Echoes of Destiny: Harry and Bellatrix's Second Chance

Hermione perfunctorily reached out and picked up the Rubik's cube portkey that Bellatrix Black had neglected to reclaim from Ginny Weasley after the assault on Malfoy Manor. The bright young muggleborn shrugged defensively when she saw Professors Dumbledore and Flitwick wince at her lack of caution. "If Ginny was able to carry it around without any trouble," Hermione said as she began to examine the cube. "I doubt there are any curses on it that would react, especially here at Hogwarts."

"Yes, well, you do seem to be all right," Flitwick observed, perched on one of the chairs in Professor Dumbledore's office. "It does seem to be exactly like the portkey you proposed making, does it not?"

Hermione nodded and pulled out her wand, wordlessly casting a charm on the portkey. "That should keep it from taking me somewhere should I accidentally say a trigger word," she said quietly. She then began twisting the cube into various designs whilst casting diagnostic spells, analyzing an apparent prototype for the selfsame charms thesis project she'd proposed to Flitwick only weeks earlier.

Next, under the watchful eyes of her professors, Hermione laid her wand atop Dumbledore's desk, and began twisting and turning the cube with both hands, methodically solving Rubik's puzzle. Finally, smirking almost imperceptibly, Hermione restored each of the cube's six sides to its baseline monochromatic state, returning the cube to the top of Dumbledore's desk before retrieving her wand. Performing a few final diagnostic charms on the cube, she allowed herself a small smile.

"Something interesting?" Dumbledore inquired, leaning forward while alternating his gaze between Hermione and the cube.

"The spellwork on the Rubik's cube is quite rough," she declared.

"We observed that," Flitwick offered quietly.

Hermione nodded. "Of course you did," she acknowledged. "However, you probably think the spellwork is rough in that it is a prototype fresh from the drawing board and that the maker was toying with it in an attempt to improve it."

She placed the portkey down on Dumbledore's desk. "I would suggest that it is rough either because someone wanted a multi-destination portkey and simplistically fashioned one from this cube or because someone had prior experience with a multi-destination Rubik's cube portkey and attempted to make a crude imitation. Seeing as that sort of portkey is not on the market, I would guess the former is the situation."

"I see," said Dumbledore, glancing at the portkey.

"What makes you so sure that it is either a simplistic solution or a crude imitation?" Flitwick asked.

Hermione gestured to the cube still sitting solved atop the desktop. "First of all, the cube has only charms that are strictly necessary for it to function. In light of modern advances in portkey arithmancy, travel via this portkey would seem clumsy and exceedingly uncomfortable. The person who made this was no arithmancer, and certainly not a professional."

"Furthermore," she continued, "in my more developed plan of the portkey, resolving the Rubik's cube to this monochromatic, solved state provides baseline, root-level access to its layered charm scheme, giving the user fairly fine control over the portkey's functions. In this portkey, the charms aren't layered atop one another but rather crammed next to each other. That suggests to me that the person who manufactured the portkey takes no joy from solving the Rubik's cube's puzzles. Thus, the person probably does not have an analytic mind. This wizard or witch was acting out of their element."

"Hence, while my proposed cube could be completely reprogrammed, this cube's functions are rigidly fixed. For example, I detected no more than a dozen programmed destinations. Similarly, the security wards I propose for my cube depend significantly upon deduction and subtlety, whereas the wards on this cube appear to be simple password wards, which function on the basis of pure brute force. The idea to make it was original, granted, but it was simplistically executed," Hermione concluded.

"Simplistic as it is," Flitwick mused, "it could still be the work of a more professional spell crafter."

"Yes," Hermione retorted, "except for my final observation. The crafter of the cube should have used a spell based on the Alternative Variances Theorem to allow the several programmed destination protocols to draw on the common portkey spell source as a matter of course."

Flitwick frowned and glanced at the cube with squinted eyes. "The cube doesn't work that way?"

Hermione shook her head. "It would appear that for a programmed destination to activate, the main charm on that destination has to overpower the other spells it would normally clash with. The maker cast the spells for the programmed destinations with a great deal more power than was used for the other spells on the portkey-apparently for this very purpose. It was clever, but clumsy.

Dumbledore seemed impressed by Hermione's inferences. "Well done, Miss Granger," he said, eyes twinkling on cue as he provided Hermione with both the acknowledgement she so often seemed to crave as well as reassurance about the relevance of her own research. "I daresay you need not fear that your own proposal has been rendered useless. I expect you will be able to create a prototype far more advanced than this one."

Smiling brightly, Hermione thanked her professors for bringing her into their council, excusing herself and standing as the rumble of the moving stone staircase, acting as the password warded door to the Headmaster's office, heralded the arrival of Alastor Moody and Lily Potter. While Mad-Eye scowled from habit, Lily nodded to first Flitwick-who had followed Hermione's cue and also stood to leave-and then to her fellow brilliant muggleborn witch. Seeing the big smile on the face of her pseudo protégé, Lily raised her eyebrows and rhetorically queried Hermione, "So I guess that means you'll be able to proceed with your charms proposal, after all?" Beaming, Hermione nodded before descending on the stone stairs with her Charms professor.

Now alone with Alastor and Lily, Dumbledore allowed the twinkle to fade from his eyes. He stood up wearily from his desk, exchanging greetings with the witch and wizard, before walking to the cabinet that contained his Pensieve. Removing the Pensieve from the cabinet, he said leadingly, "I have already been reviewing my memories of Harry Ashworth."

"You found something?" Lily asked, hopeful.

"Precious little, I am afraid," Dumbledore sighed, walking back to the desk upon which he placed the Pensieve. "Most of the memories I reviewed and refreshed held only information of which I have long been consciously aware. As such, the only thing that really stuck out to me was something he said in passing on the day I released him from the staff."

"Oh?" Moody asked in genuine surprise. Having been in Dumbledore's close confidence during the years Ashworth had been at Hogwarts, Moody figured he knew everything about Ashworth that Dumbledore did.

"I told Mr. Ashworth that he might one day be able to come back and teach at Hogwarts," Dumbledore told Moody and Lily. "He responded by saying that Defense Against the Dark Arts was his stronger area."

Lily pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, I can't honestly say he was a brilliant Potions professor."

"Indeed," Dumbledore acknowledged. "Before we view the memories you two have of Ashworth, I have prevailed upon Severus to provide me one of his memories. I think you will find it interesting."

Professor Dumbledore gestured for them to enter the Pensieve, and he followed. They viewed Harry Ashworth's conversation with Severus Snape on the night that he had attempted to help Narcissa run away from Hogwarts. In it, they witnessed Ashworth berate Snape harshly, telling him that he would never really be one of the purebloods and of the horrible things the Death Eaters would do to the innocent. Before long, they exited the memory.

"That is a side of Ashworth I never quite saw," Moody said faintly.

Briefly, Lily explained the situation as she remembered it and summarized her own interview with Ashworth that night. "He was quite displeased," Lily concluded.

