Disclaimer: I'm getting sick and tired of having so much smoke in the air that I have to chew it a bit before I inhale.

Stay in Your Lane

Part 04 of 'Halloween Echoes' Odd Ideas #132, 136, 154

Tonks was a bit nervous at being called into the Director's office, never good for someone on her level to come to the attention of the higher ups in the Department.

"You sent for me, Madame Bones?" she announced herself, pausing at the open doorway.

"Yes," Amelia agreed. "Come in and close the door."

"Yes, Madame Bones," Tonks agreed, feeling a sinking sensation in her gut. What in the world had she done to get on the woman's bad side?

"Have a seat," Amelia said briskly.

"Yes, Madame Bones," Tonks agreed, bracing herself for the worst.

Tonks did her best not to wilt when the Director fixed her with a powerful stare.

"How much time on average would you say you spend looking after Harry Potter in a given week?" Amelia demanded.

"What?" Tonks said dumbly.

"It is a simple question, Auror Tonks," Amelia said flatly. "More than ten hours, more than twenty?"

"Depends on the week," Tonks said, feeling faint. "Close to thirty this week, around ten last week."

"Alright," Amelia agreed turning her attention from the Auror to the paperwork on her desk.

"But it was all on my own time, Madame Bones, not on the department's," she said a bit defensively.

"When I wish for you to answer a question, I will ask you one, Auror Tonks," Amelia replied, not bothering to look up from her paperwork.

"Yes, Madame Bones," Tonks agreed, stomach rolling.

Amelia completed one stack of paperwork and set it aside to work on another. "What first indicated a possible Death Eater attack on Harry Potter's residence?"

"The wards went a bit wacky and two masked wizards arrived and started trying to tear them down the rest of the way," Tonks said mechanically.

"After that you entered the house to get Harry Potter?" Amelia asked.

"Yes, Madame Bones," Tonks agreed.

"Why didn't you order him to retreat while you bought time?" the woman persisted.

"I did, Madame Bones," Tonks said. "I asked, I ordered, I begged, and he refused. Said that if I came up with a plan that let us both live, that he'd consider it."

"Good," Amelia said, a smile lighting her face for the first time since the interview began. She turned back to her paperwork for a few more minutes. "There," she said in a tone of smug satisfaction, signing the paper with a flourish before putting down her quill. "Paperwork is the bane of any office job, remember that, Auror Tonks."

"Yes, Madame Bones."

The older woman picked up both stacks and handed them to her Auror. "Read, check for mistakes, and sign them if you don't find any."

"What's this, Madame Bones?" Tonks asked dumbly.

"Approval for the overtime you've been putting in, assignment as Harry Potter's bodyguard, and a commendation for your part in stopping a Death Eater attack," Amelia replied.

"I'm not going to be punished?" Tonks asked dumbly.

"Your patron made it quite clear how offended he'd be if I tried," Amelia said dryly. "That said, it's unlikely I'd punish any Auror for doing their duty off the clock."

"Thank you, Madame Bones," Tonks said quickly. "My patron?"

"Harry Potter," Amelia said with an amused smile. "You didn't know?"

"No, Madame Bones," Tonks admitted. "What does that mean?"

"It normally means that I have to take him into account if I want to do anything regarding you," Amelia explained. "One of the reasons the Minister's pets don't normally get rough duty." No rougher than whatever they had to do for Fudge. "To be honest, I'd normally be disappointed with you for this."

"Madame Bones?"

"When an Auror as pretty of you spends so much time in the company of a powerful individual, one normally assumes that she's earning his help on her back," Amelia said dryly. "That is not what's happening here."

"No, Madame Bones," Tonks said, her hair cycling through several colors. "Harry said that he wanted me with him because I showed I was willing to die for him. Then he said that he needed to keep me close to break me of that habit."

"Interesting attitude," Amelia commented, doing her best to hide how pleased she was to hear it. "He say anything else?"

"That he needed me by his side watching his back, not in front of him taking curses, Madame Bones," Tonks replied.

"Very good," Amelia said. Perhaps she should go back to encouraging Susan's crush after all? "Auror Tonks."

"Yes, Madame Bones?"

"The rolls will list you as being on a confidential undercover assignment to gather intelligence on a suspected illegal militia," Amelia said with a smile. "Officially, we're building a case against Dumbledore. You will find no evidence of wrong doing, by the way."

"Understood, Madame Bones."

"Unofficially, your job is to serve as a backchannel for Harry Potter to communicate with me and to look after his safety."

"Yes, Madame Bones," Tonks agreed, unable to control the smile that split her face.

"Understand one thing, Auror Tonks, Harry Potter has become very important to me as of late." His backing would guarantee her appointment to Minister of Magic and subsequently quite a few purebloods to Azkaban. "Do everything you have to, to keep him alive."

"I will, Madame Bones," Tonks agreed firmly. "Anyone that wants to hurt him will have to step over my cooling corpse to do it. I promise." No matter how he felt about it, no matter what he said, she promised herself that no harm would come to the boy so long as she was able to prevent it. No matter the cost.

"Good," Amelia said, a bit taken aback by her Auror's declaration. 'Definitely need to encourage Susan's crush,' she thought to herself. A boy his age, hell anyone that could inspire loyalty like that was a rare and valuable thing.

IIIIIIIIII

Harry was in his usual seat next to Hermione in the library when the door opened to admit Dumbledore and a disgruntled looking Madame Pomfrey.

"Here to continue our discussion about my scar?" Harry asked calmly, seeing the pensive look on Dumbledore's face and piecing it together with the angry one on the school healer's.

"We are," Dumbledore agreed.

"Have a seat, please," Harry waved them to the other side of the table. "What do you think, Madame Pomfrey?"

"I think it's a bloody stupid thing to do!" the Healer exploded.

"Do you have a better idea?" Harry asked calmly.

"No," the woman admitted.

"Would removing the scar work?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

"Not unless we wished to remove quite a bit of bone and possibly a bit of brain matter," Pomfrey admitted. "As to your plan, the level of risk presented is enormous. Death or brain-damage being two of the likely outcomes."

Hermione squeaked and focused a worried look on her best friend.

"Do you think it has a chance of working?" Harry's voice was calm, as if he were discussing the weather.

"I honestly don't know," Madame Pomfrey admitted. "I do know that I lack the qualifications to conduct it."

"Who has them?" Harry asked immediately.

The school healer refused to meet his eye.

"No one, then." He nodded to himself. "I'd rather have you do it than anyone else, but I'll understand if you want nothing to do with something that could cost me my life."

