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Author Notes:

Big, big warnings, for really frightening scenes and yes, character death. BYOT, BYOCuddleBuddies, and buckle up because this chapter marks the tipping point…

The gray and brown of mountain stone, illuminated with the wash of green light from Ginny's Slytherin jewel, gave way before the triple-loaded broomstick to the familiar walls and carpet of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Some part of him had been certain Voldemort's magic would override their own, trapping them in the tiny slice of world he'd sealed off with his wizardspace spell.

Or at least that he'd send more than one Death Eater after us…

He pushed the thought aside in favor of planting his feet to hold the broom still so that Ron could dismount with Hermione's help. Meghan was waiting, perched on the broad bed in the center of the room with her wand in readiness, and Neville stood a few steps behind her, his potion piece in his hands. Its tip was pointed at the floor for the moment, but Harry knew it would have come up onto target very quickly indeed if anything besides Neville's Pridemates had attempted to exit the snow globe.

And since most Shield Spells are magic-specific, they won't do anything about getting squirted in the face with a shot of knockout potion. Though if this war goes on much longer, the Death Eaters will start compensating for that, with all the Muggles who carry pieces now…

"Can I put this back the size it was?" Hermione asked, pointing at the snow globe. "It's scaring me."

"Please, go ahead." Harry swung his leg over the broom, leaving Ginny in sole control of it. "There's nothing left inside there we need. Right, Gin?"

Ginny ran her fingers across her pocket and nodded, and Hermione swirled her wand three times around the snow globe, which shrank rapidly back to its original proportions. When it sat on the carpet no higher than Harry's ankle, she bent and picked it up, setting it atop the chest of drawers, then turned to face Harry. "I'm sorry," she said without elaboration. "I was frustrated and tired and angry, and I let it get away with me."

"Like I've never done that." Harry grinned a little. "And usually you're the one smacking me upside the head and telling me to get over myself. I think we were overdue to swap roles."

"Probably." Hermione returned the smile, though it wavered oddly on her lips. "Pridemates, then?"

"Pack and Pride both," Harry agreed, frowning internally at the spike of pain through Hermione's scent at the first word spoken. "What's wrong, Neenie?"

"In a minute." Hermione raised her wand again and cast a Shield around the snow globe, adding a flourish or two which Harry recognized as making it a physical barrier along with a magical one. "Just a precaution," she said, sealing off her spell with a twist of her wrist. "Because I assume that—" She nodded towards the eagle-shaped brooch now lying on Ginny's palm. "—is what we're after?"

"I hope so." Ginny deposited the brooch on the metal tray Neville had just conjured at her feet. "Thanks, Captain. I'm not sensitive to them myself, but I'm not about to try that little performance all over again, so this had better be the genuine article."

Neville brushed a finger across the enameled surface of the brooch, then pulled his hand away rapidly. "That's it," he confirmed. "Not trying to criticize, Harry, but why didn't you kill it as soon as you had it?"

"Long story. But mainly I didn't want to do anything to it while we were still in there." Harry glanced back at the snow globe, sitting innocently on its wooden perch. "Like Hermione said, just a precaution. But we're back now. So." He drew his dagger and weighed it on his palm. "Ron, Ginny? You both took more hits in there than I did. Not to mention saving my life one time apiece."

"This sounds like a story we're going to have to hear once we're done here," said Neville, disarming and holstering his piece, as Ginny accepted the dagger from Harry and Ron wrapped his newly-healed hand around hers. Brother and sister knelt side by side, exchanged one fierce and flashing smile, then stabbed downwards with all their combined strength, plunging silver into bronze.

The Horcrux shrieked as the venom from Harry's dagger flooded it, tarnishing and twisting the metal, blistering the enamel like paint in hot sun.

Across from Harry, Meghan gasped, swinging her arm up to point. "Look, look!"

Harry turned to follow his sister's finger, and felt his heart shudder in his chest. The snow globe, too, was writhing and deforming, crumpling in on itself as though it were made of parchment rather than wood and glass. As he watched, it shrank down to the size of his fist, then disintegrated into a shower of splinters, in the same instant that the Horcrux behind him gave one last howl and stilled into a mass of mangled metal.

And if we'd still been in there with it—

"That's what I was afraid of," said Hermione shakily, sitting down on the edge of the bed and accepting Meghan's tight, shivering hug. "It's like the cavern by the sea that Kreacher told us about. Even if you found the Horcrux, even if you destroyed it, Voldemort would want to make sure you never got away. And even when you have…" She looked up at Harry, her eyes, her scent, the stillness of her posture as good as shouting she had news he wouldn't want to hear. "Moony's gone, Harry," she said quietly, Meghan's hand creeping across to clasp her free one. "He knew you were in trouble, and he went out to find Voldemort. To keep him distracted, pull his attention away from you. It's probably the reason you're alive."

Ginny paled and shut her eyes, relinquishing the dagger to Ron, who scowled and jabbed its tip repeatedly into the misshapen mess which had once been Rowena Ravenclaw's brooch, muttering under his breath the same curses he'd used to keep his mind off the pain of his broken arm. Neville met Harry's eyes levelly, his expression one of understanding, coupled with his readiness to hold things together if they could be held.