Dumbledore sat down in his chair. "It is a valuable memory. It reveals a little of what was behind Harry Ashworth's mask. In my review of my memories, I almost never saw Ashworth express raw, uninhibited emotion. He was not necessarily an actor by any stretch of the imagination, but he would have made an excellent Poker player."

"Poker?" Moody asked, sounding both confused and suspicious.

"Forget I said it," Dumbledore said. "The point is that in an unguarded moment, Ashworth displayed that he unequivocally opposes Lord Voldemort. That is reassuring."

"But only if Harry Ashworth is alive," Lily pointed out. "As far as we know, we're dealing with Bellatrix. Regardless of how much goodness there is in her-and goodness knows there may not be overly much-she is about as mercenary as you get."

"But is also completely dedicated to Harry Ashworth," Dumbledore countered.

Having listened silently, Moody finally spoke. "Have any of you noticed that Ashworth bears a striking resemblance to James?"

Reflexively, Lily opened her mouth to deny the resemblance, but then stopped as Harry Ashworth's appearance materialized in her mind. "I guess there is a bit of a resemblance," she said, realizing for the first time how much her former professor resembled her husband.

"Perhaps the result of pureblood relations?" Dumbledore mused, removing a pair of vials from a desk drawer. "He may even be related to the Potter line. Now, if you two would be so kind to deposit your own memories of Ashworth here, we can proceed."

Bellatrix threw herself out of the path of a stunner and straight into a repelling charm. It propelled her through the air, and she collided with the ground. A familiar trickle in her nose told her that she was bleeding.

Because dodging all of Harry's spells seemed rarely to be an option, Bellatrix often found herself having to pick which hex she thought she could take and keep fighting. Thus, she had chosen pain over unconsciousness and the end it would bring to the duel. She hated short duels, almost as much as she hated easy ones.

That said, although Bellatrix remained consistently grateful for Harry's skills, and increasingly convinced of the wisdom she displayed when she decided to make him her mate, Bellatrix was also intermittently annoyed by Harry's prowess, since it meant she very rarely won their duels. In fact, only after Bellatrix forced Harry to stop holding back on her during their practice duels did she realize how truly formidable he was. Harry's spell repertoire remained slightly more limited than hers, but he learned to cast new spells very, very quickly. While the projection and phoenix fire spells with which she'd previously challenged him had taken him some time and effort to master, Bellatrix had not yet taught herself to cast either. By contrast, Harry's ability to learn from her spells she could already cast seemed almost instantaneous. Moreover, the speed of his reflexes rivaled the speed with which he acquired spells. His ability to abruptly change direction while spinning and weaving away from her spellfire reminded Bellatrix of a quidditch seeker. Add to that his raw power, and Bellatrix found herself crossing wands with the greatest duelist she had ever faced. But forcing him to stop going easy on her had taken some effort, indeed.

At first, when Bellatrix and Harry resumed their practice duels following her husband's prolonged convalescence, every spell Harry cast at her seemed so underpowered that Bellatrix feared that the injury Harry suffered to propel them both through time had permanently damaged his magical core. Watching Harry run through complements of difficult and draining spells, however, Bellatrix quickly realized that Harry was in truth back at his full magical strength-if anything, he seemed to be even more powerful after his convalescence that he had been before it-causing Harry's wife to grow more and more annoyed with her husband's kid gloved approach to their duels.

Initially, when her admonitions to Harry to challenge her elicited insufficient response, Bellatrix began throwing the magical kitchen sink at her husband during their duels. Harry bobbed, dodged, shielded, and disapparated throughout the long abandoned RAF hanger which Bellatrix had purchased and warded specifically for the purpose of training with her husband.

Still, Harry kept lobbing softballs at his wife, albeit almost apologetically. Noting that Harry's reticence seemed to increase after evenings of lovemaking, Bellatrix even considered withholding physical intimacy to make Harry frustrated and angry, but had to admit to herself, protestations aside, that she enjoyed their sex life every bit as much as Harry did.

So Bellatrix Black decided to switch tactics. Towards the end of yet another softball duel with Harry, Bellatrix stepped deliberately into the path of one of Harry's marshmallow banishers. Although the spell was barely stronger than a stiff breeze, Bellatrix cried and fell to the floor. Harry then rushed to his wife's side. As he crouched down beside her, turning her on her back to assess her level of consciousness and degree of injury, Bellatrix slapped Harry's face with all the force she could muster. Harry was shocked speechless-Bellatrix was not.

"So," Bellatrix began, her voice both cold and angry, "what do you think the vile men who form the core of Riddle's Death Eaters would do to me if they incapacitated me during a duel? What would Rodolphus-a man whose bed I spurned for yours-do? What would his brother Rabastan do? What would any twisted Death Eater have done to Lily Potter, or to Molly Weasley?"

Bellatrix paused briefly, forcing Harry to face the full weight of her words.

"Your misguided unwillingness to treat me like an equal on this friendly little battlefield," she continued, getting on her feet as she gestured at the space of the hangar, "might someday cause my death, or even expose me to tender mercies worse than death, at the hands of Riddle himself. If you love me," she briefly paused again, placing a passionate kiss on Harry's lips before adding, "and I believe that you do, then stop treating me like some goddamned flower. As you yourself have said, I'm the most powerful witch you've ever faced on the field of battle. Start treating me like it."

Throughout Bellatrix's monologue, and even her kiss, Harry's face had remained impassive, as if he were still stunned. Staring briefly into his bride's violet eyes, Harry then turned and slowly strode back towards his side of the hanger. Spinning suddenly to face Bellatrix after walking twenty odd feet, Harry wordlessly waved his wand, instantly suffusing the hangar with blindingly bright light.

Now blinded herself, Bellatrix recalled the dueling instincts drilled ruthlessly into her reflexes during training with her uncle Orion. Twisting her torso to the left to dodge the follow-up spell Harry was sure to send her way, Bellatrix nonetheless found herself spun around and knocked to the floor by an overpowered banisher which barely grazed her shoulder as it sizzled through the air to explode against the floor of the hangar behind her.

Correctly expecting Harry to cast at the spot where she landed, Bellatrix rolled to her right as Harry's spells punched the floor beside her, quickly crouching before wordlessly unleashing a deafening sonic pulse from the tip of her own wand. Using the noise to mask her apparation, Bellatrix disapparated behind Harry, still trying to blink away the spots that filled her eyes as she urgently waved her wand to throw a fireball at Harry. She'd nearly completed her incantation when she heard her husband yell "Expelliarmus!" As she felt her wand fly from her grasp, Bellatrix also felt herself flung violently backwards, losing consciousness as she collided with the floor.

