Summary: The War is over. Harry has vanquished Lord Voldemort but is just beginning to understand the nature of the magical bond between them. Chaptered. WIP.

Word Count: About 5,225

My Beta: meikitsune

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. (looks in mirror: Nope, not her.) Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

Author's Notes: Yeah, I and know. This chapter took a damn long time to write. Thanks for staying with me.

This chapter is dedicated to hobtheknife, my most loyal supporter, who helped make time for me to write, and to Seventh Pathogen and Claudius.

Thanks to alert reader leianora for pointing out an error of terminology! *hugs*

Harry had a mission: a life to protect, a secret to guard. So with each step further away from Orion Black's library he brought a vivid thought or memory to mind, focused intently on it, recalled as many details about it as possible and then used it to make a series of mental barriers. It wasn't a defensive tactic that would last very long if he were confronted by a skilled Occlumens, but it would buy him a little time and would certainly conceal the truth from someone who was just unusually perceptive – such as the wizard who awaited him at the foot of the stairs.

Alastor Moody was as gnarled and weathered as the old staff upon which he heavily leaned. His one good eye was fixed on Harry as he walked down the stairs while his magical eye rotated in a manner that was unnerving to those who weren't used to it. When Harry reached the bottom step, a crooked smile appeared on Moody's scarred and lopsided face, giving it an altogether horrifying aspect. "You finally got him, Potter," he said with pride. "I knew that you would."

Harry silently nodded. Under the old Auror's approving gaze, he felt the weight of the Wizarding world's hopes and expectations settle over him once more. It was something else, he realised, that he shared with Voldemort, this pressure of being the focus of the aspirations of the people closest to him as well as those of his supporters at large. Harry quickly turned his thoughts away from that potentially dangerous subject and focused instead on the sound of voices drifting up the stairs from the kitchen.

"How are you?" Moody's voice sounded gruff as usual. "Did you sleep all right?

"Yeah, fine. I'm good," Harry answered too quickly. Swearing to himself at his ineptitude, he amended, "Well, I didn't sleep enough."

"Brought a friend home to spend the night, eh?"

Had he heard that from Dobby, had Phineas told him or had his magical eye somehow seen there was someone upstairs? Harry wondered. At any rate, he needed to deflect Moody's curiosity. "Someone broke into my friend's place last night and I thought it would be safer for him to stay here," he answered carefully.

The old Auror's expression became stern. "Could've been Death Eaters, you know. Anyone you're involved with could be a target. You have to maintain cons-"

"Not this time," Harry interrupted him, finally producing a smile. "It looks as if whoever it was hit several places in the same neighbourhood, probably looking for stuff to sell to make some quick money." He took the opportunity to change the subject. "What about the rest of the Order? I should probably poke my head in the kitchen and check on the others."

With a clunk, Moody stepped closer. "Some of our people got hurt last night."

Harry's stomach tightened. "Who-?"

"Granger, for one. Rodolphus Lestrange broke most of her fingers and gave her a concussion. He went on a rampage after his brother got killed. Temporarily blinded your friend Ron and knocked Dean Thomas out a window. Tonks was holding her own against him when I got there and we would've taken him into custody if some of the other Death Eaters hadn't shown up just then." Moody shook his head. "Problem with this war is we never had enough time to properly train you lot in the techniques the professionals use against Dark Wizards."

"Anyone else injured?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Lupin got some bad burns when he rescued one of the Parvati girls from the Fiendfyre; she was treated and released, he won't be out of St. Mungo's for a week or so. Arthur Weasley got hit with some hexes, but we took care of him and sent him home."

Harry counted: six members of the Order out of commission. "It was one rough fight."

"Hope it will be the last one," Moody said grimly. "Longbottom and Shaklebolt were killed."

Harry's mouth dropped open and he gripped the banister tightly. Neville…he could hardly get his mind around the idea that he was gone. And Kingsley, who had always been so sharp and fast…"What happened?" he finally managed.

"Neville was trying to kill that snake of You-Know-Who's when Bellatrix turned up. She Disembowelled him. Ginny Weasley used a Killing Curse on Kingsley."

That was becoming Ginny's trademark, Harry reflected. She'd vanished for three weeks in her Sixth Year, only to startle everyone by appearing with some of Voldemort's most trusted followers in what turned out to be a very public confrontation with the Order in Diagon Alley. A few weeks later in Hogsmeade she'd openly accused Snape of being a traitor to the Dark Lord, challenged him to a duel and killed him in front of a horrified group of students and Hogwarts faculty. It seemed as if she was personally determined to eliminate the most skilled members of the Order.

