Chapter 37-38: The Second Task

Harry was sitting in the library, his arms wrapped around Hermione Granger as they kissed by the fireplace. His fingers were entwined in the chestnut curls of her hair, and she sighed as she broke away.

"You know," said Hermione. "This is really fun."

He mumbled a reply, and they went back to kissing for a few moments. He was busy memorizing the feel of her lips when she murmured, "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Wouldn't it be nice if we could do this in real life?"

"Yes—wait." He pulled back. She'd deliberately broken his dream state suspension of disbelief, and there was only one part of himself that would pull this trick. "Science, what are you doing?"

Hermione—aka Science—leaned back on the sofa, smiling innocently. "You know it's been me all along, right?"

Harry scowled. Of course, he was aware of the fact that his dreams weren't real, and were merely projections created by mirror neurons in his mind of a possible reality. But it was a bit unnerving to think that he was literally just kissing himself.

"Like I said, I'm here to help. While it's been fun, I do believe we're experiencing a hollow feeling in the mornings when we realize our dreams are never real."

Harry folded his arms. "That hollow feeling is a growing depression at how utterly ridiculous my dreams have become."

"Ridiculous?" She snorted. "Come on, even you aren't that emotionally dense. For example, isn't it driving you crazy that instead of you, there's another boy with whom she's currently performing experiments? One who's also handsome and an incorrigible flirt?"

"No, doesn't bother me. At all."

"Who knows, maybe they'll even go to the library together—woah, it just got cold in here."

Harry took a deep breath, and the fire reignited in the fireplace.

"Listen, regardless of my emotional state, romantic inclinations are not my primary concern. I'm supposed to be fantasizing about solutions to my actual science related problems, like that 50,000 pound debt we incurred. But for some reason, this is how my hormones have dictated we spend our time."

Science snorted. "Fine, you can believe that for now, but if I'm asking the question, then so are you. You're dying to be closer to her, and you're just going to keep suffering," she walked her fingers up his chest. "Until. you. are."

She pressed a finger against his nose, then tweaked it.

"Now." Science-Hermione snuggled closer. "Want to go back to what we were doing?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, I want to wake up."

Science nodded, raised her hand and snapped her fingers.

"Neville, how's the experiment coming along?" asked Harry, from his perch on a transfigured wooden chair. They were in the greenhouse, where it was always a little too warm for comfort, but Neville would take that any day over a drafty castle.

Neville sighed, lowering his drawing pencil once again. "I told you, Harry, it's not an experiment."

"Well, I see a microscope on the desk, and a plant under a glass slide. You've got several more slides waiting to be examined. It certainly looks like an experiment from where I'm sitting."

"I'm just drawing pictures," said Neville, returning to his sketches. "The plant cells look interesting up close. Besides, someone has to use the microscopes, since our herbology class isn't."

Harry gazed at the box of unused microscopes, a wounded look on his face. "I do wish someone would take the time to use those for their intended purpose. I didn't buy them to sit in a corner. Do you think maybe your next project could be magical plant cellular analysis? I'm not much of a biologist, or else I'd tackle that myself."

Neville shook his head. "Harry, if you really want to see an experiment, then Dean and Hermione are performing one as we speak, right next door."

"I can't go on in there," said Harry, frowning and returning to his book.

"Why?"

"Reasons."

Neville had his suspicions as to why, but it's not like he could confirm them because Harry would rather sit on a pincushion than talk about his feelings for Hermione. Instead, he did strange things like pester people to sign apology papers, or transform into a human ghost for weeks at a time. It didn't bother Neville much except for now, since Harry had decided to haunt his greenhouse for hours on end.

"Well, Harry, what is it you're working on?"

"A personal project."

"What about?"

Harry turned a page. "A problem I'm trying to solve."

Neville peered at the book cover. "Tax law? Why do you need—"

Harry closed the book, hid it under his sleeve. "Good grief, Neville. What part of personal don't you understand?"

Neville rapped his pencil so hard it almost snapped. Just forget it, it's not worth arguing over and you'd never win against Harry anyway. Maybe if I just ignore him he'll leave, or at least stop talking…

"Neville?"

He sighed loudly. "What?"

