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Author Notes:

Character death, rather messy, but I don't think you'll mind too much. Also some scary moments. A whole bunch of scary moments, actually. Hold on tight, everybody…

The broad and bare-raftered hall where Lord Voldemort liked best to hold court, built by some long-ago Malfoy with grandiose and slightly barbaric ideals, was all but empty, inhabited only by a few of the inner circle of Death Eaters. Antonin Dolohov and Walden Macnair, the latter looking distinctly odd without the mustache which had been sacrificed to free him from the Hair-Growing Jinx a few weeks earlier, were discussing how it would be best to house Muggles once their happy band finished claiming the position to which their magical births entitled them. Macnair, by the fragments that were audible, favored herding them into sties like pigs, or at best building them rough stables like horses or cows, while Dolohov thought it might be more galling for the Muggles to be given houses finer than anything they could ever have built for themselves.

A constant reminder of their status as compared to us. Subordinate, in many ways subhuman. The iron fist is satisfying, but the velvet glove amusing. Lord Voldemort sipped at his favorite drink, an excellent white wine with just a hint of snake venom blended into it, and considered the conundrum. I will see if they have come to any conclusion by the time we are ready to put such things into action.

On the other side of the hall, Lucius was reading yet another of his dusty volumes of history, while his girl Starwing worked diligently at her everlasting stitchery. Lord Voldemort smiled and lifted his glass a fraction of an inch to them, toasting the most complete victory his followers had yet been able to score over Harry Potter and his precious Pack and Pride. The reports from his spy within the Order made for gratifying reading.

The children vanish for hours, even days, at a time, and appear frustrated and exhausted when they return. The adults try to comfort them and receive cold dismissals or harsh words. But then, what can you expect from an existence built on such a misty intangible as love?

Though perhaps I should not entirely dismiss love. He glanced to one side, where Bellatrix honed her favorite knife on a leather strop, humming tunelessly under her breath. It has its uses, when properly directed. And when it is frustrated, when it warps and twists back on itself, it can be very useful indeed. Without love, surely I would never have been able to obtain that so-useful spy in the first place.

Now if only the circumstances would arise when I could put my particular plan for that spy into use—

With the usual perversity of the universe, the thought had no sooner crossed his mind than a most unpleasant sensation shrilled down his nerves, one which he had not felt for many years and had hoped he would never feel again.

The doorway to the hiding place of one of his cherished Horcruxes had just been breached.

"My lord?" Bellatrix, ever alert to changes in his mood, looked up from her work. "What is it?"

"Let me see." Drawing his wand, Lord Voldemort cast the non-verbal, three-part spell which would allow him to see the surroundings of that doorway, and the person or people who had triggered the alarm he had set on it in what he had considered a ridiculous abundance of caution. Even should someone like Dumbledore, meddling fool that he had been, discern the existence of a Horcrux reached through Hogwarts, even should some incantation or potion which detected such items be used, neither the Muggle-made globe nor the benign wizardspace spell binding it would react. And who, out of all the thousands of items in the Room of Hiding, would seize on such an insignificant thing?

The faces which came into focus with the solidification of the scry answered that question handily, though they did nothing to improve Lord Voldemort's mood.

Harry Potter and his favorite little blood traitor. I should have known. He hissed something in Parseltongue so obscene that the Inferius of Nagini, curled on her dark green pouf, stirred uneasily at the sound, and Starwing gave a little mew of distress, huddling against Lucius.

"My lord," said Dolohov, staring at the boy and girl speaking silently, urgently, within the scry. "Does this show the truth?"

"The truth, and a vital threat to my power." To my life. Lord Voldemort snarled under his breath as the taller, male blood traitor appeared on the scene, clutching broomsticks. They are luckier than they have any right to be. But luck runs out, and theirs is drawing near its time…

"How can they be stopped, my lord?" asked Bellatrix, sheathing her knife. "Is there some way to reach them, instead of only looking?"

"There is, though I will need a few moments to cast that spell." Lord Voldemort chuckled, his bad mood dissipating somewhat at Bellatrix's look of wide-eyed shock. "Even I have my limits, my dear Bella. Though I hope to surpass them once my plans come to fruition."

"If I may be excused, my lord?" Lucius rose to his feet, tucking his book under his arm, and motioned for Starwing to put her needle away. "I would be less than helpful in a duel or an ambush, and I assume you will want to have proper lodgings prepared for our…guests." His grin was vicious. "Something suitably cozy in the dungeons, perhaps."