"No matter what happens with that girl, it's not going end well for the Weasleys," Moody muttered.

So Ginny hadn't been apprehended. Harry wondered about the other Death Eaters. "We got some of them last night, though, didn't we?" Harry's voice was almost plaintive. "Some of them must have been killed, you rounded up the rest and arrested them…"

Moody's expression was gloomy. "The only bodies I saw last night were Rabastan Lestrange and the one you Stupified on the stairway. The rest of them escaped, Potter." He struck the floor with his staff in frustration. "Every last one of them escaped."

Harry struggled to find something comforting to say. He knew that Moody must be wrestling with a sense of futility, tempered only by his belief that Voldemort himself was dead. Voldemort's death…A thought suddenly arose or, more properly speaking, a memory surfaced. "What happened to McGonagall?" he blurted.

The old Auror's real eye bulged and his magical eye swivelled to focus on Harry. "The Headmistress died quietly in her sleep at last night. I'd like to have your sources, Potter. I didn't find out until just a few minutes ago."

Harry wasn't exactly sure how he'd acquired that information, either, and it seemed like a good time to change the subject. "Do you want to sit down? Would you like some breakfast?"

"I'd take some coffee," Moody allowed, turning awkwardly on his artificial leg. "I still need to debrief you about your fight with Voldemort. Go on, say hello to the rest of them, then meet me in the parlour. I need to sit down - tripped over Arthur last night and wrenched my knee."

Harry was grateful to postpone having to lie to someone he respected as much as Moody and he quickly ducked down the stairs to the kitchen.

A cluster of cheerful faces turned to greet him, shadows of fatigue and worry lifting in the presence of their leader.

"Harry!"

"Hi, Harry!"

He resisted the impulse to cringe; he supposed that as far as they were concerned, the losses of the night before were the tragic price of defeating Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He doubted that their feelings for him would be as warm if they knew the truth…

"Good morning, Harry, sir!" Dobby turned from the pantry where he was ticking items on a grocery list.

"Hi, Dobby. Would you send some coffee up to the parlour for Mad-Eye?"

"Yes, Harry, sir!" With a clatter, what appeared to be the same tray Harry had seen upstairs earlier appeared on the counter. Cupboard doors opened to discharge a variety of items that assembled themselves on the tray and Harry was relieved to notice that the novelty of the display distracted the visitors.

"Anything new around here?" Harry asked the elf in a low voice.

Dobby's eyes sparkled. "The new gentleman seems very nice."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Harry muttered under his breath, but a smile tugged at a corner of his mouth.

"I like him better than the last one. He seems to have many things in common with you," the elf mused. "When the War ends, will you bring him here to live?"

Harry turned the thought over in his mind. It had never seriously occurred to him that someday the War would be over and that there might actually be a chance for him to live happily ever after. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to think of a much different Grimmauld Place, one where sunlight streamed through bright, airy rooms. He pictured himself in the family parlour, lounging on an overstuffed sofa with his head pillowed on the shoulder of a handsome, dark-haired man… "That would be brilliant, Dobby," he said wistfully, "but I'm not sure this particular gentleman is going to be around that long."

The elf's face assumed a forlorn expression and Harry immediately began to wonder about Dobby's own plans for the future. "I certainly wouldn't mind if you wanted to bring someone special here to live," he offered. For the first time he considered the private lives of house elfs. Did they marry? Did they reproduce in the usual fashion? Were they all straight?

"Harry Potter is kind and generous," Dobby said, almost to himself. "The new pot of coffee is ready now. Mad-eye Moody takes sugar and milk…" He intently began to rearrange the tray, making it obvious that Harry wasn't the only person being evasive this morning. "And Phineas Nigellus left your wand on the ledge of the frame of the Still Life with Lemons," Dobby added.

That was the best news Harry had heard so far this morning. He darted over to the painting and grabbed his wand. "Merlin, I'm glad to get this back!" he exclaimed, tucking his wand into his belt.

"Come here, my boy!" Horace Slughorn called.

There was a scraping of chairs as Charlie and Ernie made room for him at the table. "We were at St. Mungo's this morning," Charlie told him. "Hermione's awake, but groggy. Viktor brought her parents when he heard the news. Ron's fit to be tied because they won't let him go home yet."