The warm, rich fragrance of violet bouquets filled Bellatrix's nostrils as she slowly regained consciousness. As her eyes fluttered slowly open, Bellatrix found herself looking at the face of her beloved, his expression pained even as he warmly smiled at his wife. Harry sat cross-legged on the floor near Bellatrix's head, to her right, cradling her head in his lap while stroking her long ebon locks, curling strands of hair around the fingers of his right hand, resting his left hand gingerly atop her forehead. As Harry helped Bellatrix sit up, placing a soft kiss on her moist lips, Bellatrix noticed that the floor of the hangar was entirely covered with violet petals.

"You were right, Bellatrix," Harry said softly, "I was being selfish. It hurts me to hurt you, but by sparing myself that pain I was placing you at greater risk." He paused, smirking almost imperceptibly even as he smiled. "I'll respect your wishes and try to kick your arse every time we duel." Harry then held Bellatrix tightly, pressing his right cheek against hers and crushing her bosom against his chest as he spoke still more softly into her ear. "But how I tend any wounds I may inflict is entirely up to me."

From that day forward, Harry always dueled Bellatrix fiercely, as if she were every bit the skilled and powerful witch he remembered. But fortunately, despite her instruction to not to hold back, Harry never used inherently lethal spells against her, even though she used them against him. In a perverse sort of way, Bellatrix enjoyed throwing the nastiest spells she could at Harry because she knew he would repel them-she would help him get better at repelling them. And because it provided her with the bittersweet pleasure of being able to do something Harry could not, albeit by choice.

To further reign in her frustration, Bellatrix also rationalized her constant defeats with the thought that, although Harry was a much better duelist, she herself was by no means a poor one. After all, from conversations she had had with him about the future, she knew that she had the potential ability to fight against him nearly toe to toe. He had also said that she was the most powerful witch he had ever known. That meant that if she could only get to the point where her chance of beating Harry in a duel was close to fifty-fifty, she could easily believe that she had realized her potential to be better than any other witch. But what about wizards? she realized. Harry had never told her how she stacked up to other wizards he had known.

Pushing these fleeting thoughts from her mind and returning her mind to the present, however, Bellatrix rolled away from the point of her collision with the floor, heaving herself up as quickly as she could while ignoring the pain in her nose and the blood steadily trickling down her face. Harry was standing in a dueling pose, already preparing to cast another spell, but Bellatrix knew that the blood on her face now caused him to hesitate. Realizing that he might choose to end the duel now that she was injured, Bellatrix lashed out with her wand to prevent it. If he was busy defending himself, he could hardly call an end to the duel. A shower of small purple orbs laced with black sparks of energy sprayed from her wand and converged on Harry, spinning around him almost like a tornado.

Bellatrix knew that Harry was familiar with this spell, but she loved watching him overcome it. Harry whirled, his wand pointed from him. Once the point of wand had travelled in a complete circle around Harry's position, leaving an orange bubble around him, he drew the wand in and stabbed it down toward the ground. Yellow spellfire marked a shockwave that exploded and pushed the orange shield outward. The expanding shield met the purple orbs and Harry was engulfed in an explosion of yellow, orange, and purple light.

Bellatrix shot half a dozen spells into the cloud and heard them bounce off another shield spell. She then aimed at the ground and shouted "Reducto!" The ground upon which Harry had been standing exploded.

Suddenly, Bellatrix felt an arm wrap around her torso, catching her wand arm and pinning it down. The point of Harry's wand poked her neck and she heard him whisper, " Stupefy ."

When Bellatrix awoke, she was, as usual, lying on the ground amidst a sea of violets. Touching her face, Bellatrix realized that Harry had scourgified the blood from her nose and repaired the break. Still, Harry stared into her eyes, concern written on his face. "I'm fine," Bellatrix said, disappointment clear in her voice.

"I know, Bella," Harry said, smiling down at her. "It's just that I have a hard time dueling with you when you're actively bleeding."

Bellatrix sat up. "We can continue."

"We could," Harry admitted, "but I think we've had enough."

Bellatrix suspected that he really meant she had had enough. She had come to realize that Harry hated to see her either tired or injured. "Maybe you could practice phoenix fire," Bellatrix suggested hopefully. "It may be the most useful spell you know."

"Yes," admitted Harry, "but quite exhausting."

"You said that now that you could do it without having to cast the image projection to see where you were going that it was better," Bellatrix said.

"True," Harry said.

Rather than try to argue with him, Bellatrix put an expectant look on her face and stared at Harry. Eventually he gave in. He picked up his wand, closed his eyes, and in a burst of flame disappeared. Bellatrix sat for several moments alone in their cavernous hangar. Eventually, another burst of flame heralded Harry's return, several feet from Bellatrix.

Harry trudged over and sat down next to her. "Well, I think that does it. I'm exhausted."

"Is there any chance that you could take me along when you use phoenix fire?" Bellatrix asked after they had sat silently for several minutes.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Maybe we'll have to try sometime."

"It is not our lack of effort, Director," Rufus Scrimgeour argued vehemently. "You-Know-Who's attacks have increased in the recent months. With the population spread out so thinly across Britain, each call we respond to consumes more and more time. That, combined with the policy to have a minimum amount of aurors guarding the Ministry at all times during all shifts, means that we do not have the resources to respond to every attack."

"People are dying and, worse, being terrorized," Director Crouch barked, slamming his fist on the conference table that sat in the room next to his office in the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "If we cannot protect them, they will turn to You-Know-Who."

Scrimgeour rose to his feet. "What would you have us do?" he demanded angrily.

Frank Longbottom, an auror captain, took a deep breath, wondering whether he should intervene in the discussion. In point of fact, he had little to say, but clearly, the situation called for calm. The Auror Corps could ill afford any further loss of unity. At that very moment, however, the Office of the Minister made Frank's decision for him as a ministerial functionary entered the room and drew the attention of its occupants by clearing his throat.

"Yes, Weatherby?" Director Crouch barked, glaring at Percy Weasley.

"The Minister wishes to speak with Captain Longbottom," Percy announced rather stiffly.

"Fine," Crouch growled, waving his hand in a semi-offensive manner toward the Minister's favored grandchild and chief errand boy.

Hiding a smirk, Frank rose. Nodding to his fellow auror commanders, he then exited the conference room on Percy Weasley's heels as Crouch continued berating the leaders of the Auror Corps. He had seen criminals give aurors the bird with less contempt than Crouch had used in motioning toward Percy. Crouch treated most people the same way, but it was somehow satisfying to see the Weasley boy on the receiving end.

Frank was grateful for the opportunity to escape the weekly briefing, but suspected that he might be headed somewhere worse. Minister Prewitt rarely lavished praise upon his subordinates, and in Frank's experience had never called any subordinate to his private office for the sake of simple pleasantries. Mentally preparing for his encounter with Prewitt, Frank reached the soundless mausoleum of cold, dark marble halls that housed the Minister's office, scarcely noting the concurrent loss of his nepotistic escort, Percy. Given security concerns, the only people now allowed on the floor-in addition to Minister Prewitt-were his closest assistants and advisors, along with the Minister's elite detail of auror bodyguards.