Though I'm not so sure about that. Harry nodded fractionally to his friend, then let his mind whirl away through its dizzying circle of thought. We survived one hard hit with Luna and Fox, but can we pull it back together after this? Can we still be a Pack without an alpha, and is the Pride going to make it without the Pack? And what's going to happen to Danger? It'll shatter Hermione if she loses both of them so soon after Fox, and I'm not so sure how well I'll do myself…

A tiny hitch in an indrawn breath pulled Harry out of his own head, and not, by the looks of things, a moment too soon. "Ginny," he said, softly, urgently, hurrying forward to her side, accepting his dagger from Ron and resheathing it mechanically before pulling her into his arms again. "Ginny, this isn't your fault. No more than it's mine. No more than it's anybody's except Voldemort's. Please, Gin, you've got to believe me."

"Trying," whispered Ginny against his shoulder. "I'm trying, Harry, I am." Her arms wrapped around him and held, and some of the shuddering through her chest eased. "But it's hard, it's so hard, when I started that spell off in the first place—"

"And then you came in after us and saved us," Ron interrupted, bringing Ginny's face around towards him. "Dolohov would've been hauling us in front of his bloody Master right now if not for you. Instead of which, we're alive, we're free, and we got away with the Horcrux, so there's only the snake left to kill before we can go after Voldemort his own self. And that's because of you, Ginny." He tugged on a bit of her hair, making her hiss between her teeth at him, but Harry could feel her breath smoothing out against his side. "That's what you did today."

After sticking out her tongue at Ron, Ginny leaned into Harry again, shutting her eyes with a little sigh. Harry held her close, letting his fingers tangle in her hair, releasing the warm floral scent he'd associated with her even before his Animagus abilities had sharpened his nose. On the bed, Meghan had her own eyes closed and her head resting against Hermione, their two chests rising and falling in tandem. Neville, who'd sat down on the other side of the bed, was only about a second off their rhythm, a difference which disappeared even as Harry watched.

Breathing together. Harry turned his attention inward, and found his own breath pattern matching itself to Ginny's without his mind having been consulted at all. Like we're about to do some big piece of magic. Something important, something necessary.

Now if I only knew what it was—

And then he did.

"I have to go in," he said, his voice drawing the Pride's eyes to him. "I have to be there too."

"Be where?" asked Meghan, sitting up. Then a little cry ripped out of her, and she sprang to her feet. "Harry, no!"

"Not like that!" Harry held up a hand, surprising himself with half a laugh. "Pearl, calm down! I'm not going to go dashing off anywhere trying any stupid, gallant rescues. I mean, if we could, if we had a gnome's chance in a jarvey's nest of making it out again, that'd be one thing, but we don't. We'd be throwing our lives away for nothing. But if Voldemort's that interested in Moony, there's got to be a reason why, and we ought to know what it is. And that I can do."

"How—" Hermione began, then cut herself off with a little noise of understanding. "Walking," she said, tapping her head. "You'll walk there, and you'll need as much magic as we can pull together to get you through the wards. There are sure to be some against ghosts and spirits, if they've guarded the Manor anywhere near as carefully as they should have."

"We are talking about Death Eaters, aren't we?" inquired Neville dryly, sparking a muffled snicker here and there around the room. "Being careful is not exactly their cup of tea. But there's something you will need to do, if you're going through with this," he said to Harry. "Stay out of sight, inside the walls if possible. There's someone at Malfoy Manor who can see you, and who probably wouldn't be smart enough anymore not to give you away."

Harry nodded wordlessly, feeling Ginny's silent growl reverberate through both of them at the thought of what had been done to Luna. It won't last much longer, he pledged mentally as the rest of the Pride started disposing themselves around the floor in whatever positions they found comfortable. We won't let it last.

Today is the twenty-ninth of October. Two days from now, we will have won this war.

No price that is honestly ours to pay can be too high for that.

Even if some of them feel an awful lot like it.


Remus looked up as the door to the small side chamber opened. The gray-robed young woman on its other side gave a little cry of pleasure and ran to him, her black cloak streaming out behind her. He had just enough time to stand up before she threw her arms around him. "Hello!" she crooned to him, hugging him tightly. "Hello, hello!"

"Hello to you too." Remus returned the embrace, and stroked a hand down Luna's hair. "It's nice to see you."

"Ah—" Luna pulled away as Remus's fingers left her hair to land on her cloak. "No," she said firmly, glaring at him. "No touching. No fire." A tiny, secret smile played across her lips. "Not yet."

"May I touch, if I promise not to use fire?" Remus asked, feeling Danger catalog the 'not yet' in the back of her mind for future investigation.

"All right." Luna unhooked her cloak and sat down on the floor, spreading it across her lap. "Finished," she said proudly, gesturing to it. "All finished!"

Kneeling beside her, Remus ran his fingers across the near-invisible figures crafted from black ribbon. Before long, he began to smile, and by the time he had finished, he was hard put not to grin like Moony the Marauder.

All finished, indeed, commented Danger. I think a certain set of stories may need some serious revision—pun fully intended.

I think they do. But… Remus looked up again at the second opening of the door. Not now.

Agreed. Danger withdrew, pulling so far back that Remus could barely sense her himself. I love you, came her last whisper, before her sense in his mind went almost totally quiescent.

"Starwing," said Lucius Malfoy coldly, standing framed in the doorway with his pointed features set and still. "Enough."

Luna scrambled immediately to her feet and fastened the cloak once more around her neck, then looked back at Remus with a smile. "See you again," she said, dropping a little curtsey, and skipped to the door, where Lucius moved aside to let her by.

"Await me here," he told her, pointing to a chair against the opposite wall. "And you, Pierson, you may go."

The Death Eater who had been keeping watch over Remus nodded hard and wasted no time vacating the room, leaving the two wizards alone as Lucius stepped into the room and shut the door. Remus got to his feet unhurriedly and found his balance, standing quietly, waiting. It was not his place to make the first move in this game.

