's not even here," Blaise protested, both annoyed and slightly confused. "What the hell are you-"

"Not that brother," Ginny told her in a tight voice.

The colour drained from Blaise' face.

"You knew I'd have to tell her and Ron," Harry reminded Blaise unhappily.

"Yeah, but -" Zabini began.

"But nothing," from Ginny. "You're not the only one who saw him die - and gods I've wished I could have talked to him like you did-"

"That's not my fault - I don't know why he came to me, except he couldn't get through to you two because of Umbridge-"

"I didn't say it was!" Ginny shouted. "But if you think you've got some kind of monopoly on wanting to kill that woman - rip her to pieces, then you're damn well wrong - he was my brother, for Circe's sake, and I'm only holding back on that for you, Harry,-" she turned and seized Harry's hand tightly, "Because you're right, annoyingly so," she turned back to the Slytherin, "But you tell me how you're going to handle it, Blaise..." her voice dropped low and she spoke more quietly, controlling her passions with an effort, "Because, for me, if when Harry questions her, it turns out she was involved in the raid on the Ministry that night- I'm going to have a hard enough time holding myself back- but I've got to- because that isn't why we're here."

Blaise stared hard at her, something seeming to crumple in her look. Finally, her gaze dropped away, but, still, as if driven, she tried to explain:

"I just feel like I've got to- he saved my life- I feel like I should do something!"

"Then make sure it's the right something." Harry leaned forward and looked intently at her. "Remember what I told you this morning? Sirius Black?" He sighed, clasping Ginny's hand and holding it. "Remember, Blaise- whatever Umbridge tells us- ultimately- this comes down to one person at the back of it all. Both the hand that held the wand, and the one who turned the wheels. If you want to help- then fine, I'll take all the help I can get- because when this finally comes down to him- we're going to need it." He looked somberly at her. "I'm serious," Harry told her quietly. "None of us knows quite what's going to happen in there, and you're still recovering." He stepped closer, his eyes intent. "I trust you because you're a Slytherin. You know why I did what I did with Malfoy- you know what's at stake, and that we had to do what we had to do, even if it wasn't right, or fair- and- though I know it's not worth much- I'm sorry, Blaise- but, yes- we had to do it- and tonight- you've done enough- but no, I'm not leaving you out because you're a Slytherin, or because I don't trust you- or- anything like that, anything that makes you think you're not our friend." He looked at her challengingly. "But what I said stands. If you're in- not for this- but for whatever comes after this-"

She nodded firmly.

"Then, welcome to the Order of the Phoenix."

"Now go get some sleep," Ginny added firmly, before Blaise had finished framing the inevitable question, in response. "We'll wake you before we go."

"Good news!" Ron hurried back into Hermione's room. A couple of hours had passed with very little incident. Ron himself had managed to sleep for about half an hour, albeit troubled by fretful dreams which owed as much to his concerns over Harry and Ginny's experiments at the other end of the hall, as they did to his lingering doubts about the fairness of Malfoy's fate. He had been wakened shortly after by the return of Luna and Neville, having crept back into the Leaky Cauldron by the back stairs, under Harry's Invisibility Cloak and, it was the group's hope, with their return unremarked by any employees of the Ministry of Magic.

"Neville and Luna are just getting changed- Ginny and Harry reckon they're about ready too, and Neville remembered to get me the-"

Without looking up, the girl waved an impatient hand in his face.

She was sat cross-legged on the bed, papers, notes, and manuals covering most of the blankets, while around her, a veritable miasma of twinkling golden and brass components floated, gently undulating in the air, as she turned from one to another.

"This is a tricky bit," Hermione muttered, squinting through her eyeglass at a tiny filament inside a small bubble of blown glass. "Disassociating the reactive gravitational field equation of a Horus charm with a home-made joke-making kit's rather like repairing a watch with a hammer and chisel."

"Uh?"

"One false move, Ron, and you'll never know the time again." She carefully teased the tiny wire tip of one of the tools into the neck of the bulb, and gingerly touched it to the filament. "The trouble is, the book on Time Turners assumes you have a null-field interaction generator-" she nodded to the squat little vibrating disc on the bed. "The Thaumic Drone's the best I could come up with."

"Well, is that enough?" Ron frowned, gently moving a small floating brass cog away from his nose.

"Probably, probably," Hermione waved a hand distractedly. "Zeus plugs."