As such, Frank first had to pass through two separate security checks before gaining entrance to the reception area, whereupon he was instructed to swear a magical oath that he was in fact Frank Longbottom, that he had always in fact been Frank Longbottom, and that in fact he meant no harm to Davian Prewitt. Finally, after placing atop the reception desk both his primary personal wand and the secondary tactical wand he carried as an active duty auror, Frank Longbottom entered the Minister's office.

Minister Prewitt sat at his desk-evidently preoccupied as he scribbled upon and sifted through several voluminous rolls of parchment-flanked by two aurors who stood with wands drawn. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood to Prewitt's right, while Amelia Bones stood to Prewitt's left. At the Minister's absently gestured invitation, Frank took a seat in front of the desk and crossed his legs, taking care to make his movements seem leisurely. Neither Bones and nor Shacklebolt was known as a jumpy auror, but visitors to the Minister had been accidently injured by zealous bodyguards in the past.

Sitting in silence at the Minister's pleasure, Frank glanced soberly at the panoply of portraits adorning the walls of Prewitt's office. Some of the portraits were fairly large, while others were mere miniatures. A number of the portraits featured historical figures. But most of the portraits depicted witches and wizards who had died at the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Many of the portraits hung in silence, motionless, the inanimate visages of magicals in the very bloom of youth, murdered unexpectedly and absurdly, having made no provisions for the type of standard magical portrait often commissioned by mature, successful witches and wizards.

Given the morbidly related popularity of magical photography, Frank wagered that snapshots of most of these young magicals could be found in family photo albums and friends' scrapbooks. In fact, by unspoken agreement, those members of the Order friendly with one another often took photos of each other, tacitly acknowledging the mortal peril in which Order members placed themselves. (Frank had noticed that his muggleborn friend Lily Porter sighed sadly and darkly whenever a new member of the Order arrived at a social function bearing a brand new magical camera, whispering quietly to herself about something called "Kodak moments," whatever that meant.)

Frank was sure that Minister Prewitt could have secured copies of magical photos for most of these dead magicals, respecting the fact that Prewitt chose instead to surround himself with mute, unmoving witnesses to the war he had prosecuted for two decades-albeit with scant success-against Voldemort's forces. Accustomed to the animated portraits common in the wizarding world, Frank himself found the frozen portraits haunting, with none more so than that of the late Minister Black. Black's was the largest of the frozen portraits, and was mounted on the wall behind Prewitt's desk. Day in and day out, Frank mused, Minister Black gazed down on Minister Prewitt sadly, staring quietly along with all the others in their own silent portraits. Frank wondered whether Minister Prewitt pitied them or whether they pitied Minister Prewitt. Perhaps they drove the Minister-aged beyond his years-forward.

The sound of the Minister clearing his throat with evident impatience returned Frank to the present.

"Longbottom?" Prewitt croaked caustically.

"What? Sorry. Lost in thought," Frank said hastily, eying Bones and Shacklebolt who looked as if they were wondering whether or not a Death Eater could have subjected Frank to the Imperius Curse and somehow had gotten him past the checkpoints. Making sure to keep his arms relaxed and his hands in plain sight, Frank cleared his own throat. "What can I do for you, Minister?" he asked.

"Tell me what you were doing in the DMLE records room yesterday afternoon," Minister Prewitt demanded, his eyes boring into Frank's with intensity.

"The records room?" Frank asked, making his voice sound slightly confused-just as he had rehearsed previously.

"Yes," Minister Prewitt said impatiently. "You were in the records room yesterday."

"Well, yes," Frank said, eyeing Prewitt's desk. On it sat a familiar folder. "I visit the records room often as a matter of course. It is a routine part of any investigation involving a repeat offender."

"A repeat offender such as Harry Ashworth?" Prewitt barked.

"Well, no," Frank said, staring at the Ashworth file that sat in the precise center of the desk. "The thing is that as one goes through these files in repeat offender investigations, one becomes familiar with the people in the files. I saw the Ashworth name, did not recognize it, and took a quick peek to see who he was. Now I know."

"Who were you looking up when you happened to spot Harry Ashworth's file?" Prewitt asked.

This was where Moody, Potter, and Black had disagreed on the best approach should Longbottom be questioned. If Frank's visit had been routine, he should not remember anything. Being able to produce the name off a file he had only glanced at for a moment would be suspicious. On the other hand, trying to pretend he could not remember anything would be what a less clever snoop would do. And yet, the fewer details he appeared to remember, the briefer his grilling by the Minister might be.

"I don't remember," Longbottom said, shrugging. "Besides, what does some Australian who died twenty years ago have to do with anything?" he asked, deliberately referring to Ashworth as an Australian in an attempt to leave the impression that he had not looked closely enough at the file to read its proclamation that Harry Ashworth's identity papers had been false, and yet, strangely, the Ministry had issued him new, genuine papers.

"He wasn't Australian," Prewitt growled, sounding rather like a spurned lover. "He didn't even have an Australian accent, for Merlin's sake."

"Eh, okay," Frank said. He knew that, too. Professor Dumbledore and other Order members had placed every memory they had of Harry Ashworth into a Pensieve. Over the past days, they had examined each memory closely, cataloging every fact about the wizard that might be relevant.

There was silence for several moments until the door opened to admit the auror who had come to relieve Amelia Bones of duty. Now staring back at the top of his desk in thought, Prewitt gestured at the door absentmindedly as he grumbled dismissals to Bones and Longbottom both. Following the speedy and seamless changing of the guard, Frank and Amelia left the office together, walking in silence before entering the lift.

"So, Frank," Amelia asked as the lift doors closed, " is Harry Ashworth alive?"

"Is that what the Minister was wondering?" Frank retorted.

"Yes," Amelia replied. "I'm wondering, too."

Frank shrugged. "It was just a name that caught my eye," he protested.

Right eyebrow raised incredulously, Amelia favored Frank with her infamous interrogation room stare. "Longbottom."

"Does the Minister want Ashworth to be alive or dead?" Frank asked.

"Frank. Longbottom."

Frank sighed. "I do not know whether Harry Ashworth is alive or dead. That is the truth. I am not acquainted with anyone who knows the answer to that question."

Amelia now glared at Frank with narrowed eyes. "Someone in your little Order must think he's alive."

Frank shrugged. "Does the Minister want Ashworth to be alive or dead?" he asked, genuinely curious. The Order had not assigned him to discover that tidbit of information, even when they had contemplated the possibility that opening Ashworth's file would trigger alarms.

The lift clanged to a halt and the door opened. Amelia held Frank's gaze, even as her expression morphed from suspicious to dispassionate. "Both," she said before stepping off and walking down the hall.