"So," Lucius said at last. "The great Remus Lupin deigns to enter my humble home, for only the second time in his life. To what do we owe the honor?"

"To my overwhelming curiosity, let's say." Remus leaned back on one heel. "I could hardly stand not knowing why such an insignificant person as myself should be the subject of so much scrutiny by your lord and master, and finally it struck me that the simplest way of finding out was to question the source. So…" He shrugged. "Here I am."

"Insignificant." Lucius lingered over each syllable of the word. "How interesting. Albus Dumbledore's hand-chosen successor, the leader both of the Order of the Phoenix and of Harry Potter's beloved Pack, the only werewolf ever to have custody of a child granted to him, still considers himself insignificant."

"Some beliefs take a lifetime to alter." Remus thought he could have counted the threads in the weave of his robes under his fingers, so acute were his senses at this moment, and so fascinating the stories they were telling him. "Though truly, nothing you mentioned changes my significance very much. I took a strip from Albus's scroll and kept two of my closest colleagues well acquainted with the affairs of the Order, so either of them could step into my shoes there at a moment's notice. As for the other little items you brought up—my being an alpha, a friend, a husband and a father—"

"You dare speak that word in front of me." Lucius snarled, his mask of civilization dropping away to reveal the predator's face beneath. "You dare!"

Remus let his eyebrows ascend slowly, a warning to those who knew him that lines were very near being crossed. "I was unaware any daring was involved. Would you care to make yourself clearer?"

"Don't play the innocent with me." Lucius shoved over the chair the Death Eater called Pierson had been using, sending it clattering to the floor. "You may be able to salve your conscience that you never intended what occurred, you may even be able to disclaim responsibility for the act itself, but you, you, Remus Lupin, are still every inch responsible for what I have become." He slammed the sole of his foot into the chair, shoving it into the far wall of the room with a crash. "Does that give you a bit more to go on?"

"Not particularly—ah, wait." Remus held up a finger as the vague flicker of thought in the back of his mind coalesced into Danger's voice, murmuring information to him. "I think I do understand now. The idea that a werewolf who bit another, who infected and turned that person, was to be considered the new werewolf's 'sire'. I admit I've always considered that more a matter of tradition than any sort of magical bond between the two—certainly I never felt any filial urgings towards Fenrir Greyback…"

"You were bitten as a child, and immediately given a great many competing emotional cues, which overrode the establishment of the siring bond." Lucius spoke stiffly now, standing very still, as if he regretted his earlier outburst. "My own case was rather different. Can you imagine my experience, I wonder? Can you conceive of being torn out of the world you love and thrust into a living nightmare, changed against your will into something you loathe and despise, with nothing to do, day and night, but think bitterly about those who are responsible for that change? And now—to see you standing here—" He turned away, breathing through clenched teeth. "I could kill you," he said softly, his back to Remus. "We are alone. It would be easy."

"I doubt that." Remus circled to one side, setting his feet down gently, so as to make no sound. "Killing, even out of necessity, feeds the monster within, gives it new life." He allowed himself a small smile. "But then, I would imagine you know that already."

"Who better?" Lucius raised his head to face Remus, silver-gray eyes narrow and dark with a bitter, boundless fury. "I imagine you think it of me already, so let me set the record straight, here and now. With these two hands and the words of my mouth, I killed Draco Black, I destroyed Luna Lovegood. They are gone, vanished, beyond all human recalling. And I regret nothing. I would do the same again. Again and again, a hundred times or a thousand, I would make the same choices I have made already once. But you have no way to comprehend that, I'm sure." Without moving from his place, he managed to convey the impression of drawing back the hems of his robes. "You, who speak of monsters, cannot possibly understand what I am."

"You are a man." Remus spoke levelly, calmly, giving every word its due weight, keeping his eyes on the tall, slim wizard before him, hiding every trace of his well-worn grief. "A man who has chosen his own side in this war, in accordance with the principles of his heart, and who fights with his every weapon to ensure that side will win, no matter what the cost. That I understand perfectly. As for my son and his lady—" He had to stop and take a deep breath, to keep his voice from betraying him. "They were very young, but they entered this war with full knowledge of what they did and what they risked. I could never be anything other than proud of them."

"So sure." Lucius shifted his gaze to look over Remus's shoulder, his eyes unfocusing until he seemed to stare back through time. "So confident. What if I tell you that your unworthy child died whimpering in terror, begging me for mercy? That his last words were a curse upon you and your saintly wife, along with everything you stand for? Will your understanding, your certainty, your pride survive even that? And do not tell me I lie," he added before Remus could say anything. "My sins are many, but I have never found it necessary to tell falsehoods about my own flesh and blood."

"I believe you." Remus nodded slowly. "All I can say is that fear and pain do terrible things to people. Especially inflicted by those we ought to be able to trust."

"There speaks the father." Lucius sneered the familial title, imbuing it with contemptuous disgust. "There speaks the man who runs away from his children to protect them, who saves their bodies by mortally wounding their hearts. But what is this, waiting for him? Why, another cub for his Pack,here at the end of all things!" His harsh, brittle laughter echoed emptily from the stone walls, as Remus watched in silence.

"What shall this unworthy cub do for his father, his alpha?" asked Lucius thoughtfully when his amusement was over, pacing a slow circle around Remus. "Play the long-awaited prodigal, beg your pardon for my wrongs? But that would scarcely do, when I have already told you I regret nothing. Ah, I have it!" With mocking grace, he sank to one knee before Remus. "I shall ask your paternal benediction! If it please you, of course. If I please you." Folding his hands, he bowed his head over them, his silver hair falling in a curtain around his face. "Bless me, Father," he murmured.