"How's your Dad?" Harry asked. He refused more coffee but poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice.

"Bill took him home. Mum's such a mess that the healers prescribed a sedative and they want her to come back in a few days for an evaluation." Charlie scowled. "One more reason to kill my psychotic sister."

"Ginny's the one who hexed Arthur," Ernie explained quietly.

There was a commotion at the back door and a chorus of greetings as Angelina, Katie, Seamus and Colin arrived.

"Harry!"

"You're all right!"

"I told you he'd make it!" Colin was beaming and the girls threw their arms around Harry with the same enthusiasm that followed a winning Quidditch match.

"How does it feel?" Seamus asked, thumping him on the back. "Having killed the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries?"

"It would feel a hell of a lot better if Neville and Kingsley were here," Harry replied, unable to keep a reproach from his voice.

A blush spread across Katie's cheeks and Angelina suddenly took an interest in finding chairs while Colin and Seamus stood looking abashed.

Harry turned to Slughorn. "Have you heard who will be taking over as Head at Hogwarts?"

The elderly Potions professor cleared his throat. "The Board of Governors contacted me this morning and offered me the position. I accepted, but of course I had a number of conditions. One was that they extend the DADA position to Lupin." He sighed. "Too many of our most talented witches and wizards have been sacrificed in this War and we can no longer afford to overlook gifted candidates on the grounds of past prejudices."

Luna spoke up. "What were your other conditions, Professor?"

"I proposed Andromeda Tonks to teach Potions. I also suggested her sister Narcissa Malfoy to fill the opening in Transfiguration."

"You're joking, right?" Charlie demanded as the others tried to follow the conversation.

Slughorn looked sternly around the table before speaking. "We can only prevent this sort of thing from happening again if we look forward to the future instead of harkening to the past. There must be no more disparaging of bloodlines of any sort. We must make our shared heritage our greatest strength."

"I'm not sure you'll be able to convince someone like Narcissa Malfoy to teach half-bloods and Muggle-borns," Ernie pointed out.

A heated discussion began and as the others joined in loudly with their opinions, Luna leaned across the table and touched Harry's hand. "You mustn't feel guilty about Neville and Kingsley," she told him quietly. "Their names will be remembered forever. Though I don't suppose," she added a bit wistfully, "that they'll be invited to dwell in the palace of Kassapraxites."

That name was strangely familiar and Harry stared at her. "What do you mean?"

"Kassapraxites is the patron of Wizarding kind, but he takes special pride in those who are very clever, the ones who discover new avenues of inquiry or who invent new spells or potions."

"What's this?" Slughorn interrupted.

"Harry asked about Prince Kassapraxities," Luna replied serenely. "You must know about him, Professor. He's son of Ea, the god who-"

"Gave us the gift of magic," Slughorn finished in a low voice. "But he had a falling out with the other gods when he taught humans how to split their souls so that they might become immortal."

"You mean he showed people how to make Horcruxes?" Harry choked out.

Slughorn nodded grimly. "I told you that it was ancient and forbidden knowledge."

There was a shriek from the portrait upstairs and conversation around the table came to an abrupt halt as they strained to recognise the voices of the newcomers.

"It's Fred and George," Angelina announced.

"I'd better go up and talk to Moody." Harry stood reluctantly as the group made room for the twins at the table.

"We brought the morning Prophet," Fred announced. "No surprise to anyone that there's no news about what happened last night."

His brother clattered down the steps behind him. "On the other hand," George called, "Professor Slughorn made the front page. Hey, we just got here, Harry! Where are you off to?"

"Debriefing. I'll be back in a bit." Harry tried to slip past them, but Fred grabbed his shoulder. "Well done, Harry. Ron told us all about it this morning."

George's grin was devious. "If you think you were famous before this, you're in for a shock. Order of Merlin, First Class, I expect. Minister of Magic, whenever you're ready."

"All a lot of rubbish, of course, but you did real good last night," Fred added.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled. He could see the rest of them at the kitchen table, looking at him with a mixture of misty-eyed gratitude and pride, and felt a pang of guilt. "Talk to you later," he mumbled and went upstairs to finally reckon with Moody.

The heavy drapes had been opened in the formal front parlour and a watery sunlight trickled into the hallway, making it just possible to discern the faded patterns on the ancient carpet. Harry took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Moody just wanted the facts about the duel and as long as Harry kept his mind focused he could give the old Auror the facts without betraying his secret.