"Am I annoying you?"

Neville blinked, looking up. Harry's face was sincere, as if he honestly didn't know. "Well, yeah, kinda. I get that you miss Hermione, but you're treating me like her substitute. It's irritating."

"Oh. I'm sorry," said Harry, sounding truly surprised. "But I really didn't come here to use you as a substitute, that wasn't my intention."

"Then, well, why are you here?"

Harry scratched his chin. "It's difficult to explain." He thought for a few seconds. "So…have you ever felt really hungry and went to the kitchen to get some snacks? Then there wasn't anything you wanted, so you got something to drink instead and you were fine afterwards? And you realized you were just thirsty all along?"

"Err…maybe?"

"Well, it's like that."

They were silent for a few moments, until Harry suddenly backpedalled. "Okay, I know that sounds wrong, I'm not like thirsty for you or anything, I'm still actually into girls, I just thought I could spend some time with one of my best friends and maybe that would be better than locking myself in my room having repeated delusional fantasies for weeks and weeks, and I usually actually do enjoy my time with you more than the majority of humanity, so—"

"Wait." Harry stopped, and Neville stared at him. "You think of me as one of your best friends?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "I mean, of course I do."

Neville was taken aback. He'd been under the impression that Harry hung out with Neville when he was bored, or lonely, or needed a lab rat. He never thought…well…that he was special.

"Thanks, Harry." Neville rubbed the back of his head. "I guess you can stay, if you want."

"Thanks," said Harry, who went back to his seat. "I'm sorry for interrupting your drawing time."

"Nah, it's okay," said Neville, picking up his pencil again. "I don't mind if you want to chat. What's going on with you and Hermione?"

Harry shrugged, sifting through his book. "Nothing. I'm suffering from a limerence and working up the courage to deal with it like a rational human being."

Neville nodded. "Same. Girls are scary."

"So, umm…" Harry raised his eyebrows, his gaze barely lifting from the page he was reading. "Do you have a girl you're interested in, Neville?"

"Maybe," he replied. "I might tell you, if you tell me why you're researching tax law."

Harry let out a soft chuckle. "Let's get back to work."

Hermione blew into her fingers, stamping her feet to put some warmth into them. She suspected her heating charms were out of date. She pulled her wand from her pocket, pointing it at herself. "Thermos."

There. A little bit better. She made a mental note to learn a stronger warming charm. She would need it if she was going to have to keep guard at night on the regular.

It was the beginning of February, and snow still fell every few days to frost the landscape. She gazed at the Hogwarts lake, no longer covered in ice, but still plenty cold. In the morning, the champions would be diving into that ice bath. Hermione thought that mid-May would be a better time for this challenge. Incidentally, this was when the third task was scheduled for, but perhaps there was a by-law in the Tri-Wizard Tournament rules that said it had to make the contestants as miserable as possible.

She heard the crunching of snow behind her, and turned to see Dean approaching with a steaming mug in each hand. "Want some company?" he asked. "I've brought sustenance."

"It's way past curfew," she said, smiling as he handed over a mug.

"I like to live dangerously," he replied. "But McGonagall actually caught me on the way out here, and she just warned me not to stay out too long."

Hermione took a sip of the hot cocoa, relishing the warmth against her fingers. Dean slipped his left hand in his pocket, seeming content in the cold.

"I wanted to say thanks for your help earlier," said Dean. "Even if you did have to leave early to do Auror stuff."

"Thanks, though I feel like I barely did anything except distract you," said Hermione, waving her hand dismissively. "But at least we conclusively determined that Queen songs were the only good thing to come out of the 70s."

"Umm, you mean one of the best things out of a great decade." He started listing on his fingers. "Let's see, you've got Alien, the Exorcist, Jaws, Rocky, Star Trek the Motion Picture—"

"Flash Gordon, all the Airport movies—"

"You're just proving my point," he said, grinning. "Can't forget disco either, and bell bottoms. Man, I would have killed it on the dance floor, had all the ladies up on me."

Hermione laughed at his disco dancing impression, even though she still felt a little embarrassed. They'd had so much fun earlier, but she'd mostly just sung karaoke and goofed off. Hermione had tried to help him, really, but all they could seem to pay attention to was each other.