"I need your permission to consult with a couple colleagues," Poppy said, hoping to stall for time.

"What about just phoenix tears?" Hermione asked. "It's not a good idea to flood the area around a vital organ with one of the most deadly toxins in the world with the hopes that we can heal it before it does permanent damage, is it, Madame Pomfrey?"

"It is not," the woman agreed, relieved that she'd found an ally.

"It does seem like a foolish plan when put that way," Albus admitted. "What do you think, Harry?"

"I think that I'm going to lose if I decide to argue this," Harry replied. "Madame Pomfrey, get together a few people and figure out how you want to proceed."

"Thank you, Harry," the healer sighed, relieved beyond words that she'd managed to talk him out of doing something wish such high risk. She favored the boy's best friend with a look of gratitude.

"It's only good sense to study the situation before doing something drastic," Hermione agreed. "Honestly, Harry, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that of the three ways I knew to deal with the situation I was going to go with the one I'd already survived," Harry replied mildly. "Scratch that, the one I've survived in recent memory." All he needed to do was survive fiendfire and he'd be three for three. Damn his life sucked sometimes.

With a sniff of disdain, Hermione turned away from her best friend and towards the school healer. "If I were to give you a mysterious item that Harry claims is food, could you analyze it to see if he is correct?"

"Easily, Ms. Granger," Madame Pomfrey agreed with a smile.

"If it wasn't food, could you purge it from his system and keep him from eating anymore of it?" Hermione persisted.

"What do you want, Hermione?" Harry sighed.

"You are going to stop thinking of plans that have a high likelihood of giving you permanent brain damage or killing you, Harry Potter," Hermione said firmly. "That doesn't mean plans that result in maiming are okay either," she added, cutting off his response.

"I think you will find your next stay in the hospital wing most unpleasant if you don't cease this foolish behavior, Mr. Potter," Madame Pomfrey said sternly.

"Perhaps you should listen to them, Harry," Dumbledore added.

"I'm not trying to find ways to hurt myself," Harry said quickly. "I'm also not willing to set aside potentially useful plans because they're a bit risky."

"Death isn't something to chase after, Harry James Potter!" Hermione growled.

"Shouldn't run away from it either," Harry replied. He put a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. "I'm not looking for ways to hurt myself, Hermione, but sometimes there's no way to avoid it."

"Damn you, Harry!" the girl sobbed.

"Would you two mind waiting outside for a bit?" Harry asked the two staff members.

"Not at all, Mr. Potter," Poppy replied. Her last sight before hustling the old man out of the room was the boy pulling the crying witch into a tender hug.

"That did not go as planned," Dumbledore stated.

"I blame you for going along with his foolish plan, Albus," Poppy snipped. "What were you thinking?"

"That I knew of only three ways to deal with the soul fragment in Harry's scar and that of the three only one of them seemed as if it could be used as the basis of a medical procedure," Albus replied.

"You didn't think to consult a medical professional?" Poppy asked, incensed.

"I rather thought that was the reason for your visit today," the old man said.

"He's too young to be like this, Albus," Poppy sighed.

"I had sought to give him a normal childhood," Dumbledore said, sounding very old. "It seems I failed." A treacherous thought pointing out the fact that no normal boy could ever hope to stand against Voldemort sprang to the forefront of his mind. Perhaps it had been behind some of the many mistakes he'd made in regards to the boy's upbringing. He feared he'd have a lot to answer to when he met James and Lily on the other side.

The door opened to reveal a serious looking Harry Potter.

"It may be best if we were to continue our conversation at a later date," Dumbledore said, spying the expression on the girl's face over Harry's shoulder.

"If you like," Harry agreed. "If you have the time or the resources, it may be a good idea to find ways to remove fragments from inanimate objects without harming them as well."

"What sort of objects?" Dumbledore asked.

"The priceless sort," Harry replied. "I also have another possible way to remove the fragment."

"What is it, Mr. Potter?" Madame Pomfrey demanded.

"Not the sort that can be replicated in the hospital wing and also not the sort I'd like to try except as a last resort," Harry replied.

"The reason why Ms. Granger is looking so unhappy, I trust?" Dumbledore asked.

"One of them," Harry agreed. "I'll tell you more when you need to know. Good day, Professors." Without waiting for a reply, the boy closed the door.

The school healer fixed her boss with a glare. "It's good he has at least one person in his life willing to curb his self destructive tendencies."

"I agree," Dumbledore said with a grin. "Shall we go, Poppy?"

Driven by her desire to stop her patient and her employer from thinking up any more potentially fatal medical techniques of questionable utility, Poppy wasted no time in bringing in an outside specialist.

The person she brought in was a pale blonde woman of about thirty who said she'd spent most of her adult life as a field medic on curse breaking teams all over the world.

"Poppy told me what you two came up with," the woman said flatly, brushing a strand of brown hair out of her eyes. "You." She pointed at Harry. "I'm willing to forgive, seeing as how you're a teenage boy and how teenage boys are not known for their good sense. You." She pointed at Dumbledore. "Are supposed to be old enough to know better. If either of you want to try practicing medicine again, do me the service of becoming healers first."

"I assure you that . . ." Dumbledore trailed off, wincing at the glare the woman shot him.

"Of course, Healer," Harry agreed. "I'm afraid my hormones must have gotten in the way last time. You know how us teenage boys get, especially when they spend time around pretty young girls such as yourself."

A soft snort escaped the woman's lips as she leaned forward to examine his scar. Several seconds went by, her frown deepening further and further.

"Is something wrong?" Hermione asked, unable to contain herself.

"Who was the idiot that came up with the idea that this was a soul fragment?" the woman demanded.

"It isn't?" Harry asked. Another piece of information wrong, he mused. Though, come to think of it, had the books ever explicitly stated that it was a piece of the dark idiot or had everyone just assumed? One of the circumstances in which a perfect memory would be an advantage, still didn't outweigh all the times it would make his life a living hell.

"No," she said flatly. "Well?"

"Alas, I'm afraid that was me again," Dumbledore admitted.

"Stick to Alchemy and Transfiguration," she ordered. "Leave the rest of it to people that have functioning brains." She shook her head in disgust. "You never even thought to bring in a professional?"

"Until Poppy found you, I wasn't aware that a professional existed," Dumbledore replied.

"Who came up with the Phoenix tears idea?" she asked, pulling out a pad of paper and scribbling a few notes.

"I did," Hermione said. "I was trying to keep them from doing something stupid."

"Good, and it's a good one. Glad to see that someone around here besides Poppy has a lick of sense." She went back to her notes.