Moody looked up when Harry entered the room. He was sprawled in one of the armchairs with his real leg propped on an ottoman. "Thought you forgot," he grumbled. The coffeepot on the table at his elbow rose gracefully in the air to refill his cup while the sugar tongs darted past the milk pitcher to drop in two cubes with a splash.

Harry sat on the sofa, intentionally placing himself where the pale sunlight would reflect off his glasses and make it more difficult for the old Auror to read his expression. He unapologetically wiped the moisture from his hands on the knees of his trousers, knowing that some anxiety was expected of him in this situation. "Where should I start?"

Scowling as a napkin wiped spilled coffee from the tray while the tongs and pitcher continued to jostle in what was apparently the latest instance in an old quarrel, Moody picked up his cup. "We were together as far as the foot of the stairs," he prompted.

Tonks and Moody had blasted open the front door, and Ron and Neville had gone in first to clear the immediate area. They'd come under fire from two rooms on the first floor and from the second floor landing, but then Shaklebolt's team emerged from the back hallway and put up a crossfire.

"We knew the library was on the second floor and one of my objectives was to search there for the last Horcrux or for clues to where it might be hidden. The Death Eater on the landing probably didn't see me because the smoke was already pretty thick. I Stupified him and threw his wand down to Padma. I went down the hall-"

"Who was your back-up?" Moody interrupted.

"I didn't wait for anyone, I just-"

"You know better than that, Potter," the old Auror snapped. "Good way to get yourself killed."

With a grimace to acknowledge the error, Harry went on with his story. "I checked all the rooms, but it didn't look as if anyone else was on that floor. The library was empty, too. It was starting to get smoky and I opened one of the windows for air. That's when the door burst open behind me-"

Moody stopped him again. "You shut the door behind you?"

Harry paused. "No, but there was a bang and…I assumed that's what must've happened. Now I wonder whether the sound I heard was him Apparating or maybe it was something else, maybe even something from downstairs." He didn't need to specify who he meant by 'him'.

The old Auror nodded. "Go on. Did he say anything?"

"He just started in on me. I dodged his first spell and the drapes started burning. I tried what you suggested, a lot of annoying little things to make him overconfident while I tried to work in close enough to grapple with him, but he deflected everything and kept his distance. One of the hexes hit the big mirror over the mantle and glass sprayed everywhere, but he turned most of it into water and kept hurling spells."

"He didn't use a Killing curse?"

"No," Harry answered after a moment.

"Why do you think that was?" Moody peered at him across the room.

"I don't…" Can't think about that.

"Could be he wanted you alive," the old Auror mused. "Could've made demands with you as a hostage. Or maybe he didn't want you to die painlessly. What did you get him with?"

Harry replied promptly. "Coruscating spell."

"How did it make you feel?"

"Sick," Harry told him truthfully.

Moody nodded sympathetically. "Nothing to be ashamed of, Potter. Every good person feels that way about causing someone to die. My advice is to stay out of the rest of the War. With You-Know-Who gone, Magical Law Enforcement will take over. It's only a matter of time until the Death Eaters-"

"Oh, dear! Am I too late?" inquired a high, thin voice.

Startled, they both looked up to see Elphias Doge framed in the doorway. With the comical profusion of white hair that stood up on his head like thistledown, the elderly wizard looked more like a representative of another species than the oldest living member of the Order of the Phoenix.

"I hurried over as soon as I heard the rumours that Voldemort had been defeated," he wheezed as he hobbled into the parlour, "I hurried over to hear the story first hand."

Harry exchanged a glance with Moody while Doge made himself at home in the other armchair. "Excuse me Mr. Doge, I know you were Dumbledore's partner and all, but I don't exactly feel comfortable talking about that sort of thing with a member of the Wizengamot."

Doge snapped his fingers and the pot next to Moody poured coffee into another cup, which vanished and reappeared on the low table next to the elderly wizard's chair. Pale eyes twinkling, he reached for the cup with a frail hand. "I see, my dear young man, that you've assimilated Albus's mistrust of the government. However, I can assure you that I will keep whatever you say in complete confidence."

Harry still didn't move. "Rufeous Scrimgeour doesn't exactly approve of the Order's activities."