"Ever thoughtful, Lucius." Lord Voldemort waved the last of the Malfoys on his way. "Off with you."

Turning to the nearest blank wall, the Dark Lord prepared for the working which would allow him and his most trusted, most faithful Death Eaters to enter the hidden world surrounding a far-off mountaintop, and finally, after nearly sixteen years, finish the work he had begun in a cottage in Godric's Hollow.

Destroying the last credible threat to my rise. The first segment of the spell went into place, setting up a framework through which those entering the wizardspaced area could pass. What could be more sensible than killing an enemy before he can fight back? The second stage outlined the exact location to which his followers would be transported, along a narrow path winding up the mountain. Only little Harry had more protection than I realized at the time. The third portion established congruency between Malfoy Manor and the mountaintop, specifying that anything passing between the two would leave the one and arrive at the other with minimal time lag and no change in its physical properties. Facing him alone this time will be crucial.

Sealing the work, he stepped back and spoke the three words in Parseltongue which brought it to life. The circle he had outlined on the wall filled with writhing smoke, rumbled like the promise of distant thunder, then cleared, as though it were an unusually shaped window, to show the path which led up the mountain towards the place where his Horcrux waited.

"Two of them flying, my lord," Macnair reported from beside the scrying spell, pointing at the indistinct forms of Harry Potter and the youngest Weasley brother, both leaning forward to get as much speed as possible out of their broomsticks. "Looks like they left the girl on guard."

"Pity." Lord Voldemort sighed. "I have so enjoyed the thought of allowing Harry to watch while Lucius works his will on charming Ginevra. Ah well, young Ronald will have to do. I seem to recall a report from Bartemius that he was more than usually susceptible to the Imperius…" He smiled at Bella, who was giggling and clapping her hands in glee. "Yes, my dear one, yes, you will have your turn with him. But first we must catch him, and Harry along with him. And for that—Antonin."

"My lord?" Dolohov stood up straighter, looking eager.

"I believe you have a score to settle with the Weasley family." Lord Voldemort gestured at his gateway, snapping his wand at the scry to shut it down, since two spells with constant magical needs were draining even to him. At the same time, he worked the small magic which would seal off the original entrance to the wizardspaced area. Having rescue come for these two was no part of his plans. "Do what you will, only take them alive—and remember, if you will, that some of them use animal form and may have the advantages of such even as humans. We follow in force as soon as we are assembled."

"Gladly, my lord!" Wand in his hand, Dolohov strode forward and ducked through the portal, swinging his leg and robes over the side, then working two or three spells over himself, the last of which seemed to be something between a Disillusionment and a partial transfiguration, shrinking his stature even as his form melted into the colors and shapes of the mountain.

"Excellent." Lord Voldemort turned to his Consort. "Your arm, if you please, Bellatrix."

Bella cackled under her breath as she pulled back her left sleeve, revealing her pale forearm, which she laid across the armrest of Lord Voldemort's throne, Dark Mark uppermost. Her eyes shone with anticipated pain and pleasure as her Master's long finger descended towards the Mark—

"My lord!" Patroclus Nott exploded out of thin air in the middle of the room, startling everyone. "My lord, I apologize—this is not the way I should approach you, but in the circumstances—" He pressed a hand against his chest, wheezed in a painful breath, and continued. "My lord, I was walking through the entrance hall with Pierson when a wizard Apparated in, through all the security, through all the wards. Somehow he bypassed everything, and he asked to see you, my lord—and with your standing orders about him, should he ever be captured—"

Lord Voldemort's hand curled into a fist unbidden. I have given standing orders about a very few people, and one of those cannot be here in Malfoy Manor when I have only just seen him flying towards a mountaintop with his friend in tow…

"My lord, I know the man. I would not make a mistake." Patroclus straightened his shoulders, clearly conscious of the momentous news he bore. "It is Remus Lupin himself!"

A hot, brilliant explosion of glee burst in Lord Voldemort's chest, but was quickly swamped by a cold wave of planning, of determination. I must take every precaution, now that my most dangerous enemy has come here of his own free will. Swiftly, he wove the wandless magic which emanated from his core, from his most prized identity, and which would deny that same enemy any chance to use his own wandless powers. He has walked into the trap. I must close it so tightly, so fiercely, that his will also aids my Killing Curse, and flings him out of the land of the living with no chance of return.

His death, and the damage it will cause to his beloved Pack, will seal my victory with certainty, and leave me to rule undisputed over the wizarding world forever.