"Will it be a problem to remove the connection between Harry and Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked.

"Easy to do," the woman said absently. "Bit harder to do without turning him into a vegetable, but I think we'll be able to manage." She put her pen away, ripped out the now full page, and handed it to her colleague. "Take a look and tell me what you think, I'll have Weasley double check me on the curse breaking parts."

"May I have a look?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"You're a healer or a curse breaker?" the woman asked neutrally.

"No, but I am studying both fields and I'd like to take a look to see how much I can understand," Hermione replied.

"Sure, kid," the woman agreed. "Happy to help the education of the only one around here with any sense."

"To be fair, I came up with the idea of using basilisk venom during one of our workouts," Harry admitted. "That's when Hermione, Tonks, and myself spend time in the gym jumping rope."

"Describe this Tonks for me," the woman asked, lips twitching up.

"Quite pretty, pink hair, uh . . . healthy." Harry licked his lips. "Very healthy."

"You're forgiven," the woman laughed. "Just don't let it happen again."

"I'll stick to my field," Harry promised.

"Which is?"

"The opposite of yours," Harry replied with an innocent smile. Everyone had something they were good at, he wasn't sure if he should be happy he'd found his or disappointed it wasn't something else. Happy, he decided after a few moments of contemplation. As nice as it would be to have a good singing voice, perfect pitch would do little to put Voldemort in the ground.

Bill arrived a few minutes after he was summoned and, after being briefed, was eager to pour over the new healer's notes.

"Hold up a bit after you're done please, Bill," Harry said before the man lost himself in blissful research. "I've got a couple questions for you."

"Sure thing, Harry," Bill agreed.

The eldest Weasley brother spent the next hour checking and rechecking the equations the healer's theories and two more checking Harry's scar and making notes of his own before he was satisfied.

"What do you think, William?" Dumbledore asked, having arrived somewhere between hour two and hour three.

"I think Martha has a workable plan," Bill said, a trace of enthusiasm coloring his voice.

"Martha?" Dumbledore prompted.

"The healer you brought in, you didn't know her name?" Bill said, eyebrows knitting together.

"She was so busy insulting me for encroaching on her field of study that I never got a chance to ask," the Headmaster admitted.

"She can get a bit touchy," Bill agreed. "If you see her before I do, tell her I want a chance to observe the procedure."

"I shall," Dumbledore agreed. "Thank you for your time, William."

"Happy to give it," Bill replied. His duty to the Order done, the cursebreaker set out to find Harry to find out what the boy wanted.

"You said you had a couple questions for me, Harry?" Bill prompted, having found the boy in the library.

"I need to talk with you about the goblins," Harry said.

"What do you need to know?" Bill asked.

"If I knew about a dark artifact stored in Gringotts, something really nasty, what would the goblins do if I told them?" Harry asked.

"Probably nothing," Bill replied. "Depends on how nasty we're talking about."

"A piece of Voldemort's soul," Harry said.

Bill looked as if he'd been slapped. "You have first hand knowledge of such a thing stored at Gringotts?"

"How would the goblins react if they found out?" Harry persisted.

"I have to go report this conversation to my boss," Bill announced. "I'm sorry, Harry, but the oaths don't let me keep this to myself."

"What will happen after that?"

"It's not in any vault you control is it?" Bill asked hopefully.

"I haven't gone through the Black vault, but to the best of my knowledge, no vault I control or have access to contains any fragments of Voldemort's or anyone else's soul," Harry said quickly.

Bill sighed in relief. "That's something. To answer your question, I don't know but you will soon be contacted by a Gringotts representative that can answer your questions. Sorry, Harry."

"It's okay, Bill," Harry said. "When will they contact me?"

"Wish I could tell you, Harry," Bill said over his shoulder as he walked out of the room.

AN: Figured I may as well toss this into the world after I got the below. Still working on this fic, just not a priority until I get a couple others finished.

Omake/ Alternate Universe for "Odd Ideas: Halloween Echoes" by OrianD'Cate

Omake/ Alternate Universe for "Odd Ideas: Halloween Echoes"

Basically, an alternate world where Harry's host was Dean Winchester from Supernatural instead.

TITLE: BOOGEYMAN, WON'T YOU COME FOR ME

His eyes flew open.

The ceiling was the wrong color.

No, wait…right color. Wrong ceiling. Looked like things were back to normal, then.

A flash of pain stabbed through his arm.

Well, almost normal.

He ran his fingers over the burned skin. He didn't need to be able to see to know what he'd brought back with him from the other side. So, the Mark could cross worlds. Would've been nice to know beforehand. Then again, it's not like it would've changed anything. It wasn't exactly like he'd planned things this way.

He hissed as the headache he'd woken up with intensified. Integrating two separate sets of memories into one brain tended to have that effect.

The pain receded just enough for him to resume his earlier train of thought. So, he had the Mark. Did that mean his host had lost it? He certainly hoped so; guy had enough on his plate as it was. And having two Marks running around loose wasn't exactly his idea of a good time. On the bright side, he was pretty darn sure there wasn't a First Blade in this reality; meant the odds of him becoming a psychotic murderer were a whole lot lower. Unless of course the Elder Wand counted as this reality's version. Or the whole "becoming a demon" thing happened on its own if you got killed. Something that looked increasingly likely considering what he'd learned.

He frowned. What exactly had he learned?

The prophecy…the Department of Mysteries…Umbridge…Sirius…

He sucked in his breath and held on for dear life as the new memories burned their way through his mind. That settled it; next time he saw Crowley, he was definitely shanking the dude. Not killing him; much as he hated to admit it, they still needed the smug bastard. Or, at least, his host's family did.

As if his life wasn't confusing enough already.

First things first. Although not necessarily in that order.

A psychotic killer he might not be, but one doesn't spend any amount of time in a hunter's head without picking up at least some new morals. Morals that would finally allow his conscience to permit what he'd been dreaming of for as long as he could remember.

He slowly forced himself out of the bed and onto his feet. If there's one thing the Dursleys failed to count on, it was him waking up with the knowledge of how to pick locks….

His first stop was the kitchen. Deboning knife was good for slicing, not so much for stabbing. He needed something multipurpose. Paring knife would work well enough for now…after he took care of business, he'd grab a few things from the garage.

He crept back up the stairs, making sure to stomp a few times on the squeaky board in the middle. The one Vernon had explicitly stated would get him killed if he did it again.

Sure enough, he could hear the tub of lard clomping his direction from the opposite end of the hallway. Now, to wait for him to pass the bathroom, and then…

SHUNK.