"Scrimgeour," Doge said, wrinkling his nose as if the name were distasteful, "is merely the Minister of Magic. Politicians come and go, as you've surely noticed, and yet somehow the business of the Ministry proceeds, largely undisturbed by their passing. The Minister is but a spokesperson. The true power of the government lies elsewhere." He sipped his coffee delicately and allowed Harry to puzzle over that for a moment. "Alastor, would you be so kind as to permit me to speak a few words to Harry alone?"

Moody looked startled by the elderly wizard's request, but he nodded. "Suppose I should get some breakfast," he muttered transparently. He used his staff to climb heavily to his feet and exchanged a significant look with Doge before walking from the room. Harry heard the clumping of his wooden leg slowly fade as he went down to the kitchen.

Silence descended over the parlour. Harry's expression bordered on insolent as Doge sipped his coffee and looked about the room with feigned interest. There was no way in hell that Harry was going to speak first, and the clock on the mantle solemnly ticked away two and a half minutes before the elderly wizard spoke.

"I already know that a fire of unknown origin destroyed the Riddle mansion last night. Members of the Order were treated at St. Mungo's for injuries ranging from mild to grave. One of your classmates is dead, as is a highly respected Auror."

Harry managed not to flinch as the elderly wizard probed at his mind with piercing eyes. "I've spent most of my life fighting the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries, Mr. Doge," Harry grated. "I'm used to guarding my thoughts in order to protect my friends."

Doge blinked and the pressure against Harry's mind abruptly ceased. The elderly wizard set down his cup with trembling hands,. "Please forgive an old man his foolishness," he said, his high voice quavering. "I only wanted – I fought against him in two wars, I lost the person dearest to my heart! No bodies were recovered from the ashes of the mansion, and yet-"

Harry felt empathy for the elderly wizard but remained conscious of the fact that Doge had been Dumbledore's partner for decades, plenty of time to learn the subtle art of manipulation from a master. "The threat has been neutralized," he said warily, "but it may not be completely over."

Doge sat up attentively. "Could it be," he mused, "that something unanticipated occurred last night? A revelation, perhaps, that you believe might be unwise to make widely known or which requires a decision?"

Harry nodded. "Something like that," he allowed.

"Perchance you find yourself in need of advice," Doge wheezed. "It is not widely known, but there are situations of such gravity that even the Wizengamot, with all its combined wisdom, might falter in judgement. I have the honour to sit on a highly secretive committee, the members of which have been entrusted to take charge of such matters before they come to the attention of the Wizengamot and place them before the highest court of adjudication."

"Who sits on this high court?" Harry asked.

The elderly wizard's pale eyes grew intense. "Merlin the Mage."

Harry gave him a pitying look as he realised that the elderly wizard was mad. "Merlin's been dead for centuries," he said gently, as if explaining to a child. Perhaps, he thought, it wasn't too late for the healers at St. Mungo's to stop the progression of Doge's insanity. He wondered if he would be able to convince Doge to go with him quietly or if he should call for the others.

"Dead, but not gone," Doge replied, and something in his tone brought Harry's speculations to a halt. "Legend says that Merlin was forever imprisoned in the Crystal Cave. The reality is that the crystalline walls are uniquely suited to store thought patterns and Merlin left a portion of his knowledge and discernment within the cave. Furthermore, he decreed that those who were to follow in his footsteps, those who coaxed the secrets of magic from Nature and were gifted in discovering the truth, should likewise contribute a portion of their perception to the Crystal Cave. These are the recipients of the Order of Merlin. The committee upon which I serve was established to evaluate candidates and to ensure the transfer of their essences to the Crystal Cave. Thus, Merlin's wisdom still guides our world." The elderly wizard slumped into his chair as if exhausted by his revelation.

"What about people like Peter Pettigrew?" Harry asked. "He was awarded an Order of Merlin."

Doge shook his head impatiently. "No, no! Only those who were awarded the Order, First Class."

Harry considered what Doge had said. He knew time was running out for him to impose conditions upon Voldemort as a consequence of their duel and felt completely inadequate to make such a decision himself. "How can I be sure that whatever I discuss with him – with Merlin - will remain a secret?"

The elderly wizard shrugged. "No one who seeks the wisdom of Merlin ever speaks of the experience except in oblique terms. It is not known whether the Mage's will is enforced by magic or through heartfelt obedience to his will. But consider well, young man, for his judgements are irrevocable and the punishments he decrees cannot be evaded."

The ticking of the clock on the mantle was the only sound in the room. Finally, Harry spoke. "How," he asked, "do I get to the Crystal Cave?"