Remus took a single step forward and laid the pads of his fingers against the nape of the slender neck.

Lucius stiffened, but did not otherwise move.

For the space of two heartbeats the tableau held. Then the door creaked once. By the time Luna peered into the room, Lucius was on his feet facing the doorway, his face composed, his hands and shoulders relaxed. The entire conversation might never have happened.

"He calls," the young witch announced, her voice as calm and clear as her master's manner. "You come?"

"Of course, my lady." Lucius gestured for Remus to precede him. "If you will, sir," he said grandly. "It does not do to keep the Dark Lord waiting."


In a place which was not a place, a little boy huddled in a big chair, staring up at a number of cinema-like screens mounted to the wall above him. "I don't like this, Neenie," he said to the kitten who lay on the desk beside him, washing a paw. "Fox said nothing else was going to go wrong, but this doesn't look right at all. I wish we had a father, or a mother, to take care of us…"

"Mew," Neenie agreed uneasily, swiping her orange paw across her white-nosed face. "Meow mrrow?"

"I don't know." Draco reached out and lifted the kitten down into his lap. "Just wait, I guess."

Neenie purred her approval, and began to tread her paws back and forth in time. Draco winced and folded over his robes to cushion the spot where her claws were prickling, then returned his attention to the topmost screen, which showed a grand, bare-raftered hall.


Danger lay curled on her broad bed, her eyes closed and her consciousness linked only dimly to her body. In mind, in soul, she stood far away with the man she loved, a silent observer in the back of his mind as Lord Voldemort unhurriedly looked him over from head to toe. The fear that reverberated through their bond, rather than cycling back and feeding on itself as it once had, now flowed away into unimportance, for the sacrifice had been worthwhile. Their cubs were alive, and on their way safely home.

All of them.

"So," said Voldemort, snapping Danger back to the moment at Malfoy Manor. "Remus Lupin. We meet in person at last."

"At last." Remus stood seemingly at his ease, but Danger could feel the control and readiness in his muscles, in his breathing, and added her own touch of calm and focus. The longer they could play this out, the more likely it was that an opportunity for escape would arise. "Yes, I admit that's intrigued me ever since I heard about it. That you had some reason to particularly want to meet me, to speak with me. I'd hardly thought I was worth so much attention."

"So modest, is he not, my dear," Voldemort murmured to Bellatrix, who giggled behind her hand. "But then, he has been badly informed." The red eyes returned to Remus. "Tell me, Remus, what do you know about your family? Not your immediate parentage, but your ancestry. Have you ever explored your wizarding background thoroughly enough to discover your connection to this very manor?" His hand described a graceful circle around them. "Or would that be a surprise to you?"

"I knew about my connection to the Beauvoi family, yes." Remus smiled a little as a memory-scene from the previous Christmas flashed across his mind where Danger could see it. The Pack sat in a half-circle around Alexander Slytherin, examining his rendering of an ancient mural depicting three couples. "Two brothers and a sister who were contemporaries of the grandchildren of the Hogwarts Founders. Owain, Dafydd, and Angharad. I descend from Angharad Beauvoi and her husband." He glanced back to where Lucius stood silently at his shoulder. "My generous host here, if I have matters correct, can claim descent from Owain and his wife, but Dafydd Beauvoi's line died out in the early seventeenth century."

"So it did." Voldemort leaned back in his throne, a Dark Lord at his ease. "All the better for me, as it simplified my task considerably. A secondary line of Slytherin, especially one so notably good…" His thin lips pursed around the word, as though even to speak it brought a foul taste to his mouth. "Hardly a thing which a properly ordered world requires. But you say nothing more of your own illustrious ancestors, Remus." One slim fingertip traced a pattern on the armrest of the throne. "I begin to think you truly do not know. That Albus Dumbledore has kept this from you, as he kept so much."

"Kept what from me?" Remus frowned a little. "How could anything about my family tree possibly matter so much as to be kept a secret?"

"Ah." Voldemort's sigh was a sound of pure satisfaction. "You are unenlightened. I could have hoped for nothing better. Allow me to rectify that." He drew a deep breath, gazing into the distance with much the same expression as Bellatrix, though her eyes rested on him. "Dafydd Beauvoi wedded the disowned granddaughter of Salazar Slytherin, as you doubtless have learned. But he was not the only member of his family to marry in higher circles than their birth should have deserved." His gaze slid down to rest on Remus's face. "The wizard from whom you take your surname. Angharad Beauvoi's husband John. What do you know of him?"

"Only that he earned the nickname of 'the Wolf' for the way he tended his family with love in peacetime, but fought like no other on the battlefield." Remus met Voldemort's eyes unflinchingly, Danger submerging herself beneath the shield of their bond, into which she knew Voldemort would never willingly intrude. "Why?"

"Because John the Wolf," said Voldemort with deliberation, "inherited his warlike gifts from his grandfather. A wizard of whom you may, just possibly, have heard. One Godric Gryffindor."

What? Danger blurted silently, as shock froze Remus momentarily in place, as Bellatrix sat up straighter with a sound of interest and Lucius exhaled slowly in surprise. But that would make you—

It's a trick, Remus cut her off swiftly. He's trying to rattle me, to throw me off, by saying whatever he thinks will shake my confidence. That doesn't make it true.

No, it doesn't. Danger caught her breath, pressing a hand against her pounding heart to calm herself down. He could sit there and tell you anything. That he's going to transfigure Bellatrix into a tree to amuse you or that you're the prophesied savior of all the werewolves in the world. I'm sorry, love.