Ron's hand hesitated over the Wheeze-making kit. "That one," she told him shortly, with a jerk of her head, and whispered a faint incantation. The glass bubble seemed to shimmer slightly. Ron passed her the pair of Zeus plugs, and she carefully screwed the end of one into the back of the wire tool.

"So, Hermione..."

"Ambicyclic Photon Bridge."

He looked blankly at her.

"Quickly, Ron, quickly," she snapped. "The one with the little wheels, hurry. We need to diffuse the extemporaneous chronal field before the reticular amplifier normalises too much."

"You are sure you know what you're doing?" Ron put in, worriedly, as he carefully lifted a device like a tiny upturned bicycle with thread- like golden wheels out and laid it on the table.

Hermione glanced at him and quickly raised her eyebrows, before turning her attention back to her work. "You can tell them…" she paused, and laid her wand carefully over the Ambicyclic Photon Bridge, watching as its little wheels spun and whirred, "That I'm nearly ready for them. Time for them to start sampling Fred and George's biscuit tin."

"Canned Pandemonium," Ron held up the chipped plate, two rather ordinary biscuits, topped with chocolate icing, resting on it. "Fred and George's attempt at a convenient, portable, ready-mixed and ready-for-mischief version of Polyjuice Potion."

"I've heard of that one," Blaise interjected. She had returned to the parlour, and now regarded the rest of the group- Ron, Harry, and Ginny facing Neville and Luna, with curiosity, from her niche by the fireplace. "Doesn't it explode if you get it too hot, or something?"

"They fixed that!" Ron said, hurriedly, noting a rather alarmed expression on Neville's face. "Anyway, it didn't do that after you'd eaten it."

Harry stepped forward. "You're both sure you're happy doing this?" he asked Neville and Luna. The latter two had already changed into the clothes they had bought in Muggle London, and stood facing himself and Ginny. Neville returned his look firmly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. Probably mad- but I'm in."

Harry smiled his thanks, and turned to Luna.

"I'm sure it will be a fascinating experience," Luna beamed at him. "I'm really rather looking forward to being someone else for a few hours."

"What about you and Hermione though?" Neville added, looking at Ron. "If we're pretending to be Harry and Ginny…"

"If everything goes like it should, any Ministry spies will see Hermione and Ron heading off out into London for the evening," Harry explained. "With any luck, there's no reason anyone in the Ministry will have a chance to see their real faces tonight- but Umbridge has got to see me, and there's a fair chance she'll see Ginny- we can't risk using Fred and George's shapeshifting stuff on her, in case it interferes with her sensitivity to magic."

"They've done it to me enough, over the years," Ginny added. "Sometimes it's like… feeling the world through a blanket, I don't know if I can explain it any better than that."

"So, as it is," Harry nodded, and went on, "Let them. We'll have a whole pub full of witnesses who saw me and Ginny here all evening- down in the bar, or going up and downstairs- doing our homework in the parlour- that's up to you two- but definitely not breaking into the Ministry of Magic and hexing Umbridge."

With a certain absurd solemnity, Harry took one biscuit from the plate, and carefully took a bite out of it, then laid it down again, taking care to set it to one side to avoid confusion. Ginny glanced at him, and did the same. Then, Harry, casting a quick look at Ron for confirmation, offered the plate to Luna and Neville.

"Well," Neville shrugged, somewhat with the air of one determinedly ignoring any number of inner voices of caution, and reached for the plate, "Let's get it over with." He offered it to Luna, who nodded, and eagerly took the biscuit furthest from Neville's hand, biting into it as Neville, still looking somewhat dubious about the whole enterprise, despite his resolution, ate the remaining half-biscuit. Harry watched, then suddenly his eyes widened, something about the way Neville had picked up the plate belatedly feeding its way through his brain.

"No, wait a moment-" Harry looked at the empty plate in alarm and held up a hand, "You've eaten the wrong-"

It was too late. Neville and Luna's nervous faces had already begun to bubble, stretch, and shift. As Harry and Ginny watched in horrified fascination, Neville suddenly dropped down several inches and squeaked in surprise, his dark hair lighting up first copper, then brightly ginger as it grew, cascading down from his softening face. His eyes staring, he held his arms rigidly out away from a body which was, too, visibly changing form.