"So," said Dean. "We talked about all my favourite things, but what movies do you like?"

Hermione blinked, a bit taken aback. "Well," she said slowly. "I'll admit I'm not as well versed in contemporary media as you are, but I do have a favourite movie." At Dean's urging, she went on. "It's called the Princess Bride."

"Ahh, that's a classic." Dean grinned, and said in a Spanish accent. "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

Hermione beamed. She'd been waiting her whole life for this. "Inconceivable!" she cried, in a squeaky falsetto.

"I don't think that means what you think it means," continued Dean.

"No more rhymes now, I mean it!"

"Does anybody want a peanut?"

Hermione bit her lip. She really wanted to do the "As you wish" scene, but it was kind of a romantic exchange and things weren't like that between her and Dean. Not to mention, she wasn't entirely sure what was going on between him and Padma. She showed up in the lab just before Hermione left, and the Ravenclaw didn't seem too happy to see Dean alone with another girl.

Flustered, Hermione felt herself blushing, while Dean chuckled, amused by her embarrassment.

"So anyway," said Hermione, changing the subject. "After I left, did you make any progress on the Remembrall?"

"A little," replied Dean. "Padma and I found a way to rework the Identificus spell so that it can attach to the Remembrall, but we still don't know how to get it to sense magical energy. In fact, right now, we've messed with it so much that it senses nothing. It just keeps saying 'unknown.'"

"It's a fickle spell," admitted Hermione. "It's very particular about which commands will pull from the data subset. But hopefully that will work to our advantage once we discover how to get it to sense magical energy. We might be less likely to get false positives."

"That's what Padma told me, but…other than that she hasn't told me much about what she's doing with the Remembrall." Dean shrugged, as if to play it off. "She's not normally so quiet and distant, but she has her reasons, I guess."

Hermione was silent for a moment. "Is Harry helping you?"

"I haven't seen him in three days," said Dean. "And if he sticks to his pattern, then I don't expect to until next week."

"Now that you mention it," said Hermione. "He's been really distant from me lately, too."

While it wasn't uncommon for him to hole himself away while working on a project, this felt different, like she was being ignored. She frowned into her mug, hoping she hadn't pushed him away somehow. She was fine with them being just friends, but not distant friends. Once things slowed down with her Auror duties, she would make it a priority to figure out what was going on.

Dean took a sip of his cocoa, and then turned to Hermione. "Well, since our friends are both MIA, would you like to attend the tournament with me? Oh, wait," he frowned. "You've got to monitor the game, don't you?"

Hermione did have to monitor, but she'd already planned a work around. She gave Dean a reassuring smile. "I'm going to be posted on the Hogwarts stands. If you'd like, you're welcome to sit by me."

"Great!" said Dean, beaming. "Are you excited to watch it?"

"Of course," said Hermione. "This is the fruit of all my hard labour. Plus, I'm curious to see how the Ministry is going to botch it up."

Angelina stepped up to the starting platform beside her competitors. She had arrived by boat to the tower-like stands erected in the middle of the lake. The voices of her classmates from Hogwarts cheered above her. To her left, Marguerite stood on her platform, giving a princess wave to her classmates. Boris Krum's faction was the loudest of all, thumping rhythmically on the tower floors until a professor's voice shouted for them to stop before they toppled it over.

Angelina shivered in her swimsuit, rubbing her arms and gazing down into the water. She had sent out a Patronus to her older sister this morning, and received confirmation that Kayla was safe at work. As of thirty minutes ago, her mother and father were still sleeping soundly in their beds.

Even so, Angelina couldn't relax. Fighting dragons was one thing, but knowing your family could be kidnapped and held hostage underwater made this game a whole lot scarier.

McGonagall's voice bellowed from above. "Attention everyone! It is now time to begin the 2nd task of the Tri-wizard tournament!"

Angelina stared at the Gillyweed in her hand, raised it to her lips, and swallowed it. She recast the warming charm, and mentally went over the speed charm in her head.

"In this task," continued McGonagall. "Everyone will be looking for a special treasure that is hidden in the lake. You must capture this treasure within one hour. If no one catches it, then the one who got closest will be declared the winner."