"You left Pierson to guard him, I presume, Patroclus?" he asked the Death Eater, who nodded. "That will do for now, but another has a prior claim. Go and find Lucius—he should be in the dungeons somewhere—and let him know who has come to visit us."

"Yes, my lord." Patroclus bent his knee and vanished in the act of straightening.

"Macnair." Lord Voldemort turned to face the wizard so named. "If you would seek out Miss Elladora, and tell her that 'the time is now'—she will know what is meant." He smiled. "Then gather up half a dozen of our best fighters and assemble with them in the north antechamber. This portal will await you there." He gestured to the gateway, still showing nothing but a deceptively peaceful mountain path. "When you see Dolohov's signal, enter through it and give him whatever assistance he may need in securing our young enemies. Remember, we want prisoners, not corpses."

"My lord." Macnair made his genuflection, a bit more clumsily than Patroclus had, and Disapparated with a loud crack. Lord Voldemort circled his wand three times around the gateway spell, concentrating on where he wanted this end of it to reappear, and with the tiniest of popping sounds it vanished, sliding through wizardspace until it reached the north antechamber, then reanchoring itself into the stones of one of the walls there.

"What of me, my lord?" Bellatrix sounded plaintive, but Lord Voldemort knew his Consort from of old. That little-girl voice masked an unholy joy in seeing her enemies brought low which could almost match his own. "What task do you have for me?"

"A very simple one, dear Bella." Lord Voldemort stretched out his hand, and Bellatrix laid her own in it. "Keep me company, while we wait for Elladora to do her portion of the work. Once she reports success with her first task, then, and only then, will we ask Lucius to bring our guest to us." He smiled at her, and enjoyed her demure giggle in return. "I see you understand. All things in their proper time."

And this is the proper time for the destruction of Remus Lupin. For all that he is and was, all that he stands for, to come crashing down in ruins. Only thus will I and mine ever rise to our destined places of greatness…


Danger climbed the stairs from the kitchen at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, slowly. Down the main floor corridor, the door of Aletha's workroom was closing, which suited her perfectly. She wanted only one person in her arms, in her heart, just now.

Hermione sat in the window seat in the front room, gazing out at the overcast London day, one hand loosely cupped against her breastbone. Danger could see a faint flicker of light between her little sister's fingers, and had no doubt Hermione was cradling her pendants close to her heart.

"Why?" The word hung in the air between the sisters.

"Because he had no choice." Danger closed the distance and stood beside Hermione, not reaching out but ready to accept either an extended hand or a swung fist. "Someone he loved was in trouble."

"I thought he loved me." Hermione continued to stare out the window, but the fingers of her cupped hand were slowly squeezing tighter. "I thought he loved you. Leaving us alone isn't the kind of thing you do to people you love." Her eyes, reflected in the glass, shifted until she was looking at Danger through their two reflections. "And without him, you'll die, won't you? And then I'll really be alone."

"If that's how you want to look at things, yes, you will be." Danger spoke as unemotionally as she could manage. "Of course, Aletha and Meghan might find a way to break the symbiotic bond. Then we'll be alone together."

"They might." The words held traces of snarl in their depths. "And what if they don't?"

"In that case, yes, I will die." Curiously, Danger discovered, the thought held little of the panicked fear it once had for her. "I'll miss you more than I can say, if that happens. I'll miss spending those quiet mornings with you when we're the only ones up and we can talk about anything, and watching you discover for the first time a book I've loved since before you were born, and having you coach me through the tricky bits of a spell you understand so much better than I do. I'll miss being there the day you finish Hogwarts, the day you start whatever work is yours in the world, the day you and Ron are married." She sat down on the bit of window seat beside Hermione's feet. "Do you believe me?"

"How should I know?" Hermione's shoulders hitched as she turned her face away. "How should I know anything?"

Gently, Danger laid her fingers against Hermione's arm. You know I love you, she said silently. You know he loves you. That we always have, and we always will. No matter what life throws in our way, no matter how far we are separated or for how long, we will never stop loving you. She smiled a little. Even when it doesn't feel like it.

Hermione shuddered once, then crumpled over her knees as her tears caught up with her at last. Danger moved in to draw her near, to hold her close, and Hermione pressed her face against her sister's shoulder and sobbed, hard, tearing sounds that made Danger's throat ache in sympathy. It would be so easy, so breathlessly simple, to give in to her own anger and sorrow, to curl up in a ball and wish the world away, to reject any help held out to her and follow her love into the darkness…

Except that he goes to shelter one of the children we both swore to protect, and I would go only because I thought I could not live without him. How can I know that, if I haven't tried? And will I relieve my own pain by further wounding my brother and sister, my cubs and theirs?