Doge stood unsteadily and fumbled in a pocket of his robes. He withdrew a silver coin and Harry hurried over to take it. Inscribed upon the metal was the image of two dragons locked in combat. "This is a Portkey. It is activated by the words, 'Let Merlin judge.'"

Harry's fingers closed around the coin. "Thank you, Mr. Doge."

The elderly wizard's smile was kindly. "No, my dear young man – thank you."

Having decided on a course of action, Harry hurried up the stairs to the second floor. Merlin, he thought, was an authority they could both accept, revered by the Wizarding world as the greatest of their kind. He tried to recall what Professor Binns had taught them about the ancient wizard: that he had been a gifted seer even as a child, that he had practiced the Dark Arts but had also supported the reigns of just and tolerant rulers.

When he reached Orion Black's library, Harry stopped and looked up and down the hall before removing the spells he'd placed on the door. He turned the handle and slowly opened the door.

Just inside the doorway, as if he'd been expecting him, stood a man and Harry's breath caught at his appearance. He was an inch or so taller than Harry himself, with black wavy hair that grazed his collar. He had discarded the elegant robes he'd worn earlier and was now wearing a long jacket of old fashioned cut in a dark green fabric. With his dark eyes and pale complexion he was, without a doubt, the handsomest person to whom Harry had ever been this close and Harry felt something wrench apart deep inside his chest as he realised that the brief intimacy they had shared that morning was already lost forever.

Voldemort motioned him inside and, lifting a finger in a gesture of silence, nodded toward the window. Nagini was stretched up before it, her head hovering at nearly the height of Harry's shoulder. The great serpent was intently studying one side of the heavy drapes and her tongue flickered as she tasted for scents on the air.

Harry quietly shut the door behind him. His headache seemed on the verge of returning and he suspected that the stress of the last day was probably to blame. Nagini rose a little higher and he wondered for only a moment what could possibly have attracted her attention before she darted forward into the folds of heavy velvet. There was a high-pitched squeal that was suddenly cut off and a moment later the serpent emerged, swallowing with a satisfied expression.

"Doxiesss," she explained, descending to the floor in graceful coils.

"How did she get in here?" Harry wondered.

Voldemort chuckled. "Orion Black was known to collect fine brandies. I sent Dobby to the cellar for a bottle and mentioned that if he were to notice a large reptile prowling around, he should send her up as well."

Unexpectedly, his arm snaked around Harry's shoulder and drew him near. Harry sighed, his eyelids fluttering down in comfort as the Dark wizard's hand settled on the back of his neck. The pressure in his head faded and he leaned forward to rest his cheek against the other man's shoulder.

"You're a surprising person, Harry," Voldemort quietly mused. "You killed me last night with single-minded determination and yet today you are remarkably reluctant to finish the job. I admit to a certain curiosity about your intentions."

After a heartbeat, Harry murmured, "If you could kill me right now, would you?"

Warm breath tickled his ear. "At this moment, I believe my curiosity would win over the old desire to kill you." He added, "I'm definitely not the man I was yesterday."

Harry stepped away with reluctance. "I've made a decision."

The Dark wizard studied him closely and nodded. "By all means, then, let us proceed."

"I can't even pretend to know what to do in this situation, but I just learned that there is one person I would trust to decide for me. Will you accept the judgement of Merlin?" Harry's fingers tightened around the coin.

Voldemort frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Merlin's consciousness survives in the Crystal Cave." Harry held up the coin. "And I have a Portkey."

A smile slowly spread across the handsome face. "If Merlin still exists, I am quite anxious to meet him. Oh, don't look so sad, Harry. The knowledge that, no matter what happens, you'll be tormented for the rest of you life will be a great comfort to me."

"Fine," Harry snapped and reached for his hand. "Let Merlin judge!"

They were abruptly yanked through space and dropped unceremoniously by the Portkey onto a rough and hard surface. Darkness blossomed around them as they came to a stumbling halt and cold, dank air brushed Harry's face. His grip tightened on the other wizard's hand.

Voldemort's bitter laughter echoed in the darkness, a chilling sound that Harry recalled from the Chamber of Secrets. "Harry, do you know what an oubliette is?"

"No," Harry admitted, rather unsteadily.

"It is a place to imprison those who are better left forgotten. I wonder: how well do you know the person who so conveniently provided you with this Portkey?"

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