Angelina saw something zip past her in the water, and her breath caught at the familiar flash of gold. Her heart racing, she cast the speed spell on herself.

The gong went off, and without hesitation, she dove into the water to catch the Snitch.

"And they're off!" cried Lee Jordan, who was doing the commentary. "Angelina has already made great time using Gillyweed and the speed charm, and boy does she look stunning in that swimsuit!"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor McGonagall! Anyway, Boris isn't far behind with his shark head charm, if only his monitor charm would stop glitching. But…what is Marguerite still doing on the dock?"

Marguerite stood on the platform, arms folded, glaring at the water.

It was official, this contest was rigged. Besides the fact that Quidditch included flying balls of death, she knew absolutely nothing about that game. On the other hand, both of her competitors were skilled Quidditch players who knew all about Snitches and how to catch them.

Marguerite had already tried Accio Snitch, but of course, that didn't work. The thing was, the tournament clue had specifically said she would be searching for a treasure, so that's what she'd been planning for the last two months. She'd researched finding spells for different kinds of expensive or precious objects, and even carried a lock of her brother's hair in case she had to cast the search spell for him.

She was not prepared to race after a waterborne Snitch, in freezing cold water full of predators, against two competitors who were both far more athletically gifted than she was. The Veela were related to mermaids, but that didn't mean she could sprout fins whenever she wanted.

Someone from the Hogwarts stands jeered, "Hey Princess! Scared to get your hair wet?"

Marguerite glared at the offensive speaker, and if she'd been less well bred, she might have made another gesture. Instead, she turned her attention to making a plan.

After about a minute of staring at the water, she realized by the glint of the Snitch that it was moving in a pattern. A few moments later, excitement bloomed within her as a plan began to form. She looked up at the Beauxbatons students above her and shouted, "Excusez-moi, j'ai besoin d'une plume et de papier!"

Hermione leaned forwards, shading her eyes against the sun. "What in the world is she doing?"

Dean took a bite of his popcorn, eyes trained on the screen above him, "I don't know, but a mermaid just threw a trident at Angelina."

"Ouch. Is she okay?"

"Not a scratch." Dean smiled. "She's not our best Chaser for nothing."

Lee Jordan picked up his commentary, "Well, it looks like Angelina is recovering in safety, so let's turn our attention back to Marguerite, who looks like she's sketching some sort of shape with that quill. It looks like a…figure eight? I hope she's not just drawing pictures."

Hermione watched Marguerite scan the water before sketching again, her quill moving swiftly to make another circle. Hermione gasped, "Oh! She's noticed a pattern! She knows how the Snitch is moving!"

"Why does it matter?" asked Dean.

"Because that means she can trap it," explained Hermione. "All she would need is to choose a location close enough that she can cast a strong trap spell. Look, she must have found it, she's standing up and readying her wand." Hermione leaned forwards against the railing, excitement spilling out into her words. "It's tricky, though. The trap will capture just about everything, like a fish or debris, so she needs to cast it right before the Snitch passes. And if the Snitch evades the trap, it could change course and she'll have to do her calculations all over again."

"It won't work," said Dean, as Marguerite cast the trap spell.

"Why not?" asked Hermione.

"You can't use magic on Snitches," said Dean. "Everyone knows that."

A few seconds later, there was a loud boom as the Snitch smashed through the trap and almost sent Hermione toppling over the railing into the Hogwarts lake.

Angelina Johnson heard the boom from her perch on the underwater rock. She saw the Snitch zooming away from it, and she could guess what had happened.

Breathing heavily through her gills, Angelina didn't bother trying to catch the Snitch that flew over her head. She'd been racing after it for ten minutes, but even with a speed spell she wasn't fast enough. It would be nice if she could rig up a basic trap for the Snitch and lie in wait for it, but she knew from experience it would burst right through them. She had no choice but to give chase. She'd already taken one Pepper-Up potion, but she'd have to take another if she wanted a shot at beating Shark Boy.

Angelina hadn't seen Boris for a few minutes, but it was clear they were almost tied physically speaking. She was faster, but he had a lot more stamina. If she hadn't been slowed down by the mermaids, she might have overtaken him.