No, Hermione murmured in the silence of their minds. You wouldn't do that. Not if you could help it.

I could think about it. Danger shifted her sister to one side, then quickly dried the wet spot on her robes with a brush of flame before letting her settle back where she had been. I have thought about it. It will hurt, Neenie, it will hurt me terribly to be without him. But it would also hurt me terribly to be without all of you, and to see how much my going would hurt you in turn.

There aren't any perfect answers in this world, are there? Hermione laid her face against the warm place on Danger's robes and glanced up at her, as a much younger Hermione had used to do before she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. When even the best thing possible sometimes hurts so much you can hardly stand it.

"No," Danger whispered aloud. "No, there aren't."

Gently closing the connection between herself and her sister, she opened the one between herself and her beloved, absorbing the first rush of the fear he held under rigid control, drawing off its drowning depths to leave his mind free to work. He sat, she noted, in a small antechamber with paneled walls, a Death Eater glancing fearfully at him from its other side. Does Voldemort—

Oh, he knows I'm here, Remus assured her. He's worked an area-effect spell to keep me from burning the place down, taking him with me. Now he may be trying to frighten me by making me wait. I'm only hoping—

That he isn't making you wait so he can flourish Harry in front of you? Danger finished. So do I, love. So do I.

Their shared grief and terror threatened to engulf her, and quickly she sought through her memories for the moment she wanted. She was walking back and forth across Aletha's front room in London, in the house they had not yet begun to call the Marauders' Den, singing softly to the tiny girl she held in her arms, soothing her sister to sleep before she and her new husband went out to steal and save the other child on whom they had a claim. Remus sat nearby, following her with his eyes, his face and form flickering between the man he was now and the one he had been then—so young, Danger realized with a pang, we were both so young, and so certain about what we were doing—if we had only known where it would lead—

"Lives aren't meant to be lived in reverse," said Remus quietly within the dream-memory. "I wouldn't have it any other way." His crooked Marauder's smile flashed out. "Well. Maybe one that left me alive. But what must be, shall be."

Danger only nodded, and went on with her song.


In the workroom, vials and beakers lay open, scattered, across the bench, their contents having been emptied into the smallest cauldron available. Now, drop by drop, a final ingredient was being added, one which made the mixture in the cauldron seethe and bubble with every addition.

The hands controlling the spoon from which this oily-looking substance fell, sheathed to the elbows in dragon-hide gloves, trembled in time with their owner's shaky breaths, the dark droplets weaving a drunken pattern on the surface of the potion below. Once, indeed, the hands wavered so far that a drop of the black substance fell not into the cauldron but onto the surface of the workbench, though the brewer of the potion hardly seemed to notice this.

When the spoon was empty, it was set hastily aside, and the mixture in the cauldron stirred three times, counterclockwise, before it was poured off into a specially treated jar, very tall and narrow, in which a slender, shining dagger already rested.

Just beyond the glass wall of the jar, a teacup-sized crater in the top of the workbench testified to the spot where the dark oil had fallen.


Harry twisted one of the wheels on his glasses slightly, changing his vision to match what he knew Ron could already see. The air here, within Voldemort's wizardspace spell, was filled with low-grade currents of magic, but ahead of them, growing ever larger, was a pulsing speck of power entangled in thick and shining ropes like those involved in an Unbreakable Vow.

"You see it?" he called back to Ron, returning the wheel to its original position so that he could see the deep blue of the sky above them and the greens and grays of the mountainside rushing past alongside and beneath their two broomsticks.

"Been looking right at it." Ron nudged his broom up alongside Harry's Firebolt. "Maybe you didn't have to use your jewel after all."

"We didn't know we'd be able to see it, and this gives us a little extra certainty." Harry held up his pendants and turned them back and forth, watching the red light fade every time he moved the medallions out of a straight line between him and the distant spark of power. "Rather be safe than sorry, especially this close to finishing."

"True." Ron frowned, his attention caught by something on the mountain below them. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Harry turned his head, but saw only the same stony landscape he'd been noticing idly the entire way.

"Something warm. Alive." Ron started to change his grip to pull back on his broom's handle. "Maybe we should stop."

"Probably just an animal." Harry waved his friend on. "The wind's in our favor, so if there was a person down there, I'd have their scent already. It's just us, and the faster we go, the safer we are. Come on."