Don't be. She felt his smile warm the back of her mind. You're the only reason I'm able to do this at all, and you know it…


"That's quite a claim," Remus said aloud to Voldemort, as Danger slipped back to her silent watching. Neither of them mentioned the well of cold fear at the center of his chest, around which her wolf-form lay curled like a guarding dragon. "I hope you'll forgive me if I find it rather hard to believe."

"Because you never knew anything about it before." Voldemort tapped his fingertips together. "Because you believe that if any such inheritance were yours, surely you would have been told, and trained in the gifts which are your heritage."

"To put it bluntly, yes." Remus nodded once. "The Gryffindor gifts are crafting magical artifacts and control over fire. I admit to some skill in the one, but I had nothing to do with the other until I was almost thirty-three years old."

"Because that gift, as was the practice in your family, was magically bound when you were an infant, to prevent disasters." Voldemort spoke each word with finicking exactness, his expression and tone that of a chiding teacher to a painfully slow student. "No doubt you would have been told of your identity, and your power revealed to you, when you were a child of seven or eight. If your parents had been more certain of your emotional stability, or less concerned with keeping your childhood as carefree as they possibly could." His eyes gleamed with amusement. "If I had never interfered in your life."

"You—" Remus caught himself before more than that one word could slip past his guard, though Lucius's fingers closed warningly around his upper arm and Bellatrix rocked in her chair, clapping her hands and crowing with laughter. "So there was more to that attack than just my father's bad luck in provoking Greyback," he said once he had pulled himself under control. "You started much earlier than we ever realized, destroying perceived threats before they could fight back."

"The Heir of Godric Gryffindor, in direct line of descent, could have been far more to me than merely a perceived threat." Voldemort stared coldly down at Remus from his height. "Especially one with a reasonable sum of intelligence to match his courage, and the gift of inspiring loyalty in those around him."

"Why not just kill me, then?" Remus twitched his shoulder forward. Lucius released him, but remained within his peripheral vision, standing as still as a marble statue which lived only when its master willed it so. "Kill us, I should say. My father and me. Two murders, three if you bothered with my mother, and the Gryffindor line would be extinct. No further threat to you."

"Your father knew who and what he was, and had laid wards around his home and his person accordingly." Voldemort's tone held a certain amount of respect, grudgingly given and much resented, perhaps, but respect all the same. "At that point in my life, I could not overcome them. Besides, I found such great amusement in the path I did take." He laughed under his breath. "With one word, one request, I ended all possibility of the Gryffindor line's continuance, for your parents would never dare to have another child when you would be a constant danger to it, and you yourself, as a werewolf, could sire no children when you grew to be a man. But more, far more than that, Remus Lupin, I ensured that you were dealt a wound which would never heal." Long, slender fingers curled into a fist. "A wound not to your body, but to your soul."

"The werewolf curse." A night at Grimmauld Place leapt into Remus's mind, his lupine body curled snugly around his Kitten while his human mind and soul cuddled hers in a dreamscape far away, telling her a story of betrayal and madness and vengeance. "That its victims' human minds will be drowned in the beast every time their bodies transform, and that they will therefore be outcasts forever, feared and hated for a part of themselves they cannot change or control." He looked up at Voldemort, keeping his eyes and voice level with an effort. "I can see how that fate would appeal to you, for someone you considered your hereditary enemy."

"And yet, you overcame it." Voldemort glanced at Bellatrix, who drew her wand and sent a spell through one of the side walls. Lucius turned his head to watch it go, and Remus sensed more than saw the other wizard's thoughtful frown. "First with the help of your friends, and later and more completely, after my regrettable setback involving Harry Potter, with that of your charming wife. Not only that, but you became a father to little Harry, to Lucius's Draco, to your wife's young sister and your dear friends' daughter. You shepherded your Pack through their days of hiding, and emerged triumphant in time for your children's education to commence. In short, Remus, you reclaimed your birthright." He shook his head, his expression almost playful. "Surely you could not expect me to allow that to continue."

"May I ask how you intend to stop it?" Remus inquired, feeling Danger come alert in the back of his mind.

"You may." Voldemort laughed again, and above him Starwing the owl fluttered her wings uneasily. "I have a spy within your Order, one whose task, though it incorporated the gathering of certain information, has always been primarily these three things. First, to mix a poison so deadly that it kills not only its victims, but also any Healer who tries to save them. Second, to coat the blade of a dagger with this poison, for the fastest possible administration. And third—"

Danger sat bolt upright as the door of her bedroom slammed open.

NO! Remus began to raise his hand, to blast fire towards the witch now advancing on his wife with a gleaming blade in her hand and a mad grimace twisting her face, but Voldemort's coercions choked off his magic and Lucius caught his physical arms at the elbow from behind, pinioning him before he could fight back. Danger, don't let her get near you—she's the spy, the one we've been looking for, stop her—

I don't want to kill her, Remus! There has to be something we don't know! Danger rolled to her feet, her muscles slow and stiff after so long in the same position, and cast a wall of flame between herself and her attacker, then bolted for the door, fumbling out her wand—

Corona Gamp, howling like a demon, leapt through the fire and sliced her dagger clumsily down the outside of Danger's arm, leaving a trail of freezing pain in its wake. Ignoring the flames as they licked at her robes, her hair, her skin, she changed her grip on the dagger's hilt and shakily lifted it for the final blow—

Danger brought her wand around and Disarmed Corona, sending her flying backwards into the opposite wall, as Sirius and Aletha slammed through the bedroom door, but darkness was starting to creep up and over her vision, waves of pain washing through her body as the poison spread, threatening to drag her away—

Voldemort was laughing, laughing as though he would never stop. "So falls the mighty Pack," the Dark Lord mocked. "Just as all enemies of the great House of Slytherin eventually must fall."