Angelina leaned back against the rock and watched the fish swimming above her. Most of them were moving in the direction the Snitch had gone. It reminded her of that strange Quidditch game where she'd seen a hawk catch the Snitch in mid air and try to swallow it.

She sat up, realizing she'd discovered something very important. If the fish were chasing after the Snitch, then one of them might catch it. Then she could capture the fish, take out the Snitch, and win the game. She would barely have to move a muscle.

Angelina searched the area for a medium sized fish that closely followed the Snitch. She swam alongside and cast a speed spell, a tracker spell, and dumped her pepper up potion over its slimy head. The fish zoomed off in the direction of the Snitch, and Angelina kept her wand trained on him using her tracker.

Angelina smirked. If she could win like this, she might just carry it over into Quidditch games. Get the birds to do her work for her.

Angelina felt a pull in the water as something big swam near her. She turned, wand still trained on her fish, but she didn't see anything. A hand jerked hard on her foot, and she saw the pale green face of a Grindylow snarling at her, with more swimming up behind him. She turned to fire a curse into the pack, hoping it would chase some away and give her time to escape.

However, before she could attack, they disengaged, swimming away at high speed. Angelina turned to see blood blooming in the water's depths, along with high pitched screams.

Angelina grit her teeth, pointed her wand at herself and cried, "Ascendio!"

Jetting out of the water, she shot to the safety of the surface, panting and kicking. Did the mermaids attack Boris? But it didn't sound like him screaming…

Whatever it was, she needed out of the water, now.

A few minutes after her embarrassing failure, and after Marguerite had torched the paper into tiny bits of ash, she smoothed her frazzled curls and got back to the task at hand.

Marguerite crouched down on the platform, observing the fish speeding along after the Snitch. One of them, she noticed, was shooting along much faster than the others. It didn't take her long to figure out why.

She clicked her tongue. Well, well, well. Two could play at that game.

Soon, Marguerite had picked out her fish, casting a speed spell. Fortunately, she could be a little more generous in applying the speed spell on a fish than she could on her own body. Marguerite just needed to hold contact for long enough to overtake the other fish.

Marguerite watched as her fish turned in the direction of the dock, following the golden speck. But as they came closer, Marguerite realized they were heading straight for her.

Frowning, Marguerite watched the growing speck like a hawk. She knew people caught Snitches in mid-air all the time. Maybe she should just dive in and catch it herself? Then, she wouldn't have to cut open a fish to get that stupid ball, if a fish could even swallow it in the first place.

Her feet toed the end of the dock, and she could hear Lee Jordan commenting loudly, "Ahh, is our landlocked princess finally going to get her feet wet? I think at this point, there's more money riding on that than the winner of the tournament. But wait…it seems the Snitch is kicking up some waves, and heading right for Beauxbatons' stands. Looks like it will be a real soaker!"

It was at that moment that Marguerite realized that a large wave that was trailing after the Snitch, growing taller by the second. She paled, watching it barrelling towards her. She remembered how close she'd come to flying off the dock when her trap burst, and if the screams coming from above her were any indication, this would be a lot worse. Anchoring herself to the dock, she abandoned her plan to catch the Snitch and settled on just surviving.

"Holy cow!" cried Lee Jordan. "It's higher than—"

McGonagall cut in. "Anchor yourselves, children! Arresto momentum!"

Marguerite held her breath as the giant wave smacked into her like hitting a wall. She felt the force of the wave sucking her back and trying to hammer its way into her lungs, but her anchoring spell held. As she stood there, shaking, several fish flopping on the dock, the first thing that popped into her mind was that she should be freezing, but she wasn't. The water was lukewarm.

Angelina used a spell to speed herself back to the Hogwarts stands. There was no reason to remain in open water anymore, not with all the Grindylows, mermaids, and now giant waves trying to kill her. She hadn't seen Boris for about thirty minutes, and she really hoped he hadn't been caught by the stab-happy mermaids. Still, she didn't have much time to worry about it. As soon as she was on land, Angelina located a random fish and the race was on.