"Didn't look right for a person anyway." Returning his hands to their usual places, Ron leaned forward over his handle once again. "Kind of squat and weird-shaped. Wonder if long-standing magic on a place can change the animals?"

"We'll ask Hermione, once we're back and she's speaking to us again." Harry grinned a little at Ron's non-committal grunt. "Going to be a lively place, the Manor Den, isn't it? Good thing it's big enough we can stay out of each other's way if we have to…"


Antonin Dolohov exhaled a breath of relief as the two boys zoomed past him, Potter's dismissal ringing through the still, cold air. His Master's warnings about their animalistic senses had clearly not been idle ones.

But I took them seriously, and so here I still am. Able to finish a job I once began. He frowned, troubled by a passing thought. How the Weasley boy can see, though—I was certain the spell I used had no counter, no possibility of any healing—

He dismissed the question from his mind, as unworthy of further thought at this time. What mattered was finding and safeguarding his Master's treasure, and securing his two young enemies for transport back to Malfoy Manor.

And then I can have my answer, straight from the blood-traitor's mouth. He grinned, continuing up the mountain at a trot, trusting to his spells and the young fools' raptness on their destination to keep him from being spotted. Take some time undoing what's been done, make sure it never happens again, and after that—

The Dark Lord, he was sure, would hear no complaints against the wizard who had brought him Harry Potter.


Ginny stiffened as her pendants shot from cool to icy. Just stay that way, she willed them, gripping her broomstick's handle tightly. Stay that way—

After three seconds in which they did just that, she exhaled in relief. Neither Harry nor Ron was dead already, nor would they be before she could arrive.

But if they're in trouble, then someone else is in there with them. Which means I'm going to need one more piece of equipment.

Even as she locked the bedroom door behind her, Ginny wished she had pushed her thoroughly illegal Apparition lessons a bit harder. It was, after all, now impossible to Trace anyone doing underage magic, since the spell-breaking year had succeeded.

Still, it doesn't take that much longer to—she leapt over the banister to the corridor below and pounded along it to the head of the next flight of stairs—run down there, though up is going to be—another vault, another noisy landing—a bit more of a problem—

"What on earth?" The door to the room Hermione and Meghan shared flew open, revealing Mrs. Danger and Hermione, the latter's face tearstained but both with their wands out and steady. "Ginny, what's—"

"Harry's in trouble." Ginny quickly signed 'Horcrux' to Hermione, touching the tips of all her fingers together, and got a shocked-looking nod in return. "I'm sorry, I can't say anything else—"

"I understand." Mrs. Danger smiled a little. "Maybe more than you know. We have our own plan for keeping Voldemort's eyes off him, but he'll probably need you as well. I'll be upstairs in my room, love," she told Hermione, and turned in place to Disapparate.

"What do you need?" Hermione asked bluntly. "Harry's got the dagger, he can kill it if he finds it, but how did he get out of here—"

"No time to explain. You'll understand when we're back upstairs." Ginny raced for the top of the final flight, Hermione a stride behind. "He's been followed, and I have to go after him. It's broomsticks, you probably shouldn't come—be my backup, though, watch after me and come in if things go really wrong—you and the others, wherever they've got to—"

"Shooting gallery, where else?" Hermione frowned as Ginny pulled open the door of the War Room. "What are you after in here?"

"I'm good, but I'm not good enough to take out Death Eaters by myself." Popping open a chest in the corner with her wand, Ginny rummaged for a second, then held up what she'd been looking for in triumph. "Unless they never see me coming."

"Good thinking." Hermione held out her arm. "I'll take you back up—your bedroom?"

"Yes." Ginny latched on, and gritted her teeth through the compression of Side-Along-Apparition, before letting out a breath of relief as they materialized safely beside the much-expanded snow globe. "It's inside here, this is what's guarding it," she said rapidly, mounting her broom, then pulling on Harry's Invisibility Cloak (which he had left in the War Room in case it was urgently needed by someone going out on a mission, with the sole proviso that he got to cast three unopposed spells on anyone who lost or damaged it). "This is the way into the wizardspace, so you weren't doing the spell wrong, it was just getting lost when it got here."

Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth, holding in what Ginny suspected was a slightly mad giggle, then held up a finger. "Don't leave yet," she said, and drew her wand, murmuring a three-part spell. Ginny had to bite back a little cry of surprise as the Cloak's edges whipped up, surrounding the front and back of her broomstick as well as her feet, and tucked themselves neatly inside the main body, disappearing entirely.