Bellatrix forced herself to maintain a smirk on her face as Minerva McGonagall led her through Hogwarts Castle towards Professor Dumbledore's office. Occasionally, Bellatrix discerned the voices of students who had either stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays or had returned to school early, even though they remained out of sight. It seemed that McGonagall was deliberately leading Bellatrix to the Headmaster's office via a circuitous route, designed to keep Bellatrix from coming into contact with any of the students. Bellatrix could see the wisdom in what McGonagall was doing. Didn't think the old girl had an ounce of Slytherin in her, Bellatrix mused with amusement.

Shortly, as they arrived at the famed entrance to the Headmaster's Office, McGonagall uttered the password of the week. "Sour pops."

Bellatrix arched her eyebrows before proceeding up the moving staircase. Noting with some surprise that the Deputy Headmistress had not accompanied her, Bellatrix dropped the smirk from her face in favor of her baseline dispassionate façade. She and Harry had agreed that they did not need to ask Dumbledore for anything-mostly. A close examination of Tom Riddle's diary had revealed one thing they did need to go forward. But with luck, she could walk out of the meeting with Dumbledore thinking she had done him a favor, rather than him believing she had come to him for help. In any case, Harry and Bellatrix could play hard-to-get.

Arriving at the top of the staircase, Bellatrix passed through the door to Dumbledore's office to find the Headmaster seated behind his desk, surveying her over his half-moon spectacles. "Mrs. Black," he said politely, motioning for her to have a seat in front of his desk.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," Bellatrix replied placidly, sitting down and staring into the bowl of lemon drops speculatively before allowing her eyes to move across the desk. Aside from the lemon drop bowl, Dumbledore's desktop held nothing more than a familiar Rubik's cube. The one I forgot to take away from that hussy, no doubt .

Dumbledore and Bellatrix sat silently surveying one another for several moments-each of the self-styled master strategists waiting for the other to cave in and begin the conversation. Bellatrix smiled coyly and leaned back in her chair. She would not break. After all, he certainly had more questions than she did.

"It has been a long while since we crossed paths," Dumbledore said tactically, allowing Bellatrix her small victory.

Bellatrix shrugged. "I suppose it has."

"I don't suppose you would care to explain where you have been," Dumbledore said, indirectly positing a question.

A small smile quirked on Bellatrix's lips as Bellatrix remembered her conversation with Moody. "The years passed by in a blur," she said.

Dumbledore sighed internally and then audibly as he attempted another tactical shift. "I am quite sure that if you focus on the blur, "Dumbledore said sternly, banishing all traces of grandfatherly twinkle from his eyes, "you can give me a better answer."

Bellatrix stared off into space. "I see teacups… large teacups… moving in circles… always moving. And I hear something about a, uh… a small world."

Dumbledore again sighed internally, struck by the absurdity and obscurity of her reference. "For some reason, I cannot see you living among the Muggles, Mrs. Black."

"It was a magical place," Bellatrix said dreamily, her violet eyes dancing with vicious mirth.

Frustrated to find himself at another dead end, the Headmaster pursed his lips and picked up the Rubik's cube. "Seeing as you do not care to speak of whereabouts, perhaps you could enlighten me on this little artifact."

Bellatrix looked at it and shrugged. "It is a portkey. What more do you want to know?"

"A portkey capable of being reused to visit multiple destinations," Dumbledore clarified.

"I suppose so," Bellatrix admitted, still leaning back casually in her chair.

"If I may ask," Dumbledore inquired, recommitting himself to tactical politeness, "where did you come by it?"

"Harry bought a bunch from some Muggle toy store-probably right after you fired him. He put some spells on them, and they have been lying around ever since then," Bellatrix explained. "You can keep that one, of course," she added skeptically, in no hurry to repossess an object upon which the Order could have placed their own clever little charms.

"Thank you," Dumbledore replied with tactful graciousness.

"You're welcome," Bellatrix said with equivalent magnanimousness. "If that is all you wanted, I should probably get going."

"I would rather you did not," Dumbledore requested. "I should like to discuss three subjects, namely Tom Riddle's diary, Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, and the riddle of Harry Ashworth himself."

"I see no need to discuss any of that," Bellatrix responded lightly.

"I am asking you to enlighten me," Dumbledore replied with an almost icy politeness and an unspoken 'or else,' even as his blue eyes sought unsuccessfully to lock onto Bellatrix's violet ones.

"Very well," Bellatrix replied, seeing no benefit from further provoking the Headmaster. "As a show of good will, I shall tell you everything you want to know about the diary and the Chamber of Secrets. However, I will limit my comments on Harry Ashworth."

"Am I correct in understanding that you and Harry Ashworth entered the Chamber of Secrets and killed the basilisk?" Dumbledore asked, feigning patience.

"Yes." Bellatrix said curtly.

"How were you able to open it?" Dumbledore continued.

"How were you able to open it during this past school term?" Bellatrix countered.

Professor Dumbledore took a slow, deep breath. "I benefitted from whatever it was you did to ensure that you would be able to enter more easily. But clearly, there were other original mechanisms to limit access. Please, humor me, Mrs. Black."

Bellatrix then made a tactical shift of her own. "Harry Ashworth was a parselmouth," she admitted, launching into a precise, if succinct, recitation of the basic events.

Professor Dumbledore listened closely, occasionally nodding in respectful acknowledgment of the highlights of her story. "So, Mr. Ashworth also had knowledge that the diary existed and could be used to open the Chamber."

"Yes," Bellatrix said carefully, pausing briefly to parse her words. "He knew that it was only a matter of time before the diary would cause trouble."

"How did he know the diary existed?"

Bellatrix paused again. "That particular question," Bellatrix replied, "is one I cannot answer."

"You told Rose Potter and Leo Black that Lord Voldemort would do nearly anything to recover his diary," Dumbledore redirected.

"Yes."

"Why is that?"

"I was trying to intimidate them," Bellatrix admitted.

"You misunderstand me,." Dumbledore said, frowning. "I wish to know why it is that the diary is so valuable to Voldemort."

Bellatrix lapsed into an immature smirk. "Would you want someone reading your diary?"

Dumbledore paused, overmastering his internal frustration. "Is that the value of the diary then?" Dumbledore countered politely.

Bellatrix dropped her smirk-silently berating her penchant for pointless mockery-and shook her head. "Not at all. To my knowledge, Riddle never kept that kind of a diary."

"What kind of diary could it be then?"

"The diary is a horcrux," Bellatrix explained with sudden, disarming candor. "You can appreciate why I would be willing to pay as much as fifty thousand galleons to capture it."

Dumbledore leaned forward, eyes wide with astonishment. "The diary is a horcrux? As in a dark magical object in which Voldemort has deposited a portion of his very soul?"

"That would be correct, Headmaster."

Dumbledore paused in apparently horrified contemplation. "Mrs. Black," he said gravely, "I must insist that your surrender that diary to me."

Bellatrix fought an urge to look the Dumbledore in the eye, recalling rumors rampant among her fellow Slytherins concerning the Headmaster's mastery of legilimency. Instead, breathing deeply, she steeled herself for a difficult exchange. "I'm afraid that I must refuse."