From behind, through the windpipe and artery. Not clean, but quiet. Now, for the giraffe…

Same thing for her, only from the front. He left her body still tangled up in the sheets…it wasn't like he'd be needing to move it. The whale, he'd leave for later if Plan A failed. Down to the garage, and then to the garden tools. No machete, unfortunately, but he supposed the brush axe was just as good. Gave him a bit more leverage, too; something he was desperately in need of considering just how much weaker he was than his host had been.

Now, where did Vernon stash all those propane tanks for his new gas grill…

He'd forgotten just how heavy those things were. And how very hard it was to move them quietly. He'd dropped one on his foot and had to cover his mouth to keep from swearing. The longer the beast upstairs stayed asleep, the better. But in the end, he'd gotten all of them set up in a line from the front door to the gas water heater. Chain reaction. At least, he hoped that was what would happen.

And to set it off…Vernon still had those things from Petunia's dad, didn't he? Things that should've been his, considering he was the only one with any reason to use them. Yep, still hidden in the closet. One German officer's dagger (not a Bowie or Sykes and Fairbairn, but it would do), and one German 8mm Mauser with sniper scope. Much better than those stupid Lee-Enfields in .303, anyways. Germans always made the best stuff.

Wand, check. Invisibility Cloak, check (he was definitely being more careful with the thing now that he knew what it actually was. And why Dumbledore had kept it). Broom, hell no. He already knew for a fact the chances of him getting to play Quidditch this year were slim to none, and added on top of that his newly acquired fear of heights (thanks a lot), he had more important things to worry about. Such as packing light enough to actually walk around. The rifle was pushing things, but sometimes you just needed something a little more precise than a wand at long range. The trunk, he was leaving; the books in it could all be replaced. Hedwig's cage...as much as he'd like to be sentimental, now wasn't the time.

"Sorry, old girl. But this whole place is on my list, and I gotta make things look convincing. Head to London; I'll be waiting at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. If I'm not, Sirius'll take care of you. Don't let anyone else come near you; my list of people I trust is getting incredibly short."

Hedwig looked at him, hooted once softly, and then took off through the open window.

Now, for the grand finale.

He paused at the back door just long enough to whisper back into the darkened house, "I do not consider this place my home".

To his utter amazement, he could actually feel the magic disintegrating. Huh. Looked like luck was on the whale's side tonight. That is, if he survived what was coming.

Doing his best not to clank, he crept through what little cover he could find, until he found a good enough spot to set up and watch the front of the house. With a perfect shot on the first propane tank.

No sooner had he settled the rifle into place than he heard the distinctive 'pop' of Apparition. Now, to see if they were Order or Death Eaters…

Never mind. It was both. He'd recognize that greasy black hair anywhere.

Oh, he was gonna enjoy this.

Shame the bastard was alone; he wouldn't have minded getting either Fletcher or another Death Wanker with him. But as the Man in Black used to say, "Get used to disappointment".

Any doubts he'd had about letting the man live in favor of waiting for more people to show evaporated the second he used a Reducto on the front door. Great, now all that hard work he'd put into making sure he wouldn't be written up for underage magic was wasted. It had been personal before, but now it was just good business.

"Give my regards to Crowley, Snivellus."

BANG!

KABLOOM!

Chain reaction.

He took it back; luck was most definitely not on the whale's side tonight.

He slung the rifle up on his shoulder, and stuck out his wand.

SCREEEEEEE!

"Where to, Mr. Potter?"

"Grimmauld Place, Stan. And here's some spare change in case you have any Butterbeer laying around."

"I think Ernie's got some in the back. But you probably shouldn't be drinking it while we're driving."

"Wasn't planning on it."

He'd rather drink the good stuff, anyway. He just wanted to find out if there were alternative, legally acquirable ways to make some Molotov cocktails.

About three bangs and two minutes later, they arrived.

Huh. Turns out reading the Secret in a book totally counted for the spell.

He marched up to the front door of Number Twelve, and knocked four times.

The door swung open to reveal…

"Hiya Tonks."

"HARRY! What in Merlin's name are you doing here? And how in Merlin's name did you know about it?"

"I've got Sirius for a dog-father, Tonks. Figure it out. Also, I should probably point out that's not the only Secret he's told me, if you know what I mean. So, are you gonna let me in, or are you gonna try and send me back to the now flambeed remains of my summer prison?"

"Flambeed? What…?"

"Whaddya think, Tonks. Death Eaters. So much for a nice, quiet summer."

"…You better come in, then. Dumbledore just called an emergency meeting. Probably about you."

He snorted. "I'll bet he did. About ten minutes too late. Typical Dumbledore. Lead on, oh buxom and bodacious Auror."

"Call me that again, Harry, and I'll be forced to do something incredibly unpleasant to you."

"As you wish."

"How'd you know my name, anyway? Don't think we've ever been introduced…"

"Like I said, figure it out. Might as well call me a Lannister; I drink, and I know things."

Tonks' eyes lit up. "Drinking underage already, eh Harry? I'll bet Sirius'll be happy to hear that."

"Probably. But I don't plan on telling him 'til I know for a fact I can drink him under the table. Easy way to sucker him into a bet."

Tonks laughed. "That'll teach the old dog." She gave him a calculating look. "You're not at all what I expected, Harry."

"So everybody tells me."

The door swung open to reveal practically the entirety of the Order, with Dumbledore seated at the head of the table. Practically every eye in the room tracked him as he casually swaggered down to the opposite end, plonked his rifle down on the table, and then sat in the only remaining empty chair. Probably Tonks'; he'd make it up to her later.

Dumbledore's voice seemed to fill the entire room. "…Would you mind telling us exactly how you found this place, Harry? And why is it you're now carrying Muggle firearms?"

"Why yes, yes I would."

Nobody said anything as he pulled out his new-old dagger and began cleaning it. He'd already cleaned the paring knife beforehand; no sense in drawing attention to that.

"…Harry, I really must insist."

"Insist away. I ain't telling you crap. And before you get any ideas about reading my mind, I've already taken care of that particular problem. Seeing things through Moldy-short's eyes was a great motivator to learn."

"…And just what did you see through Voldemort's eyes, Harry."

"Oh, lots of things. Like your pet Death Eater not only giving up the location of my home, but the location of this cozy little shack as well. Shame he's never gonna get the chance to pass on anything else."

The room erupted at his declaration. Sure, it was a lie, but it wasn't like there was a chance in Hell of him ever telling them the truth.

The chaos abruptly ceased when Dumbledore let off a cannon blast from his wand. "For the last time, Harry. What. Have you. Done."