For Luna, much the opposite was happening. She grew slightly taller - by an amount which Harry considered rather less than strictly accurate, although later, no one else agreed, and her blonde locks seemed to retract into her head, dark streaks shooting through them as she did so. She blinked rapidly, her eyes appearing to recede slightly as she did so, and at some indefinable point shading from blue to a sombre green which, Harry was entirely firm about, in no way resembled the hue of a pickled toad.

"I..." Neville managed, in a high voice, staring straight ahead of himself in shock and trying not to move.

Luna swallowed, and giggled, putting her hand to the unexpected Adam's Apple in her throat and feeling it curiously. She took a couple of steps forward and back.

"How remarkable," she observed, in Harry's voice.

The Boy Who Lived sighed deeply, and gripped the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

"We'd better try again," Ginny looked for the box of biscuits. Harry shook his head in resignation.

"No time - Four hours, Hermione said those last, and I don't want to know what taking one dose on top of another would do." He groaned.

"I'm really sorry," blurted someone who now looked exactly like Ginny attempting to do what Snape had considered to be an impression of a tree. "It's me being left handed," the former Neville explained, sinisterly.

"Don't worry about it, Neville," Harry sighed wearily. "We'll make it work." He regarded the two of them dubiously.

Neville's 'Ginny' could, Harry supposed, have been worse. Although pureblood through and through, Neville's attempt to dress like Harry had taken in the other young man's Muggle wardrobe habits, and the jeans, shirt, and woolly pullover he'd provided himself with would have done just as appropriately for Ginny - if one could ignore the way that Harry's girlfriend's rather different build made the outfit hang comically long and loose in some places, but alarmingly tight in others, in ways which Harry very fundamentally approved of, on Ginny herself, but found eminently disturbing when salient on somebody who was, essentially, still Neville Longbottom.

Luna, however... Harry considered 'himself'.

There were positives. He assured himself of that. At least Luna's spectacles still appeared to fit him, although the frames she preferred, which bore a striking resemblance to those of some loud Australian pantomime dame he remembered seeing on television did not, he felt, really bring out the best in his eyes. 'Harry' was, however, peering at Harry rather myopically - he supposed that Luna's glasses were rather less than a match for his own prescription. Given that the girl only appeared to wear them on a very occasional basis, and when once, last autumn, they'd idly compared spectacles whilst waiting for Ginny to finish talking to Milner at the end of a Dark Arts class, Harry had been unable to note any real discernable difference to his vision wearing Luna' s spectacles, to his own unaided poor sight, he might have suspected the glasses in question of being primarily a fashion statement - if the statement in question was to be "Help".

Otherwise, Luna had done a surprisingly good job in arranging a suitably Ginny-like outfit for herself - Harry was far from being an expert in such things, and would generally struggle to describe his girlfriend's wardrobe in terms much more detailed and informative than 'nice', but upon consideration, he had to concede, what Luna was wearing - from the pale floral blouse with its slightly puffed sleeves, the long skirt that swirled about her calves, and the sturdy boots, was very much a reflection of Ginny, out of Hogwarts or DA uniform. Unfortunately it looked utterly ridiculous on himself.

Harry sighed.

"In the name of sanity, go and swap clothes," he told them, in a long-suffering tone, exchanging a despairing look with the real Ginny.

Neville - or 'Ginny', nodded, a slightly hysterical look still in her eyes, and grasped the hem of her pullover, starting to pull it up, before suddenly stopping with a strangled squeak, and looking at the real Ginny with mortified eyes. Meanwhile, 'Harry', humming cheerfully, started to unbuckle his skirt.

"In-the-other-room," Harry grated, pointing sharply at the door.

"And you'd better keep your eyes shut and your hands to yourself, Neville!" Ginny rejoined hurriedly. She frowned. "Not to yourself."

Neville squeaked.

"How is he going to get changed with his eyes shut?" Blaise enquired, not bothering to hide her amusement.

Ginny considered this.

"Keep one eye shut, and keep your mind on Snape and Blast-ended Skrewts," she amended her instructions, huffily.

Her new twin nodded urgently, face twisted with embarrassment, and fled. Luna 'Harry' beamed broadly at Ginny. "Don't worry," he assured Ginny brightly, "I'll help. It'll be fun!"

Harry observed 'Harry' sashay gracefully from the room, with an elegant twirl of his skirt as he turned to close the door behind him, and grumbled to Ron.

"Why me? Honestly, Ron, why me?"

"Dignity." Ginny held her palm over her face and shook her head in vague resignation. "I know I used to have some dignity."