Dimly Remus felt Danger make one final effort, some last twist of magic, then purposely let go, falling endlessly into the darkness. Her voice breathed into the back of his mind, a whisper across unimaginable distance.

love…you…

And then there was nothing.


"What. The. Hell." Sirius slashed his wand across Corona's unconscious form, putting out the flames which had already devoured half her robes and blistered her skin horribly, then did the same for the remains of the rug which had once covered Remus and Danger's bedroom floor before casting a shield around the murderous-looking dagger sticking in the wall. "This makes no sense—"

"Sirius." Aletha's voice rang with urgency. "Come here."

"What's wrong?" Sirius hurried to her side. "Can't you help her?"

"Watch." Aletha reached down for Danger where their Pack-sister lay crumpled on the floor, blood oozing from an ugly gash down her arm. "When I try—"

Her hand passed through Danger as though one or the other were made of smoke.

"I repeat. This makes no sense." Sirius caught sight of a fitful gleam against Danger's chest, and sighed. "Well, a little more sense now. But why she'd use up her Slytherin jewel just on making herself intangible—"

His fingers brushed against her skin, and he jumped. To him, at least, Danger was as solid as she had ever been.

"All right," he said resignedly, gathering her into his arms to lift her onto the bed. "It's official. This makes less than no sense at all."

"Or maybe it does." Aletha shut her eyes, then opened them again with a different focus, staring hard first at Danger, then at Corona. "I'll explain in a minute," she said when she was finished, getting up. "Corona needs my help, and you need to find out what was on that dagger. And then head off whatever's about to happen outside, please?"

"Got it." Sirius wove his wand through the correct motions to set up a second-level diagnostic spell on the greenish-black stain he could see along the dagger's blade, then left it to draw its conclusions and stepped out into the corridor, turning to face the noise of concerned Order members hurrying up the stairs.

I just wish I had something to tell them, other than "the world's gone off its head and so have half the people I thought I could trust"…


Voldemort's triumphant laughter ringing in his ears, Harry peered out of his hiding place in an alcove of Malfoy Manor, keeping his head in line with the wall to minimize his chances of being spotted by Starwing, girl or owl as she might be at the moment.

Owl, he noted as the flutter of white feathers above him caught his eye. And there's Voldie and Bella, both thinking this is just the funniest thing they've ever seen, and then…

Lucius Malfoy, as perfectly turned out as though he'd spent the last hour primping, stood in the center of the room. His expression as he looked at the sandy-haired man who slumped in his grip, eyes half-shut and breath coming too fast and too shallow, was studiously blank, neither gloating nor disgusted but simply empty.

I'd almost think he'd been hit with the Imprimatus instead of Luna. Harry clenched his teeth, growling under his breath. Wish he had been.

Ducking back into cover, he pulled out his pendants, as insubstantial and faded-looking as his walking self but faithful copies of the ones worn by his body back at Headquarters. The carvings of the wolf and the lion glowed with the sickly light he had expected, but the dog and the winged horse were unperturbed, as was the deer on the next pendant.

It didn't work, then. Harry let out a breath of relief. His internal debate whether to stay at Malfoy Manor or dive back to his body and warn Meghan and Letha about the poison meant for any Healer who tried to help Danger had been brief, but terrifying. He'd finally been swayed towards staying by his knowledge that his Pack-mother and -sister had both their pendants and their Ravenclaw magic to warn them, along with his certainty that even the Pride's combined magic had barely sufficed to sneak him through the wards once, and definitely wouldn't do so again.

And I have to see what happens. Tucking his chain back inside his robes, he leaned out once more. Someone's got to know.

It might as well be me.

Nothing had changed while he was checking his pendants, Harry noted. Voldemort and Bellatrix were still chortling over the fulfillment of their plan, Malfoy stood as stone-faced as ever, and Moony still hung limply in his grasp, his eyes moving rapidly behind their lids—

With no more warning than that, Harry's blood-father smiled, the same warm and joyous expression that featured in a thousand of Harry's memories. Planting his feet firmly on the stone floor, he lifted his head and straightened his back, turning his hands outward to grip Malfoy's arms at the wrists. "You," he said, the word cutting easily through Voldemort's laughter, "are a fool."

"Am I?" Voldemort drew his wand from his pocket to run its length through his fingers. "How so?"

"You think you can destroy what I am by killing her, and me." Moony shook his head pityingly. "But she is safe now, somewhere you can never come. With those who need her, just as she has always been. Somewhere I will join her, very soon. And we can never truly die, she and I. You see, we have four children." His eyes never wavered, but somehow Harry knew his presence had been noted. "The ones they love make eight. The ones they've trained make dozens. And the ones they'll teach make hundreds, thousands, even millions. As long as any one of them lives, so will we." His voice rose, ringing from the walls like a trumpet call to victory. "And you can kill, and kill, and kill, but you will never kill us all."

"Perhaps not." Voldemort rose to his feet, his voice like slivers of ice down Harry's back as he aimed his wand. "But I can kill you."

Moony only smiled again and closed one of his hands more tightly around Malfoy's wrist as Voldemort spoke, as the green light gathered at his wand's tip and the sound of rushing wind filled the chamber.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Someone screamed.