"Nothing much; just cleared out before all those pesky Death Eaters descended. Oh, and stuck around long enough to see Voldemort express his extreme displeasure with Snivellus that I wasn't in. Which reminds me; I'll probably be getting another rigged accusation of underage magic soon, so I should probably be looking into some lawyers. Maybe Ted Tonks…"

As his sentence trailed off, he finally noticed exactly why he hadn't referred to it as the whole Order in his head. Fletcher was missing. And even more worryingly, so was Sirius. If that miserable mango monkey in a beard had done anything to him…

Dumbledore visually relaxed. "Yes, I believe Ted Tonks would be suitable. So long as you didn't use any magic to defend yourself…"

"I didn't use any magic…"

Dumbledore smiled. "Then I believe the matter will be easily resolved."

He cleared his throat. "I wasn't finished. As I was saying, I didn't use any magic to fight. I did, however, use this here beauty." He patted the Mauser. "As well as a couple other things."

Dumbledore's face turned gray. "Harry. Please tell me you haven't killed someone."

"Someone? No. Some three? Definitely."

Everyone's breath seemed to catch in their throat.

"Relax; Voldemort had his minions haul off the bodies afterwards, so it's not like they can charge me in court. And it was the least I could do, considering what the did to my relatives."

More lies. Yet another moral he'd picked up from his host. Whether that was good or not, he'd have to wait and see.

Molly Weasley opened her mouth (probably to berate Harry and everyone responsible for watching him)…

And then fell silent as Sirius Black stormed into the room.

Well, that answered one question.

"Fletcher's scuppered. Seems he was asleep on duty; must've split when he woke up and saw the fire. You sure know how to pick 'em, Albus."

Aaaaaaaand that answered the other.

Dumbledore paled even further. "Anyone else?"

Sirius smirked. "Place was burning like downstairs when I got there; only other body I could find was the rather unrecognizable form of your ex-Potions Master."

A voice Harry couldn't place piped up. "If he was unrecognizable, how'd you know it was him?"

Sirius scoffed. "Who else do you know that would die with a sneer on their face, even as they're being burned alive? Seems someone threw him directly into the fire, and he somehow managed to crawl halfway out again before he finally kicked the bucket. No great loss. But there's fixing to be one, if someone doesn't tell me where Harry is, right bloody now."

He couldn't resist. "How bout I show you instead, Padfoot?"

"HARRY!"

"Padfoot, I swear to Merlin, if you make this a chick flick moment…"

Sirius swaggered over and draped his arm over the back of Harry's chair. "Now why would such a manly being as I ever consider such an act?"

"I'd rather not answer that question. Now, would you mind telling this lot to clear out? Seeing as how this emergency meeting isn't actually about an emergency anymore?"

Sirius shrugged. "You heard the Cub; clear out!"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Now Sirius…"

"NOW! Don't think I'm under any misapprehensions about exactly how Harry got here, and why he had to do everything under his own power, again. One of you lot stands up to old Moldy-shorts three times and survives, then I'll consider taking your orders over his."

In the end, the only four people left in the room were Harry, Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore. With one last look that was probably supposed to be threatening, Albus came as close to stomping out of the room as he was physically able.

Remus sighed. "Harry, you have to realize…"

"That apparently outside of Sirius, Hagrid, maybe Tonks, and myself, no one has my best interests at heart? Damn straight."

Remus didn't stop. "Harry, your friends…"

"I'm sorry, my what now? Did you mean the two individuals that I assume you're referring to who decided to dump me on Dumbledore's orders? Or were you talking about yourself, the person who took Dumbledore's word as gospel and never so much as checked on me once in eleven years?"

This time, Remus did stop.

"…Thought so. Now, if you don't mind, I believe Sirius and I have some catching up to do."

And with that, he swung his rifle back up off the table, and stalked out, leaving the werewolf to stew in his own thoughts.

"…Why'd you have to go and say that to Moony, Cub?"

"Because the sooner he gets his head out of his ass and stops feeling sorry for himself, the sooner he'll realize that Dumbledore's been playing him since his first year at Hogwarts. Or did you never notice how Hogwarts' got its very first werewolf student just as the Dark were starting their creature recruitment campaigns?"

"…Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Now, if you wouldn't mind, there's quite a lot of research I need to do, and since I apparently can't count on Hermione for that anymore, it's gonna take forever. In the meantime, if you wouldn't mind giving Ted Tonks a Floo, I'd appreciate it."

"Ted? What on earth would you need a lawyer for?"

He slapped his forehead. "Right; you missed that bit. Apparently, old Voldy decided it would be just fine and dandy to do magic right on my front lawn."

Sirius' face twisted into an expression of hard thinking. "…Underage magic laws?"

"Ding, ding, ding."

"I'll get right on it, pup."

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Name it."

"Know anywhere I can get a tattoo? Found one that'll keep the Dork Lard, or pretty much anything else, from possessing me."

"…You want a tattoo."

"Yup."

"You, as in, my godson, Harry Potter, wants a tattoo."

"Well, more need than want, but…"

Sirius pumped his fist in the air. "MY GODSON IS SO MANLY!"

"…Are you done yet?"

"…Yeah, okay, I'm done. Tattoo's easy; can do it myself. Did it enough back in my Marauder days; was a good way to make some coin off the bad boys in school. I'll call Ted, then grab what we need."

"We?"

"You didn't think I was gonna let my godson get a life-saving tattoo all by himself, did you?"

"Fair point. I'll be in the library, reading."

"Got it. Oh, and try and stay away from the books on the top left shelf. Some of 'em can and will cause you serious hurt."

"To my body, or my soul?"

Sirius shrugged. "What's the difference?"

He absent-mindedly dug his fingers into the Mark. "You'd be surprised. You know what, forget I asked. I'll just avoid all of 'em."

"Good. Back soon."

He watched the form of his dog-father bound away, and then turned back to the library door with a sigh. "As if I didn't have to do enough of this on the other side…"

PART TWO OF SUPERNATURAL "HALLOWEEN ECHOES" AU: EVERYBODY WANTS TO GO TO HEAVEN

"Bless my soul, my time is coming.

Oh Lord, gonna bury me alive;

Cause everybody wants to go to Heaven,

But nobody ever wants to die."

- "Reaper" by Silvreberg

The very first thing he did was haul out any and all books that contained so much as a footnote about the Trace. He may not be forced to defend himself this time round, but damned if he wasn't gonna find each and every way he could to wiggle around that stupid blasted annoyance.