Ron shook his head. "I don't know whether to laugh or throttle Neville," he admitted, after a long moment.

"Don't threaten to strangle your little sister," Ginny peered out from behind her hand with one eye. "Mum told you that when you were four."

Ron glared at her, then looked at Harry. "I'd just like it clearly on record here, Mum only told me that after I'd climbed out of a ditch full of nettles that she-" he nodded at Ginny, "had pushed me into." He shook his head. "Anyway- changing the subject," he added hurriedly - "Neville and Luna… do you reckon they're…?" he left it hanging, looking speculatively after the pair.

"I really hope not, right now, to be honest, in the circumstances," Harry said, with feeling.

Blaise laughed shortly and turned to Ron.

"You do know Longbottom's been going out with that Hufflepuff Chaser - Abbot - since Christmas before last, don't you?"

"Oh yeah?" Ron looked slightly sceptical. "How the hell would you know, of all people?"

Blaise shrugged. "Common Room gossip, same as you, dearie. Why not? What did you think we sat around talking about, in Slytherin? How we're going to take over the world?"

Harry was about to mention that he and Ron had, in fact, spied on Slytherin Common Room gossip on at least one occasion, but then, recollecting who they had been spying on, on that particular occasion, he held his tongue. Instead, he looked at Ginny.

"Wonderful- so Neville's going out with one of the Hufflepuff team, and I've just turned him into a girl." Harry sighed with resignation. "If Ernie and Justin ever get wind of this I'm not going to hear the end of it, am I?"

"I am going to see if Hermione needs any more help finishing off the Time-Turner," Ron said, loudly, firmly closing the door behind him.

Harry and Ginny gave one another a long look.

"Is it always like this?" Blaise asked, innocently.

Ron stepped into Hermione's room and quietly closed the door. She had almost finished reassembling the Time-Turner, and was busily involved in carefully tightening a tiny golden screw at one end of it, whilst holding the thing gingerly in her other hand.

"Did it work?" she asked, looking critically at the device.

"Well, sort of," Ron admitted, and explained. Hermione winced.

"Close enough, I suppose. Just so long as they don't give themselves away…." she weighed the Time-Turner in her hand. "And this doesn't explode when we try to use it."

"Hey, I've got faith in you, 'Mi."

"Ron, do you have the faintest idea how this works?" she asked, a little waspishly.

"No," Ron admitted- "You do, though-"

"Then how exactly can you tell me that your confidence in me should be reassuring, when you don't know what it is you're confident in me doing?"

Ron held up his hands in surrender.

"Could we fight about this after we've done it, it's worked, and we've got out?" he asked.

She looked sharply at him, then her face softened. "Yes. Sorry," she sighed. "Did you see where I put the chain?"

"Bedside table." He grinned. "And it'll be ok. Now, if Harry was doing this…"

"I don't think the planet would have survived that, Ron," Hermione commented, carefully reattaching the Time-Turner's delicate chain. "I'm fairly certain the Time-Turner wouldn't." She held it up dubiously, turning it this way and that.

"Ready?" Ron asked.

Hermione glanced at her watch. "Half-past six," she noted. "We'd better be. Ready as I think we're going to get, anyway." She slipped the chain around her neck and let the device slip into her robes, then reached out and took his hand. "Curtain up, Ron Weasley."

"Let's go cause some trouble." He shot her another grin. Hermione gave him a nervous grin back, squeezed his hand gently, and headed toward the door.

They stepped quickly along the passageway and into the parlour. Harry and Ginny were standing close by the fireplace, talking quietly, both dressed in dark Muggle clothing. As the other two entered, Ron saw Ginny lay her hand gently on her boyfriend's cheek for a moment, and look into his eyes. Harry held her gaze for a long moment, then looked up.

"If anyone wants to back out of this," he said, looking at each of them in turn, "That's fine. We've sort of specialised in trouble for years, here, I know- but I'm going to be honest here- we're about to commit a really serious crime. Not just breaking school rules- and I know, we've sneaked into the Ministry of Magic before- but not to do what we're going to do tonight. I'm going on with this. I've got to- and I know you've all already done a lot to help me- but-" he grimaced, and pushed his fingers quickly through his hair. "Well- it's there. If this is more than anyone's happy doing- you only have to say it. If I get caught- I hope you know I won't tell anyone that any of the rest of you were involved."