Bellatrix sat up very straight as Lupin collapsed, her eyes widening in shock.

"You," she breathed under the sound of a grief-stricken cry. "You!"

Yanking her wand free of her pocket, she brought to mind the worst curse she knew. The Full Reversal would turn back the blood in its victim's veins and trap the air in his lungs, strangling him on his own breath even as his heart shattered within his chest.

Fitting punishment for the worst traitor to our cause who ever lived.

She took aim, drew breath, and spoke. "Reverso—"

Something struck her on the back of the head.

A spurt of magic, half-formed, spat forward from her wand as she crumpled in her throne.


His head hurt. His arms hurt too, and his legs where Ron's chain had pinched him, but his head more than anything, right down the line of his scar. He felt dizzy and wobbly, too, like he'd been riding too long on a broomstick Danger had pranked.

He moaned a little, thinking of Danger. He wanted her. He wanted her to slide into this bad dream and smile at him and hug him tight and wake him up.

Because that's what she did for me, every time. And I have that to hold onto, no matter what.

Why didn't Danger come? Why didn't she love him anymore?

She does. She always has. Even when she's not here, her love is.

It was dark, and he was alone.

But I don't have to be alone anymore.

Harry opened his eyes.

I know how this story ends.

He stood in the main floor corridor at number four, Privet Drive, gazing into the cupboard under the stairs. Inside, in the cot, lay not his own small self but the scab-covered, child-sized monstrosity which had been Lord Voldemort before his restoration at the graveyard two years ago. It whimpered slightly as it panted for air, its red eyes fixed pleadingly on Harry.

"I wish I could help you," said Harry, and discovered as he spoke the words that he meant it. Some fates were too terrible to wish onto anyone. "But I can't. You see, this isn't the sort of door someone else can open for you." He waggled the cupboard door back and forth under his hand. "You have to learn how to open it for yourself. And the people who taught me how to do that…" He shrugged. "You just killed them."

Stepping back, he swung the door shut.

As the latch clicked into place, the corridor dissolved around him, and reformed into the hall at Malfoy Manor where he'd been a few brief seconds before. In the middle of the floor, a pile of black robes and a tangle of silver hair over sandy brown marked the spot where—

Can't think of that yet. Still have to get home.

Turning away, Harry looked towards the dais. Voldemort and Bellatrix lay draped across one another in a grotesque mockery of sleeping love, Bella's wand dangling loosely from her fingers, Voldemort's still possessively clutched.

Here's hoping he won't wake up until his creepy little self gets out of the cupboard.

I knew I should have locked it when I had the chance…

Movement from the shadows behind the dais drew Harry's eye. A small, slender figure in a deeply hooded cloak stepped forward, gazing directly at him. "Harry Potter," it said in a voice which registered to Harry's ear somewhere between Siss and Sangre. "It is good to see you."

Catching himself before his mouth could drop completely open, Harry instead used the movement to begin speaking, in the language in which he'd been addressed. "Are you the younger Heir of Slytherin whose coming was foretold to us?"

"I am." The figure bowed. "And I am in need of your help. My Consort and I must leave this place at once, and with us the body of your blood-father. He carries with him a small item which may help, if you will give of your magic to make it work as we desire." The tip of a wand emerged from the cloak's folds, and Moony's Zippophone rose up from the tangle of bodies in the middle of the floor, hovering in midair as the Heir walked unhurriedly over to receive it in one small, pale palm. "Will you make this thing destroy itself, but carry us in its destruction to safety?"

Harry frowned. "How did you know they can do that?"

The Heir laughed softly. "I know many things."

"Of course you do," Harry muttered in English. "Slytherin, Wolf. Prophecy." Shaking off his confusion, he nodded. "Go ahead and open it," he said, switching back to Parseltongue. "I will tell it what to do, but you will have to tell it the destination, since I am not here in my body."

The hooded head nodded in its turn, and a slender thumb flipped back the Zippo's lid. Harry concentrated on the green flame which arose. Spread out and surround those three people, he told it, looking hard at the trio before him. Take them safely onto the Floo Network, and safely off it again wherever you're told. Got that?

At the fire's eager flicker of assent, he pointed to the Heir, who gave the Zippo a little toss. An instant later, it burst open, scattering green fire in a broad cloud around the three people Harry had told it to transport.

"Whenever you're ready," Harry called, and turned to the silver cord which connected him to his body. As he tugged on it, sending himself flying homeward, he heard a voice calling out behind him in English.

"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!"


Neville took his first full breath in what felt like days when Harry twitched, coughed, and opened his eyes. "Back," he croaked, cleared his throat, and tried again. "I'm back. I'm all right. Moony's…not. But the Heir found us. Just like Alex said."

"What?" said three people at once.

"Younger Heir of Slytherin." Harry shoved himself to his feet. "Been undercover with the Death Eaters, with Consort. They're coming here right now. Bringing Moony with them. Come on, they're traveling by Floo so we'll need to meet them in the kitchen…"

Hanging back, Neville bent down to Meghan's ear. "Go get your dad," he murmured to her, and Meghan nodded hard and dashed away towards the knot of chattering adults at the other end of the corridor.

Because when Harry says they're bringing Mr. Moony home, he means they're bringing his body. And I think Mr. Padfoot would be the right person to deal with that.

Being the practical one of the Pride, Neville reflected as he thumped down the stairs, wasn't always a blessing.