Once he'd done that, he settled down to actually go looking through his newfound material for said ways. The Black library being the Black library, his search took him a grand total of half-an-hour to actually complete. As he'd thought; Muggle neighborhoods were the target, not the actual wands sold to students. Made things blasted difficult for anyone who wasn't a Pureblood, all things considered. And even if some random tosser was caught "defending himself against some bloodthirsty Muggles", student or not, all it would take was a few bribes and the bugger would be off scott free.

That the Blacks had kept a list of the best people to go to for said bribes tucked between the pages of one of his unearthed references was more than he could've hoped for. Sure, it was probably outdated, but at the very least, it gave him somewhere to start if his lawyer couldn't find a way to get him off legally.

Still, it was always a good idea to test things before actually relying on them for the real thing. He held his wand out in his palm, and softly whispered "Point Me West."

Slowly, his wand spun to orient itself in the indicated direction.

Too slowly.

He sighed. He'd been afraid of that; his wand wasn't really attuned to him anymore. Whether that was more the fault of the Mark, or just having nearly thirty years of somebody else's life jammed inside his head, he didn't know. And he really didn't care to find out; the end result was the same. Looked like he was gonna have to add a trip to Ollivander's to his Diagon Alley "To Do" list. And who knows? Maybe all those online quizzes his host had taken on "Which Harry Potter Character's Wand Would You Wield?" would pay off, if his new wand materials gave any indication about the cause of his problem one way or the other.

It probably would've been a good idea to grab a second wand anyway; the phoenix feather one to keep old Voldemort locked in place, and the other one to actually nail the bastard. Not to mention he probably needed to tell Ollivander about the Priori Incantatem; the less the Dork Lard could wring from him about the Elder Wand, the better.

That matter settled, he turned his attention to something almost, if not just as, important: magical contracts. Occlumency was all well and good, til someone let something slip after one too many drinks. Of whiskey, or Veritaserum; take your pick. Outcome was the same either way. If he could dig up a good enough contract outline, then maybe, just maybe, he might actually be able to let other people besides Sirius in on some of what he now knew. Hermione was a possible; Ron was not. Tonks, maybe…depended on what Mad-Eye's opinion was on Dumbledore. Whatever it was, odds were he'd passed it on to his latest apprentice. Luna was a definite; odds of anyone ever taking something she said seriously were pretty much zero, not to mention the pain they'd be in for if anyone got the bright idea to go poking around in her mind. Neville, possible. Mad-Eye himself, also possible. Remus, no; Albus, no; Fred and George, big, big, "if". They did owe him for their shop, after all. It depended on how loyal they were to the rest of their family.

Bingo; jackpot. He began copying the contract down on some parchment he'd pulled off the shelf. Man, but he loved the Blacks. Well, some of them, anyway.

Which reminded him, he really needed to do something about that crappy shouting picture. And said crazy lady's House Elf. If Kreacher didn't come around to his way of thinking after he took care of the Locket, then he was gonna go with Sirius' suggestion to add him to the Display Wall. Permanently.

Continuing his train of thought on House Elves, he should probably see if he could call on Dobby. Where nobody else was liable to notice him, of course. Just because he was a Win…A Potter, didn't mean he couldn't be sneaky. Damn, but it was gonna be awhile before he stopped doing that.

Right; Dobby. There were quite a few things he needed to grab in Knockturn Alley, and having a fanatically loyal House Elf on call would be awesome. Especially if he introduced the little guy to blunt weaponry. He got the feeling that if he offered Dobby the opportunity to remove a pair of rather important somethings from his last master using a rusty mace, the Elf would probably swear undying fealty or something like that.

One more thing that spending any amount of time in a hunter's head also tended to do was grant an excellent sense of when you were being snuck up on.

Not that Dumbledore was all that capable of being sneaky in the first place; come on, have you seen what the guy wears? Sides, it was kinda hard to be taken by surprise when they literally walked up to you and waited for you to notice how their shadow was blocking your reading light.

"Something I can help you with, Headmaster?"

Now, to be fair, Dumbledore's always been far better at sounding dangerous than looking the part. Unfortunately, the effect was kinda ruined once you went toe-to-toe with something that actually managed to pull off both scary looking and sounding at the exact same time. Like oh, say, a Knight of Hell, for instance. And as bad as Dumbledore was, there was no way on Earth he could ever top something like that. That being said, his voice was still perfectly capable of convincing you it could freeze Fiendfyre.

"Was it true, Harry."

Right, time to play things cool. "Was what true? You're gonna have to be a bit more specific than that."

"What you said about Severus. Was it true."

He shrugged. "Does it matter? Voldemort would've come for me sooner or later; or did you conveniently overlook the fact that those infamous blood wards lost their market value the moment he used my blood to resurrect himself? All he needed to do was have Lucius Malfoy traipse into the Ministry, pull my address from the Underage Magic office, and wham-bam-shang-a-lang, you got another kid's death on your conscience."

Or a (yet again) disembodied Dark Lord. Two outcomes Dumbledore probably would have been just fine with, seeing as how one way bought him time to plan (not do), and the other voided that blasted prophecy altogether.

Dumbledore's grating condescension pulled him from that particular line of thinking. "My dear boy, I was quite confident that your mother's sacrifice would still serve to protect you, even…"

"Even with a horde of Death Eaters coming down like an Armageddon flame? Awful trusting of you. Fortunately, I've seen enough in my life to know that it's never a good idea to trust anyone. Whether or not they actually have your best interests at heart."

"…You've changed, Harry."

"Not that much. Or did you forget how I wanted nothing to do with authority when I went to save Flamel's Stone from your ridiculous attempts to protect it? And however much further I've gone down that road you can lay solely on what I was forced to go through last year. And the year before that. And the year before…look; I got a lotta work to do, and not much time to do it. So, if you actually plan to get anywhere with your blathering, you're gonna have to start talking to me like an equal. Which means you sit, hands on the table, and you hand over your wand for the duration. I will, of course, do the same."

"…Must we?"

"You want any chance in Hell if me answering so much as even one of your brain-dead questions? Then yeah."

Dumbledore gave a theatrical sigh, drew the Elder Wand from his robes, and placed it on the table. Harry raised his own from where it had been sitting on his lap, and did the same.

The chair gave an almighty creak as Dumbledore sank into it. "Now, my boy: Severus."

"Snape."

"Severus."

"Snape. Someone refuses to use my first name, I do the same to them on principle, dead or not."

"…Very well. Was Professor Snape truly the one who gave up your location to Tom?"