"There." Hermione let her wand slip back up her sleeve. "Now they can't see you from any angle, and it'll open just enough to let your wand tip out, or let you walk if you have to land. Hurry and get there. I'll get Neville and Meghan, and we'll tell our pendants to 'listen' for yours. And Ginny—please be careful."

"As much as I can be," Ginny promised, and kicked off from the floor as Hermione Disapparated, flying straight for the bottom of the snow globe, the bottom she had seen Harry and Ron pass through like it wasn't even there—

The handle of her broomstick bounced off it, sending her momentarily out of control. She pulled up an instant before she would have hit the far wall, and indulged under her breath in a few expressions of which her mother would not have approved.

Just in case I was wondering if Voldemort's tumbled to our being after his shiny. He's sealed this thing off. I can't get through it—I might be able to send my pendants through, and if I had a dagger like Harry's, I could get that through—

The thought of her pendants, and of the Pack-cubs' daggers, circled back suddenly and brought a broad grin to Ginny's face. She reached inside her robes, brought out the golden chain she'd worn so long she barely noticed it any longer, and stroked her finger along the one jewel which was different than the others.

Beautifully, beautifully different.

Gliding forward again, she held up the green jewel she'd been gifted when Alex had made her a secondary Heir of Slytherin. "Put this thing back the way it was," she told it. "Just long enough to let me in, and then just long enough to let the three of us out on our way back. Can you do that?"

The jewel flashed twice, and Ginny snorted a laugh. Why am I not surprised it uses the same codes we do. "Go ahead, then," she said, and smiled as another thought came to her. "And once I'm through, one of you red ones, show me where I'm going, all right?"

Since Ron found out what they do when he was looking for me, it seems only right I should use one to go looking for him.

A bright green flare told her the Slytherin magic was complete, and she leaned forward, sending her broom shooting straight for the now-intangible bottom of the snow globe.

The Lynx is on the prowl.

Death Eaters, beware.


Ron shielded his eyes with a hand as he and Harry pulled up their brooms beside the palm-sized cloak pin hovering lazily in midair, ten feet away from a mountainside path which terminated in a cliff at least two hundred feet high. Like the memory-pictures they'd seen of the Horcrux, it was shaped like an eagle on a shield or coat of arms, all sharp corners and stark lines, and it was made from metal with a shiny coat of enamel over the middle (he'd have to trust Harry on the 'bronze and blue' part), but what clinched it for him was the sour, roiling look of the magic permeating the thing. The locket they'd found at Headquarters, and the cup Harry and Hermione had brought home from Gringotts, had looked exactly like that.

Before Kreacher and little Pearl got to stab the hell out of them with Harry's dagger, that is. Maybe I can get a turn on this one.

"This is it?" asked Harry, the Firebolt hovering neatly beside the pin.

"This is it. Check it with your jewel, if you want."

"Not that I doubt you, but…" Harry lifted his pendants towards the pin, and the red jewel's light flashed triumphantly before going out.

"Better safe than sorry," Ron finished, frowning at the ropes of magic surrounding the pin. He wasn't a theorist, but that looked like more than just levitation spells. "There may be something on it, though. A trap, like that potion Kreacher talked about, in that cave down by the sea."

"Great." Harry scowled. "Maybe we should've waited for Hermione. She'd know how to tell. But we're here, and we probably don't have much time, so…" He shrugged. "Just go for it?"

"I guess." Ron backed his broomstick away a few feet, and drew his wand. "Ready when you are."

Harry reached out, his fingers spread as though he were chasing a Snitch. "In three, two, one—"

His hand closed around the pin.

The ropes of magic flared painfully bright and lashed out. One slapped upwards and across Harry's face, snapping his head back and sending his eyes rolling upwards.

Two more whipped around and slashed through the broomsticks, and Ron yelped as he felt the magic in his fail.

Everything seemed to slow. He had time to watch Harry's graceful arch backwards, off his now-useless broomstick, as limp as he had been in their second year when he'd nearly died.

He'll die now. Unless I do a spell and save him.

The pin was still nestled against Harry's palm, sliding towards his sleeve, clearly caught by the same magic that governed the arm holster for his wand.

But I'll only have time for one spell. And I'd be too close to the ground to transform and pull up.

Harry's glasses had gone somersaulting off his face with the force of the blow, and his pendant chain seemed to float over his shoulder, independent of the body wearing it.

Him or me—it's him or me—

Ron started to raise his wand, and then stopped as another image from that same year suddenly burned golden in his mind.

Or maybe it's not.