Somehow, even the house-elves had deserted the kitchen at this crucial moment, leaving it empty except for the Pride, who were finding seats along one side of the long table. Harry was just gesturing to the fire as Neville stepped through the swinging doors, bringing it out of the fireplace in a long green arc, in which there appeared three distinct whirling forms, one upright, two horizontal—

Harry snapped his fingers, and one slim person in a swathing black cloak stepped nimbly out of the central pillar of fire. The other two died away, revealing in one case what appeared to be another bundle of black cloth with a hint of silver somewhere about it, and in the other—

I didn't want it to be true, but I guess it is.

Neville heard a little sniffle behind him, and reached around without looking to draw Meghan to his side. Mr. Padfoot was beside her, and sighed between his teeth, going to kneel beside the still form of Mr. Moony. "This is not what I signed up for, you know," he said conversationally, taking his friend's limp hand in his. "We were both supposed to survive the damn war. Watch these kids light the world on fire, spoil the hell out of their kids, get old and crotchety and drive everyone mad. Together, Moony. We said we'd do it together." He sighed again, lifting Mr. Moony gently into his arms as he went first to one knee, then got his feet under him and rose. "But then I guess war spoils an awful lot of plans, doesn't it." He looked up at Harry. "You know where to find us if you need us."

"Yeah." Harry nodded as Mr. Padfoot turned in place and vanished, carrying Mr. Moony with him. "We know."

Beside Neville, Meghan hummed in her throat, the way she did when she was confused by something. "Where's Hermione?" she whispered. "I know she came in with everyone else, I saw her when I got here…"

"Where's the Consort?" Neville whispered back, noticing for the first time that the black-and-silver bundle was missing from the floor, leaving only the upright black-cloaked person, with whom Harry was now talking in low, urgent hisses of Parseltongue.

"I don't know." Meghan twisted her hands together. "And I don't know if I like that, either."

Neville looked up to identify what that might be.

Across the room, Harry had the Heir's left forearm cradled in his hand, and was tracing a curve across it with his finger.

Meghan bared her teeth once. "Dark Mark," she said, softly, but the words brought Harry's head around anyway.

"We were actually just talking about that," he said, waving Neville and Meghan closer. "One of them's got it, and we need to block it off before Voldemort wakes up from his little nap and goes looking for it. He used some of the magic of being an Heir to make it, which is one of the reasons it's so powerful, but it also means that Heirs of all the Houses, working together, can stop him from finding it." He winked at the Heir, who nodded matter-of-factly. "You two in?"

A swift step back was Meghan's reply. "It could be a trap," she hissed at Neville. "How do we know Harry's not being possessed, or controlled, or something? How do we even know who the Heir is?"

"Hang on, Pearl." Neville repeated on himself the motion Harry had used a moment before with the Heir, trying to recall why it felt familiar. What—or who—

And then he remembered, and could hardly stop an incredulous laugh from surfacing.

It can't be—but if it is, wouldn't that be just perfect?

"Meghan," he said, looking towards Harry and his companion. "Is there any kind of blood connection between me and the Heir? Look carefully. It'll be really faint, if it's there at all."

"I'll give you really faint," Meghan grumbled, but she blinked her eyes into her Healing sight and looked. Once, then twice, and again—

Neville grinned when he felt her go rigid with shock against his side. "There is," she breathed, her silver eyes dropping back to normal focus and gazing up at him in amazement. "There is one, but who—"

Then her hands went up to cover her mouth, and Neville nodded at the answer he could see in her awestruck expression.

Sometimes things really do work out the way you wanted them to.

Hand in hand, they went forward to join their magic with their fellow Heirs.


Sitting on the bench beside Ron, Ginny fidgeted. She was beginning to feel a trifle left out.

Hermione's disappeared with the Consort of Slytherin, and doesn't that just sound dirty seven ways from Saturday. Harry, Neville, and Meghan are doing their little ritual with the Heir of Slytherin, which would sound really dirty if I didn't know it was Alex's Heir instead of His Evil Lordship. And Ron…

She sneaked a glance over at her brother. Maybe Meghan didn't heal him quite as well as she thought she did.

Ron, for the past ninety seconds, had been unmistakably chortling to himself. The sound grew louder every time he looked in the direction of the black-cloaked figure pressing slender palms against first Harry's, then Meghan's, then Neville's, then repeating the cycle again, and it neared proportions of cackle when Ron lifted his gaze to the brilliant orb of light which had begun to spin above the four sets of busily interchanging hands.

"What is so funny?" Ginny hissed, but Ron only shook his head and pointed. Ginny looked back just in time to see the shining sphere dart away to one side and vanish with a tiny pop, and all four Heirs let out a sigh of relief.

"There," said Harry, rolling his shoulders. "That should hold for—twenty-four hours, you said?" he asked the cloaked figure, who nodded. "So that gives us a full day to get set up for the ritual you said you'd figured out to get the damn thing off permanently—"

"All right, that's enough," said Ginny loudly, bringing everyone's eyes to her. "Who are you? Since everyone seems to know except me," she added in the direction of Harry, who had the grace to flush.

Unhurriedly, the figure raised long-fingered hands to the hem of the black hood and lowered it to rest on cloaked shoulders. "Hello, Ginny," said the younger Heir of Slytherin with a smile. "I told you I'd see you again."

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Author Notes:

And if anyone doesn't understand that, go reread Chapter 42 of Surpassing Danger. Then proceed to scream.

Well. Most of that has been rattling around my head for the last, oh, eight years. Here's hoping it's every bit as good as I wanted it to be. But it is very late, so this author's note has to be short—please let me know how it was for you in reviews, and I will see you next week with Chapter 57, "The Younger Heir of Slytherin", in which everything you thought you knew about the last fifteen chapters turns out to be wrong!