"Honestly? No idea. Seems like the sort of thing he'd do; he was certainly clever enough to realize just how easy it would be for Voldemort to do what I said he could. And then to cut out the middleman and blab before Riddle figured out the same. If the blood wards held, he could have claimed he was securing his position as the Dark Lord's spy. And if they didn't…I suppose he could've blamed you for assuring him the things would stay up, even with Riddle's resurrection. Does seem kinda odd to you, though, doesn't it? That of all the people to get there first, it was him, when I know for a fact you didn't send him."

"And how would you know that, Harry?"

"You're many things, Headmaster, but stupid enough to send Snape and Sirius to the same place, you are not."

"…I see your point."

"Oh, and I'm still pissed you decided to send the one member of your flaming chicken club that still has a kill-on-sight order hanging over his head."

"I'm afraid he insisted, my boy. He said that he had left you in the lurch once before, and that he would be cursed before he did the same twice."

"…Sounds sus, but okay. Getting back on topic; Snape was the first wizard I actually saw. Whether or not he was hoping to warn me away before anyone else arrived, or was planning to take out a little payback of his own before everyone else wanted in, I can't say. What I can say, is that given the circumstances, odds are pretty high that Death Eaters were watching the house. And like I said, there's only two ways that Riddle could've gotten that information."

"…But you did not personally witness Professor Snape reveal your location?"

"Of my house? No. Of this old place? Yep."

Yet more lies. I wanted Dumbledore questioning each and every word that had ever come out of Snape's mouth.

"And you are quite certain that it was not a false vision Tom allowed you to see, in order to cast doubts on Severus' loyalty?"

"Snape's loyalty, and nope. Only false vision I saw was one for some random door in the Ministry. Also, can I just point out, if you're trying to keep something secret, posting a guard ain't exactly being low-key, you know what I mean?"

Dumbledore went extremely pale. "So…Tom knows."

"Knows? I'll say he does. If I were you, I'd move whatever's behind that door somewhere else, and maybe set a trap for when he inevitably decides to try something stupid like send his snake down there."

"…I will make a note of it."

Translation: stalling tactics.

"So, yeah, pretty sure Riddle knows about this place. Hell, he probably visited once or twice, back in the days when there was more of a Black family for him to court, and when he actually had, you know, a nose."

"…Once again, you have brought an important matter to my attention, my boy. I shall have to make inquiries into better protections; it seems we cannot rely on secrecy as much as we had hoped."

"No crap, Sherlock. At the very least, owl post can probably still get through. One exploding letter is all it would take to give everyone here a very bad day. Now, I'm sure you've got a hell of a lot more questions, and so do I, for that matter. But for now, I ain't trusting you nor anybody else with any more secrets til I get this here contract done. I'd rather not be forced to admit in court that I helped Sirius escape execution, if you know what I mean."

Not my primary motivation, but a good one, nonetheless.

"I completely understand, my boy. I shall return once you have finished with your work."

"…That's it? No remonstrations about killing Death Eaters, no slap on the wrist for resorting to violence, no speeches about how you need to know everything for the Greater Good?"

"Would any of that have any effect on you whatsoever, my boy?"

"…Touché. I'd tell you to write down a list of questions for me for later, but plausible deniability, and all that."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "And all that. Good night, Mr. Potter."

"Good night, Headmaster."

Harry waited for ten seconds past when the door closed behind Dumbledore before clearing his throat.

"You can come out now, Mad-Eye."

A ripple of fabric, and the form of the grizzled Auror came into view, a grin stretched over his face.

"How'd ye know it was me, lad?"

"Who else would go to the trouble of hiding under an Invisibility Cloak to listen in on a conversation instead of just peeking through the keyhole like a normal person?"

Mad-Eye laughed. "Got me there, son. Though I have to ask, just what you were thinking talking to old Albus unarmed? For all you know, he coulda been someone else under Polyjuice, or had a second wand, or Merlin knows what else."

Harry grinned. "Who says I was unarmed?"

He reached under the table…and pulled out the Mauser from where he'd stashed it. "People always forget that just because they can see your hands, doesn't mean you can't still hurt 'em. And it's ridiculously easy to pull a trigger with your foot, once you learn the trick to it."

"I'll try and keep that in mind, laddie. That's Albus accounted for; what was your plan for dealing with me if I wasn't who you thought I was?"

Sirius' voice came from the opposite end of the room. "That would be me, I believe."

Moody's eye whirled in its socket. "How did…ah. The wards. Noticed three people in the room where you thought only Harry was supposed to be, did you?"

"Something like that. Got all the stuff we need for the tattoos, Harry."

"Good. And Ted?"

"Ready, willing, and able. Says he'll do it for no charge, in fact. That it's the least he can do, considering."

"Nice of him."

Mad-Eye's attention was once more firmly fixed on Harry. "Did I hear right, that the pair of you are getting…tattoos?"

"Yep."

"Not magical ones, I hope. Can interfere with Polyjuice and…other things…if you aren't careful."

Harry snorted. "No, nothing magical about 'em. Except for what they do. And by other things, I take it you mean the Animagus transformation?"

"Got it on one, lad."

"Yeah, well, no danger of this messing up that. All it is is a little symbol designed to keep you from getting possessed, be it by ghost, spirit, or demon. Might even work to keep your soul from getting sucked out by a Dementor; who knows?"

Moody's eyes bugged out. Both of them. "All that, from a single tattoo? No magic involved?"

"None."

"…How much to get one of my own?"

Harry scratched his chin. "Hmmm…let's say, one trip to Diagon without Albus finding out, and maybe a handgun to carry instead of lugging a full-length rifle around everywhere I go. Preferably a Colt; Smith and Wesson or Sig Sauer if you…hold on, take that back."

Damn; he kept forgetting that all the good stuff hadn't been invented yet. And he wasn't about to start carrying around a Glock; Germans made good stuff, sure, but Glocks just had no personality whatsoever. Not like a Mauser, anyway.

"…Stick with the Colt, but if you can't find one in good condition, Browning Hi-Power or CZ-75 will do."

"Colt, Browning, CZ. Got it. Now…what's this tattoo look like?"

Harry flipped over a piece of parchment he'd been using for notes, and began to draw. "First, you're gonna need to make a circle. Then…"

Sirius rubbed his shoulder. "Always forget how much that hurts when you do it to yourself."

"Aw, quit whining, you big baby. You survived Azkaban; a little old needle can't be that much worse."

"You'd be surprised. Now, what other manly acts have you decided to undertake in order to prove yourself a true Marauder, worthy of your own Marauder name?"

"Well for one, I was planning on summoning a demon later."