Everything snapped back to real time as he yanked his own pendants free of his robes with his left hand, Summoning Harry to him with his wand. Latching onto his friend's limp form, he focused fiercely on what he wanted, then hurled a loop of chain upwards toward the top of the cliff as his yellow jewel pulsed with a vibrant glow.

He only had one shot at this.

Wrap us up, he willed the chain, and watched and felt it obey, loops of metal winding around him and Harry, cradling them as he'd once seen Harry and Ginny cradled and lifted out of a pipe in a Hogwarts bathroom. Hold us together, protect everything—don't let us break our necks—and then, up top there—

The jerk as the chain caught around a bit of rock at the top of the cliff knocked the breath out of Ron, but he wouldn't have cared if it had broken half his bones instead.

I did it—I did it—we're both alive, we're getting out of this, and we even got the Horcrux—

Then they began to swing.

Oh hell—we were out from the cliff when we started falling, and we didn't move any closer to it in between—

Ron just managed to twist the bundle of himself and Harry so that he hit the rock wall first.

The familiar, throat-tightening snap of a forearm bone registered with him in the instant before his head caught up with his arm.

Darkness descended.


Harry sucked in a breath as consciousness returned. He hurt all over, but he was alive and mostly undamaged, he could smell Ron next to him in nearly the same condition, and he could feel the pointy-cornered shape of the brooch Horcrux tucked into his sleeve.

That still doesn't answer where we are, how we stopped falling, or why Ron's breathing into my ear, but the important things are sorted. Except… He wrinkled his nose and wiggled his ears, then growled under his breath. I'm going to have a hell of a time getting us out of here if I can't see. Oh well, get my wand out, do an area spell to make the glasses light up so I can spot them, then Summon them and go from there—

From a long way above him, someone laughed, a deep, menacing chuckle.

Or not. Harry went as limp as he could manage while still trying to get his wand out of his sleeve. It wasn't easy, with his right arm jammed against Ron's limp body. You can wake up now, he thought towards his pendants, which obligingly chilled around his neck, confirming his suspicion that Ron's hand on the Weasleys' clock would be pointing straight up, towards "mortal peril", at this very moment.

And Ginny will probably be coming in after us any second.

I hope she brings backup.


"What a nice little package." Dolohov laughed again, removing the spells he'd used to disguise himself to this point. The two boys were still unconscious, tangled together in whatever Weasley had used to stop their fall—some kind of magical chain, he thought, and remembered vaguely hearing Lucius driveling on about enchanted necklaces the Death Eaters might do well to copy, if they could find the spells.

It looks like we'll have the chance to study one up close. He tapped his foot against the links of chain where they had seemingly melted into the ground. Though we might have to come here to do it, if we can't get this loose…

"Worry about that later," he said aloud, leaning over to peer at the lump of metal, robes, and wizards dangling below. "Right now, have to haul them up, tie them down, and send for he—"

The spell hit him squarely in the back, tearing his wand from his hand and shoving him two stumbling steps forward.

The ground ended a step and a half in front of him.

The last thing Antonin Dolohov ever saw was the tumbling glory of his killer's mane of red hair, as she leaned over the cliff to watch him fall.


Ginny knelt beside the cliff, hands flattened against the ground, keeping her eyes fixed on her husband and her brother rather than the horrible, impossible mess beneath them, the mess which had, a few seconds before, been a human being.

The person who blinded Ron. Who would have tortured Percy. Who was about to drag Harry off to hand him over to Voldemort.

I didn't have a choice.

All the statements were true, and none of them slowed her breathing or made her stop wanting to be sick.

"Ginny!" The voice from below was hoarse, but she would have known it anywhere. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, Harry." Swallowing her nausea, she peered down, and managed to grab hold of a shaky equilibrium when his green eyes, looking distinctly odd without their usual frames, met hers over a strand of chain. "You? Ron?"

"We're okay—well, Ron's knocked out and I think his arm's broken, but nothing critical. I'm just sore all over, though I'll have Pearl or Letha take a look at me anyway. And we got it, Gin." Harry waggled his right hand. "It's in my sleeve."

"Fantastic." Ginny swung her legs around to sit down, keeping ears and nose alert for any approach from behind her. "Need me to find your glasses?"

"Please." Harry squinted at her. "Unless we should get out of here faster than that?"

"I don't think so." Ginny swallowed again before pronouncing the name. "Dolohov said something about sending for help—well, he was saying it when I Disarmed him. So that probably means he didn't have anybody right with him. And Mrs. Danger said something about having their own plan to keep Voldemort from noticing we were in here, so we probably have a minute or two." Drawing her wand, she held it out in front of her. "Spectaculem revelio."