"Mrs. Black," Dumbledore argued urgently, "this is a war-a war that your father started. He died in the fight against Voldemort. Your refusing to surrender the diary impedes the war. If Voldemort has split his soul, we will need to take certain actions, and your refusing to cooperate will hinder us."

The invocation of her father's death angered Bellatrix, causing her to sit stock upright, straight backed and proud. Reigning in her emotions like a true Slytherin, Bellatrix kept her composure as she mentally dissected Dumbledore's words and prepared her retort. "You assume that you are the only person capable of taking responsible action toward this diary," she said. "I was raised with the Dark Arts, Headmaster. You may know more facts, but my inherent understanding very well could outstrip your own. Even Harry deferred to my expertise when we investigated the possibility that the dark lord had created horcruxes."

"Wait-horcruxes?" Dumbledore asked, amazed, eyes now even wider.

"Yes," Bellatrix bit out, annoyed that the Headmaster had interrupted her discourse. "Tom Riddle has made multiple horcruxes. Our hunt for Riddle's horcruxes led us to the home of his Muggle father that fateful night so many years ago. Harry and I were attempting to capture another of his horcruxes."

"Did you recover it?" Dumbledore asked quickly, interrupting Bellatrix yet again as he dropped all tactical pretenses.

"No, but I think it would be very safe to assume it was destroyed in the spellfire fight that ensued when Riddle arrived to defend his interests," Bellatrix replied, pausing briefly before continuing with frank directness. "So as you can see, Harry and I were working on the horcrux project long before you ever knew it might be an issue. In fact, Harry and I were working against Tom Riddle before you even realized that your former student had become the Dark Lord." She again paused, now for effect. "We continued to do so, even after you tossed Harry out of Hogwarts. As such, you should not be trying to take over this fight from me. You should instead be offering me assistance. Riddle's horcrux is in my possession-in the possession of Lady Black, herself, Headmaster-and you will not be able to wrest it away."

"Mrs. Black, we are talking about the public good. If you are truly seeking to better the overall situation against Voldemort, you should be willing to be more open."

"I am being open. I am offering you the opportunity to render aid to the cause," Bellatrix argued.

Dumbledore studied Bellatrix for a minute before finally responding. "Very well, Mrs. Black. What is it you want from me?"

"I need Peter Pettigrew," Bellatrix declared. "He is tied to the diary, and I do not want to proceed without access to him."

Dumbledore frowned. "Surely the diary can be destroyed without Peter."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Destroying the diary is a good idea, albeit unimaginative. I need Peter so I can exploit other possible venues of using the diary against Riddle.

"I do not have Peter Pettigrew to give you," Dumbledore replied.

"You have the resources to find him."

"Resources used to help fight Voldemort."

"Perhaps you should leave the fighting to the Ministry and divert your resources to attacking the problem at its root," Bellatrix retorted, standing as she made to leave.

"We're not finished discussing this issue, Mrs. Black," Dumbledore said sternly.

"Actually, I think we are," Bellatrix stated plainly, making her way to the door. "If you get any important leads on Pettigrew, let me know. I may have some resources of my own to help capture him."

Before she reached the door, Dumbledore asked one last question. "Does the term 'Daughter of the Stars' mean anything to you, Mrs. Black?"

As Bellatrix opened the door and prepared to depart, she turned and frowned. "A clever parting insult, Headmaster?"

"Not at all," Dumbledore said hastily. "Just a thought."

Amelia Bones was the ranking auror on duty in the Ministry when several of her comrades arrived in the Magical Law Enforcement office with five Death Eater prisoners and a distraught victim. Surveying the scene as the aurors began going through the steps to book the prisoners and file charges, Amelia addressed the auror lieutenant. "You should have taken her to St. Mungo's," Amelia said, gesturing toward the victim. The victim-a woman, in her late 30's or early 40's with dark red hair- had sought out a chair and had slumped in it. The involuntary trembles shaking her body were a sure sign that she had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse.

"It's an odd case," the lieutenant replied, paying Amelia scant attention as he kept an eye on his subordinates to ensure that they followed proper procedures in booking the prisoners. "We need a statement from her, and she volunteered to get it over with as soon as possible. You might be interested in taking the statement personally. Auror Tonks can give you more details."

Amelia was slightly annoyed at having the responsibility of taking a statement and doing more paperwork shoved on her by an inferior officer, but was amenable to expediting the process as much as possible for the victim.

"If you would come with me to my office," Amelia said, trying to inflect some sympathy into her voice.

The victim did not directly reply, but cooperated when Tonks silently offered help to get down to Amelia's office. In short order, the victim, Tonks, and Amelia were shut up in Amelia's office quietly consuming some snacks that Amelia had found in one of her drawers.

Amelia set up a quill that would automatically transcribe the interview. "If you would please state your name for the record," Amelia began.

"Sabine Lehnsherr," the witch replied, identifying herself.

"Occupation?" Amelia asked, suppressing a yawn.

For some reason, this caused the victim pause, but Tonks spoke up. "She works with Muggles, but she also used to do forgery services on the side."

"My father did," Sabine said quickly, accepting a tissue from Tonks and wiping her eyes.

"I see," Amelia said, wondering if she would be obligated to investigate Sabine's activities at a future time.

"Please tell me what happened," Amelia instructed, looking over to ensure that the quill was transcribing the interview correctly.

Sabine was a wreck, but the story, with the help of Tonks, emerged. A group of Death Eaters had invaded the house. They attacked her and tortured her while her children had hidden upstairs.

"Children?" Amelia asked. "Where are they now?"

"A trustworthy neighbor is looking after them," Tonks said.

"What about the father?"

Tonks shrugged as Sabine sobbed. "Didn't look like there was one."

"Right," Amelia said, trying to get Sabine to focus. "So is that it? They attacked you and then the aurors came and stopped them?"

"They were interrogating her," Tonks offered.

Amelia frowned. "Were they trying to obtain forged documents or something?"

"No," Sabine said, shaking her head and hiccupping slightly. "They were asking about past work I had done."

"What past work was that?" Amelia asked.

"I can't be charged as long as it happened over ten years ago, right?" Sabine asked, seeming to pull herself together.

"That would be correct," Amelia said dryly, seeing that Sabine's previous assertion that it was only her father who forged must have been incorrect.

"Approximately twenty or so years ago, my father and I compiled a forged identity for a man named Harry Ashworth," Sabine confessed.

Amelia sat up her in chair. "Harry Ashworth? Are you saying that Death Eaters, presumably under the command of You-Know-Who, were interrogating you for the purpose of learning about Harry Ashworth?

"Yes," Sabine said, nodding in confirmation. "I wanted to put my statement on the record so that the Death Eaters will have no reason to ask me further questions or attempt to hinder me from reporting what I know."

"Putting your statement on our record doesn't tell the Death Eaters what they want to know," Amelia reminded Sabine.