Sirius ruffled his hair. "Har, har, very funny."

No need to tell him I was being serious. That joke got old the first time you heard it.

"But what I need to do first, is convince you to let me drive that sweet, sweet bike of yours downtown. I got some places to stop in Muggle London; things that'll make it a whole lot easier to do some pranking on both Moldy-shorts and the Order."

"You had me sold the minute you complimented my ride; but what's the catch?"

"The catch is, you have to come along with. It's just barely morning, and having a big, scary dog with you tends to scare off any potential muggers."

"Aw, my godson's not afraid of a few Muggles, is he?"

"Naw, I just don't wanna have to wash any blood outta my clothes after I take care of 'em."

"…Good point."

"Thought you'd see it my way. Well? You coming?"

"…In for a penny, in for a pound. Lead on, Prongs Junior."

"You have got to think up a better Marauder name than that."

"We see what your Animagus form is, then I'll change it."

"And how would one go about doing that, anyway? Hypothetically, of course."

Sirius grinned. "Well…"

"Somehow, I don't think normal Muggle dogs stare at magazines with that much concentration."

"WOOF!"

"Oh, don't give me that. C'mon, let's get out of here. I got what I came for."

Muggles; they were totally fine with throwing around that kind of magazine in public, but show 'em a copy of "Guns And Ammo", and then everyone loses their mind.

He stomped down on the clutch, and pulled the Triumph out into traffic.

"Right; I know you can't actually talk right now, but this is the perfect opportunity for me to explain some things to you without the risk of being overheard. Understand?"

A rather loud "WOOF!" came from the sidecar.

"Good. Now, one bark if yes, two if no. Is your Occlumency good enough to hold up to Dumbledore?'

"Woof!"

"Even better. Right; long story short, what actually happened last night was I went to bed, fell asleep, and at exactly twelve o'clock…woke up in a world at least twenty years ahead of our own."

Padfoot gave him the dog version of a "Sirius-ly?" look.

"Yes, seriously. And on top of that, it wasn't even my body I woke up in. Had to spend twenty-four hours walking around in someone else's head; like Polyjuice, but you get all the memories of the person you're copying. It was freaking weird, man."

"Woof!"

"You said it. So, during said twenty-four hours, I was a bit preoccupied fighting for my life during most of it (because when am I not), but I did manage to squeeze in enough downtime to do some digging on what happened in the past. Specifically, this past. And what I found was nothing but piles of crap."

"WOOF!"

"You're one to talk. So, because I can make a pretty good guess at what's coming, here's what we're gonna do. I got one more stop to make: whatever discount bookstore we can find that doesn't look like it has security cameras. Once we get there, I'm gonna need you to turn back human, and help me find a book series by the name of "Supernatural". If you find it, pay close attention to the author's name. if it's Carver Edlund, good. Come tell me, then clear out as fast as you can. Leave the keys to the bike with me. Get your ass to America, as sneakily as possible. Head for a town called Sioux Falls; place called Singer Salvage. Bobby's the owner; him you can trust. Tell him you're a hunter slash wizard, and that you can teach him some about British magic in exchange for a place to lay low for a bit. If Bobby's out on a hunt, Sheriff Jody Mills is trustworthy, but to be on the safe side, assume she doesn't know about magic."

"Woof?"

"If she's not married anymore, then sure."

"Woof?"

"if it's not Carver Edlund?...Well then I guess we're all screwed."

Padfoot looked down into the bottom of the sidecar. "Woof woof?"

"Trust me, rock salt is gonna come in real handy. Especially against Peeves. How's that for a first; bet the Marauders never managed to prank a poltergeist before, have they?"

"WOOF, WOOF!"

"Thought so. HEY! STAY OUTTA MY PIE!"

Sure enough, Carver Edlund.

Sirius had taken just enough time to say his goodbyes, and then Apparated away. There was absolutely no chance he wouldn't get into trouble in America, but it was better to have someone like Bobby around to drag him out by the tail.

Before he'd left, he had given up two very important things: control of the wards in Grimmauld Place…and the name of the best place to acquire Firewhiskey underage in Hogsmeade. Which was just awesome.

Harry swung himself over the handlebars of the Bonneville. "Hiya Buckbeak; long time no see."

The attic-dwelling Hippogriff barely looked up from where he was gnawing on an oversize bone.

"…Good talk."

Now; to find out whether or not he'd been missed.

"CONSTANT VIGIL-URK!"

Harry bent down to help the now collapsed Auror. "Geez, Mad-Eye! You trying to give me a heart attack?"

"You trying to break ma windpipe? Where'd you learn to do that, son?"

"A long time ago, in a neighborhood far, far away. Since you were waiting up here, I take it they noticed I was gone?"

Moody rubbed his throat. "Nah, just wanted to test your reflexes. And offer to trade you some hand-to-hand training for any more little tricks like that tattoo of yours. But looks like you already got some somewhere else."

"A bit. But I'll still take you up on the offer; gonna have to train eventually, and I'd rather do it with someone I can learn from. In return, I'll teach you how to make goofer dust."

"Goofer dust?"

"Hellhounds hate it. And it might be good for containing Fiendfyre; haven't had the chance to test it yet."

"Works for me. When do you wanna start?"

"How bout…tonight, after dinner. I got some things to take care of, then I plan to sleep through lunch. Think I been awake almost thirty-six hours by now."

Mad-Eye snorted. "Talk to me when you can go three whole days straight. Tonight, up here. Don't be late."

He couldn't resist. "A wizard is never late, Mister Moody. Nor is he early; he arrives precisely when he means to."

Mad-Eye laughed. "Dumbledore said that to me once, when he was three hours overdue for a meeting with the Minister. Glad to know he's passing his wisdom on."

Dumbledore read Lord of the Rings? Huh; who knew?

Although, now that he thought of it, that did beg the question of what would happen if one were to unironically call him Gandalf.

Probably nothing bad.

Probably.

He made his way downstairs, doing his best to avoid being seen. Invisibility Cloaks really were the greatest things ever invented.

He may not have left any incriminating evidence amongst his piles of study material in the library, but that didn't stop his heart from skipping a beat when he noticed just who was standing over it.

"Whaddya think, Hermione?"

"I don't know, Ron. When Dumbledore said it was an emergency, I was, I don't know, expecting Harry to be actually hurt or something."

"Can't blame you; guy has some of the worst luck in the world."

"Right. Which is why I'm…I'm confused he asked us both to come, when all it looks like Harry's done is decide to run from a direct fight for once, and finally buckle down and study something useful."

Well; that changed things.