"Sounds good—hey, there they are." Harry aimed his chin to one side, where Ginny could see the sparkles of spell residue. "She didn't happen to say what it was? The plan?"

"Didn't have time." Ginny shot a nonverbal Accio at the glasses, and caught them as they zoomed into her palm. Oh, yuck. These are all smeared with—

Her stomach tried to turn over as she registered what, exactly, they were smeared with.

All smeared, she corrected firmly, and whisked a Cleaning Charm over them before she had time to think about it again.

"How bad is it?" Harry called up to her.

"You won't believe it." Ginny set the glasses carefully on the ground beside her. "They're not even scratched."

"You're kidding."

"Would I lie to you? Don't answer that," Ginny added before Harry could say anything. "I'll get you up here now."

Ron regained consciousness about two-thirds of the way through the levitation, though most of what Ginny could hear from him, in the intervals between her absolute concentration on the spell, was either groans or swearing. When she finally deposited her messy ball of metal and Pridemates on the ground beside her, she was unsurprised to find her hands shaking and her robes damp with sweat all over.

"You did it, Gin." Harry reclaimed his glasses, then slithered carefully out of the grasp of the pendant chain to pull her into a hug, as Ron started reeling it in between more bouts of half-muttered cursing. "You saved us."

"I killed him." Ginny let herself sag against Harry's shoulder, let herself for this one moment be as weak and trembling and frightened as she had wanted to be this entire time. "I killed him from behind. I didn't give him any chance at all."

"You think he would've given us one?" Ron asked, glancing up. "It's a war. We have to take the shots we can. And I know." Unexpectedly, he smiled, looking into her eyes with full understanding. "That's not going to help right now. Not a whole lot does. But you stood up, Ginny, you stood up and you did what you had to. And that means we're alive."

"Not just alive." Harry shook his wrist, and a bulky, bronze pin slid out of his sleeve to rest in the palm of his hand. "We've got it. And I'd appreciate it if one of you would carry it," he added, holding it out to Ginny. "It burns a little."

Ginny plucked the Horcrux gingerly from Harry's hold, and after a moment's thought slid it into her pocket, then sent two lines of stitching around the pocket with her wand, sewing it closed and tacking fabric to fabric. Harry, who'd drawn his own wand once he had his hand free again, had finished splinting Ron's arm by the time she looked up. "That should hold until we get back," he said, standing up, then holding down his hand for Ron's good one. "Think your broom can carry three?"

"It'd better." Ginny got carefully to her feet, and elected to Summon her broom rather than walking over to the spot where she'd left it. "And once we're out of here, we can kill that thing, and then we'll find out just what exactly Mrs. Danger meant by distracting His Dark Lordliness…"


Patroclus Nott sighed as he heard the echoing footsteps moving unhurriedly along the dark, damp, stone-lined hallway. Plucking one of the unlit torches from the holder beside the top of the stairs, he lit it with his wand, then hurried down the stairs. "Malfoy!" he called aloud. "He's waiting for you!"

The pointed, aristocratic face which turned towards him looked somewhat bemused, as though wondering who Patroclus could be addressing, and Patroclus had to bite off a groan. "Are you out of your mind?" he demanded instead. "Hurry! He's called for you! He wants you to help him decide what to do with a prisoner!"

The silver-gray eyes lightened, as though these words had snapped Lucius out of whatever trance or dream he'd been walking in, and he smiled unhurriedly. "Who is it?" he asked, starting to pick his way among puddles of water towards Patroclus.

"Oh, you'll love this." Patroclus chuckled, certain for once of his ground. "Remus Lupin has finally come to pay us a call."

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Author Notes:

Well done to all the Facebook fans who remembered this scene (Chapter 33 of Dealing with Danger, if anyone's keeping score at home), though I will not guarantee that it means what it seems to mean. I am, after all, the Panther Author Goddess of Evil.

Chapter 56, "For I Have Sinned", should, I hope, be ready by this time next week. But will you be ready for it? Will you be ready to see Lucius Malfoy taunt Remus Lupin, or to hear Lord Voldemort reveal a secret which Albus Dumbledore kept hidden for many years, or to witness the revelation of the spy within the Order and that spy's deadly mission?

Ready or not, O readers, here it comes.

Please don't forget to review, and possibly to hop over to the Facebook page (facebook.com/annebwalsh.page) or blog (annebwalsh.com/blog), and I'll see you all next time!