"You're assuming that the Death Eaters have no access to Ministry records, ma'am."

"Tell me what you know about Harry Ashworth, then." Amelia directed, brushing past Sabine's implication that there were Death Eater spies in the Ministry.

Sabine shrugged. "I don't really know all that much. He approached my father and me around Christmastime in 1975. He needed a complete identity-said he had lost his old one."

"Lost his old one?"

Sabine shrugged again. "He claimed he was not on the run from the law. He said that he had merely lost his identity."

"Continue, then," Amelia directed, wondering absently as to how Ashworth might have 'lost his identity.'

"He paid ten thousand for a complete package," Sabine said.

"I see," Amelia said. "In cash?"

"Yes, cash."

"How did he find you?" Amelia inquired.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," said Amelia, "that people who perform your sort of service are part of a community. Presumably this Ashworth found you through some connection or another."

"Right," Sabine admitted. "I don't normally reveal that sort of thing, but it doesn't matter now. He was referred by Bellatrix Black."

"Bellatrix Black?" Amelia echoed, a look of surprise showing on her face.

"It makes sense," Tonks interjected. "Ashworth was pretty involved with the Blacks and Malfoys right up to when Malfoy and Minister Black were killed."

"I was aware of that," Amelia said, "but wasn't Bellatrix Black a teenager at that time? When did she learn about professional crime to the extent she could refer some random wizard to a forger?"

Both Tonks and Amelia looked to Sabine for the answer. Sabine was willing to oblige. "My father and I did a lot of business with Cygnus Black."

"The late Minister Black?" Amelia asked, sounding faintly surprised. "What kind of business?"

Sabine shrugged. "Black was involved in the real estate business, except that he dealt with Muggles."

"Why would you need a forger for real estate?" Amelia asked.

"Because he was selling magically created property to the Muggles," Sabine explained. "He would go into new developments-the ones with all those flats-and magically add a few floors. He would then sell the apartments. My father and I did the forgeries that fixed up all the relevant Muggle records to reflect the extra property and floors. It's not unlike Platform 9 ¾, except that Muggles have access. It didn't hurt anyone."

"And how was his daughter tied into all of this?" Amelia asked, frowning deeply.

"She was usually with her father at work. There were days when she ran things-interacted with the Muggle customers, filed paperwork with the Muggle government, and even interfaced with my father and me." Sabine explained.

"I'm not sure I can believe that," Amelia replied. "Cygnus Black was not the sort to interact with Muggles comfortably."

"It was the only way Cygnus could eke out a living," Sabine defended. "I'm not saying the Blacks loved Muggles. I'm saying they made their business off of Muggles."

"I see," Amelia said absently. "Was there anything else you can tell me about tonight's incident, or perhaps even about Harry Ashworth?"

The report on Sabine's interview with Madame Bones earned Tonks a spot in the Order's inner circle-at least for one meeting. Dumbledore, James, Lily, Sirius, Moody, Arthur, Molly and a few others were listening with rapt attention as Tonks concluded, "And then, Madame Bones assigned me to escort Sabine to St. Mungo's."

"How extraordinary," Dumbledore commented. "When I met with Mrs. Black, she implied that she had spent many of the past years among Muggles. From your account, it sounds as if Mrs. Black would actually be able to abide among Muggles with few problems."

"Sounds like she might have had a way to make money, too," James observed.

"Theoretically, she has had access to the entire Black fortune," Lily reminded everyone present.

"If that is so, it seems like we would have seen more of the Black money moving around," Molly suggested.

"That is a good point," Lily admitted. "The Bellatrix I knew certainly would have spent piles of gold in abundance, albeit shrewdly with the purpose of making profit."

"And there aren't all that many places to spend wizard gold," Sirius added.

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, taking control of the conversation. "The main purpose of this meeting is to discuss Bellatrix Black and our future interactions with her."

"What about Harry Ashworth?" Lily demanded.

Dumbledore shrugged regretfully. "We have found no significant information concerning him that we did not know already."

"We know who forged his documents, now," Lily retorted. "We've also been reminded that his middle name was Evans, too."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Spare me the long-lost relative theory."

"I think it's oddly coincidental," Lily said, glaring at Sirius. "There's also the fact that he looks remarkably like James."

"Evans isn't all that uncommon of a name," Arthur Weasley said, finally weighing into the conversation for the first time since it had started.

"Besides," James said, "if he's somehow related to me, it's doubtful he'd be going around sporting the name of Evans."

"That is all new information, certainly," Dumbledore said, cutting in. "But it doesn't really help us. I can assure you that Alastor and I are taking steps to investigate Harry Ashworth further. However, in all honesty, I must tell you that it is my opinion that Ashworth is probably dead." He raised his hand to forestall Lily's objections. "I will explain my reasoning another time. Tonight, we must address what is to be done about Bellatrix Black."

The members of the Order looked at Dumbledore with questions on all of their faces, but Mrs. Weasley spoke up first. "Must something be done?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "Apparently, Harry Ashworth and Bellatrix were working together to fight against Voldemort. They made important discoveries. It shames me to admit that they made far more progress in the fight against Voldemort than we have in all of our battles with his followers."

"What do you mean?" Lily asked.

"Neither is now the time for that explanation," Dumbledore said. "Suffice it to say that Bellatrix Black has captured an extremely important object that belongs to Voldemort. She has refused to turn it over to me for proper action."

"Are you saying we're going to need to steal it from her?" James asked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I do not think such a venture would be even mildly successful. No, we are going to have to make friends with her and hope that through our friendship she can be persuaded into doing the correct thing."

"We could just ask her to join the Order," Moody said drily.

Sirius shook his head. "No, that would be a very bad approach. If we ask her to do something, we'll be beholden to her."

"I see," said Lily. "So, we'll just be friends until we can guilt trip her into giving us this thing and cooperating. Perhaps she'll even ask for the opportunity to join the Order."

"That's the general idea," Dumbledore said.

Sirius shook his head yet again. "You're improperly assuming that she's capable of feeling things like guilt and friendship."

"No-no way. I am not going to ask to join the Order," Bellatrix declared to Harry as she carefully unwrapped one of her latest purchases from Diagon Alley. "Eventually, they will realize that I have the upper hand. When they ask me to join, I will gracefully assent after they accept my conditions."

"The idea is to win the war," Harry said, watching as Bellatrix set a rather long and wide, albeit flat, case on one of her tables. "Not assert dominance over the rest of the army."

"There is no army without proper leadership and no victory without competent guidance," Bellatrix shot back airily, opening the case.

"And of course, you will join the Order and tell them how best to wage this war," Harry said somewhat facetiously, moving closer to see what was in the case.

Bellatrix gave Harry a level stare. "Only after they have displayed proper respect for our knowledge and abilities."

Harry hid a smile, looking into the open case and observed what seemed like a couple of hundred wands, albeit short and skinny ones in various sizes and assorted types of wood. "I thought we already had an abundance of those cheap wands on hand," he observed.