Ginny's wrist flicked, her wand dropping into her hand, and she held it out across the coffee table, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at him. Ron regarded his sister in confusion for a moment, until Harry nodded in response, and laid his own wand across hers. After a moment, first Ron's, then Hermione's wands joined theirs, crossed for good fortune before entering the fray.

The Boy-Who-Lived drew a long breath, and re-sheathed his wand, turning and lifting a heavy bag from the table.

"Right." Harry tugged the zip of his jacket up to the neck, and - for the fourth time- checked his bag to make sure that the Invisibility Cloak was safely there. "First hurdle- let's get out of here. Neville and Luna are already downstairs- so we'll be heading out the back way." He made for the door. "Give me a moment to make sure it's clear, would you?" he nodded to the others and stepped out into the corridor. Blaise, sitting by the fire, her face still bearing traces of her discomfort at being excluded, nodded, and offered a not-entirely un-grudging salutation of good luck.

Shadows had lengthened into darkness while they had been preparing themselves, and the hallway was steeped in gloom. Harry glanced along the row of doors leading to their rooms, to the shadowy back stairs beyond, leading down directly into the Leaky Cauldron's back yard. He was about to turn back into the parlour, to call the others to follow him, when one shadow seemed to almost flow forth from a door at the very end of the corridor. As it moved past the window toward him, moonlight caught a pale, haughty, familiar face.

Harry caught his breath. Snape's robes were black and deeply cowled, and as the Professor regarded him, Harry saw the older man drawing his sleeve back down over his arm, and the briefest glimpse of a dark, sickening mark blossoming on Snape's arm. For a moment they looked at one another in silence.

The younger man regarded Snape shrewdly, then spoke quietly, his voice little more than a whisper, as the Potions Master stepped back into the shadows by the stairs.

"I wanted to thank you." Harry admitted it. "If you hadn't put that body-bind on me in the courtroom when I lost my temper- when they were dragging Malfoy out- I don't know what would have happened, Professor."

Snape looked at him implacably, only the faintest hint of his black eyes shining in the gloom.

Harry suppressed his irritation.

"So- yes. You're right. I need to learn to control myself better. What we're going to do tonight- I'll remember it."

"My confidence in that noble promise will be gauged at your return- and the manner of your returning," the older man told him coldly.

"What are you doing lurking out here, anyway?" Harry asked.

"The Dark Lord has... requested my presence," Shape responded, flatly, and Harry saw the shadowy figure grip its upper arm for a moment once more, as if pained. He swallowed. Somehow he would have been less unsettled if Shape had angrily bade him mind his own business.

"Well, erm, tell him I said hello, I suppose," Harry shrugged.

"I have no doubt he will be delighted," the dark silhouette responded, bitterly. It struck Harry then the cause of Snape's unusual mood - called by Voldemort to manufacture an explanation after appearing so publically at Harry's side, testifying regarding Voldemort's actions in court - and then, too, he remembered belatedly that he was not the only wizard to have stood in that courtroom and faced the Wizengamot before today. Severus Snape too, had once faced the judgement of the Wizengamot- had been given - at Dumbledore's behest- one of those very same second chances which Umbridge had successfully argued were a mistake not to be repeated, with Draco Malfoy, today.

Snape's shadow had detached itself from the wall and moved to the stairs. Harry cleared his throat.

"Good luck, Professor," he said, quietly.

The shade paused on the steps, and its head nodded very slightly in acknowledgement. Three words came out of the impenetrable shadow, a chill and dignified whisper, but without its usual rancor.

"And to you." Snape strode down the stairs without a further sound, and was gone.

Author's Note: Is what Harry and friends are plotting to do to Umbridge really a worse moral transgression than his apparent intention here, to introduce Ginny to Star Wars via the Special Editions? Or would that make even Little Tommy back away in horror?

Review Responses:

Wolf's scream - Welcome back, glad you've enjoyed the recent chapters. Yes, I'm enjoying writing this crazy bunch again. Ginny is definitely not good at 'coy'. Mainly because when she does try to bottle things up in front of strangers, they have a habit of only staying bottled up until she boils over. Poor old Snape. Poor Amelia Bones as well, I suspect for her this was just the latest in a series of political 'show trials' infringing upon her courtroom. On the other hand- Umbridge just threw a Hogwarts student into Azkaban for circumstances for which Harry, at least partly, still blames himself. That sound you just heard was several of Harry's moral scruples now being in need of re-stringing.