"These are not meant to be used as normal wands," Bellatrix informed him. "This is a high-end tool set for professionals who manufacture or repair highly sensitive magical objects."

"Please tell me there is still money in our bank account," Harry sighed.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and nodded her head. "I got you something, too," she said, nodding toward another package sitting on an adjoining table.

Harry walked over and opened it to discover several items of wizard armor crafted from basilisk skin. The ensemble did not quite constitute battle robes, for it was clear that one's normal robes were to be worn with the armor. "This will come in handy in all those pitched battles I fight in," Harry said.

"It's for your stupid little excursions," Bellatrix snapped at him half-heartedly as she continued to admire her tool set. "Maybe it will keep you alive."

"Thank you, Bella," Harry said sincerely as he began to try the various articles of armor on, beginning with the boots and moving onto a special pair of dueling gauntlets.

"Are you going out tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, continuing to put on the armor and deciding he would wear it on his excursion. "It's either that or I use my connection to Tom to find him and 'haunt' him personally. I'd prefer to just find some Death Eaters and terrorize them because they'll be less likely to figure out my techniques and chase me down."

"Good point," Bellatrix admitted.

"You probably shouldn't wait up for me," Harry told her. "Unless I get lucky early on, I'll keep at it."

Bellatrix made some scarcely intelligible sound acknowledging Harry's advice as he made his way down the stairs to the main floor of their flat. He went to their bedroom and dug out a dark, hooded cloak before exiting the apartment into the gloomy Manchester night and disapparating to Diagon Alley.

Harry appeared in an unlit corner of Diagon Alley near the goblin bank. As always was the case during the evening or at night, the street was completely devoid of life. Harry stood still for several moments, confirming that all was as quiet as it seemed. He then gripped his wand tightly and cast the image projection spell. In the middle of the street, about fifteen feet away from where Harry stood in the shadows, the shadow of Harry's image appeared in the street. It resembled Harry exactly, except that Harry's face and hands were translucent, like a ghost. The other difference was that 'Ghost Harry' did not appear to be holding a wand.

The ghostly image of Harry began walking down the street slowly, staring ahead, its hands occasionally reaching forward as if to grasp something just out of sight. Invisible, Harry walked down the street flanking his image, admiring how much more intimidating his so-called ghost appeared adorned in Bellatrix's armor and his own dark, hooded cloak.

Fearfully, Igor Karkaroff glanced around the street in Diagon Alley as he and Pius Thicknesse led a group of Death Eaters toward the Weasley joke shop. The Weasley twins were purebloods, but their joke shop had skated on the thin edge of defiance against the Dark Lord for too long. While the Dark Lord did not want to kill purebloods unless strictly necessary, the joke shop had to be dealt with.

"Hurry up," Thicknesse muttered, glancing back to make sure the Death Eaters under his and Karkaroff's joint command were still following closely. Thicknesse aspired to be a politician, but under Minister Prewitt's stringent policies, he had been unable to entrench himself into the bureaucracy. However, his family did hold a seat on the Wizengamot. It was a small thing, particularly under Prewitt's regime, but he did not want to lose influence or even the seat itself by getting caught torching a shop in Diagon Alley.

"I didn't want to come either," Karkaroff muttered quietly so that the other Death Eaters wouldn't hear.

"You're the one who aspires to join the Dark Lord's inner circle," Thicknesse whispered. "The quicker we get this over with, the better. Now move."

They were just approaching the cross street that would get them to the shop when one of the Death Eaters following Karkaroff and Thicknesse spotted something. "Hey, what's that?"

Karkaroff turned his head down the street and squinted. It was a dark cloaked figure walking down the street toward them at a steady pace. "Who is it?" he asked.

"It's too far away, idiot," Thicknesse said. "It's probably another Death Eater. If it was anyone else, they would have run off by now."

The group of Death Eaters stopped and watched as the figure walked toward them, maintaining a steady pace. Eventually, it was close enough for them to discern its features. Thicknesse, who had been present when the ghost of Harry Ashworth confronted Lord Voldemort, was first to identify the figure.

"It's Ashworth's ghost!" he hissed quietly. "Let's get out of here, and maybe it won't notice us."

Karkaroff shook his head. "Ghost can't hurt people. Besides, if we run from a ghost, the Dark Lord will punish us."

Ultimately, Thicknesse and Karkaroff's debate proved pointless. One of the Death Eaters they were leading had taken it upon herself to shoot a stunner at the ghost. The beam of light passed through Ashworth's ghostly figure. The ghost stopped walking and turned its translucent gaze to the group of Death Eaters. For a heartbeat, the Death Eaters and ghost gazed at one another before the ghost's eyes suddenly flared as if on fire.

Harry stifled laughter as the Death Eaters collectively let out shouts of surprise and screams of terror. He had not even done anything to them yet. Focusing intently on maintaining the ghostly apparition, Harry moved his invisible physical body and drew one of his spare wands. With a cramped sort of flourish, he sent a banishing charm toward the group of Death Eaters that knocked most of them to the ground. For good measure, he followed it with a ground-shaking spell which turned out to be a disappointment to Harry-the tremors in the ground were barely detectable, but it served to further rattle the Death Eaters psychologically.

Some of the quicker Death Eaters had managed to draw their wands and were shooting spells at the apparition. Harry repositioned himself to make sure he was not on the wrong side of the spells. Positioned appropriately, Harry switched his focus to controlling the apparition.

The Death Eaters watched with horror as the ghost of Harry Ashworth raised both of its hands and brought them down, as if striking with some invisible force. Harry uttered a silent prayer that his spare wand would hold up and then summoned half a dozen bolts of lightning, striking in quick succession but not hitting any of the Death Eaters. Harry then cast several minor flame charms to make it look as if the lightning had caught the dirt or something on fire.

While the Death Eaters scrambled to avoid catching fire or being struck by lightning, Harry cast some stunners and incapacitated two of the Death Eaters. He then focused on his image projection and had it raise its arms once again. The Death Eaters who had managed to get back to their feet fled, while Harry-a wry smile on his lips-pointed his wand to the sky and uttered a spell he had once heard cast at the Quidditch World Cup, prior to his fourth year at Hogwarts. "Morsmordre!"

As the Dark Mark rose into the sky, Harry summoned a couple more bolts of lightning, cancelled the image projection charm, and apparated away.

When Harry returned home, the flat was dark. He stopped at the fridge for a quick snack and then moved to the bedroom. Bellatrix was lying on the bed, apparently asleep. She had thrown off the bed covers, leaving the skin not covered by her nightie open to the cool air of the apartment. Harry shook his head, wondering again how someone could stand being cold like that.

He changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed as gingerly as possible so as not to wake Bellatrix. However, as he settled in, he realized that he had either woken her or that she had not been sleeping, for she turned and wrapped her arm around him, gently nuzzling her husband.