Unfortunately, Marguerite's fish was moving about as fast as hers, and neither of them were close to catching up with the Snitch. Angelina wished she had another Pepper Up potion to dose her fish with. She also wished she had thought to bring an antidote to the Gillyweed, as it was not fun trying to breathe air with gills.

Suddenly, a gong sounded, and the Golden Snitch they'd been chasing disappeared.

After several shocked seconds, Angelina asked, "Did we…all just lose?"

"No, that doesn't make sense," said Marguerite. "I was timing it. We had at least ten more minutes."

"Ahem!" said McGonagall in a booming voice. "I apologize for the delay, but it appears there has been an issue with the scoring…excuse me a moment."

The voice faded away, and Angelina could hear the chattering of students begin above her. A few moments later, Boris Krum jetted out of the lake, hovering in the air at the apex of his ascension spell.

"The winner," he said with a grin, while holding the Snitch in the air. "Is Boris Krum!"

One hour earlier:

Aurors Potts and Milton spun their time turners and arrived at the start of the tournament, just as Headmistress McGonagall was making her announcements. Attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible, they cast tracking spells on each contestant. They also applied a monitor charm, though they both suspected it would fail with the Durmstrang student, just as the original one cast on him had.

Fortunately, while visual proof would be nice, they didn't need that to confirm what they were looking for. Their tracking spells were designed to measure heart rate, location, heat signatures, and physical state, and that would tell them everything they needed to know to confirm their suspicions.

As Auror Potts finished the last spell, he let his left hand dip into his pocket, while the right held his wand. He pulled out a pipe, lit it by the glow of his wand, and took a long puff.

Milton scanned the lake, as each contestant prepared to dive in. "If our suspicions turn out to be correct, then this will be the news of the decade, maybe the century. Not to mention, Madam Bones is going to pop a gasket."

Potts shrugged, took another puff of the cigar, and breathed it out slowly.

Milton frowned. "Well, what do you think?"

Potts shrugged, "Does it even matter? If we're right, we'll be obliviated of the last hour anyway."

As the students left the stands and the contestants were whisked off to the after party, the tournament judges retired to Minerva's office. It was there, when the three of them were alone in the most secure room in Hogwarts, that Minerva braced herself against the front of her desk, hands shaking. "Igor. Did you know about this?"

"No," Igor Karkaroff folded his arms, his tone a wall of defense. "I certainly did not know. But we cannot replace him as a candidate now, it goes against the solemn ruling of the Goblet of Fire."

"I know that," snapped Minerva. "But Boris also violated the law by not disclosing his condition. He deliberately deceived his superiors as well as the judges, not to mention putting everyone in contact with him in danger. There must be consequences."

"I still don't understand," said Madame Olympe slowly. "I thought the Maledictus only passed their blood curse from mother to daughter."

"Usually, that is true," said Igor. "But his clan is a special case. Both males and females inherit the curse, and they consider fully "turning" as coming to maturity. In addition, his tribe is so well hidden that only a handful of people outside the community know they exist. And that is exactly why we cannot punish him."

Igor turned, faced the unlit fireplace. "If we reveal his identity, then by law I must expel him from Durmstrang. He might even be sent to prison. Once the Factions get wind of it, they will raise hell over it. They would claim their people are being targeted, and use him as a rallying point for their cause."

Minerva rubbed her temples, staving off a headache. She'd hoped that the Factionists—the terrorist group currently plaguing their country—would have died out by now. But their numbers seemed to be growing as the squibs, the magically cursed, the poor and disgruntled all banded together against the Ministry. As if they hadn't had enough of class wars from Grindelwald and Voldemort already, as if wizards had no other avenue to disagree except through violence.

"Even if I agreed with you, Igor, I can't let him stay at Hogwarts," said Minerva. "The risk is too great. He's a monst-" She cut herself off, both because she shouldn't say that about a student, and because Igor was glaring at her. "It's worse than we originally thought. Our reports show he's taking on cognitive aspects of his animal form, like aggression and possessiveness. Not only did his transformation underwater cause a tidal wave, he just chewed up five mermaids who tried to keep him from the snitch! He's dangerous."

Igor shook his head. "I understand, but we must handle this situation with extreme delicacy. You do not truly understand how much danger you are in."

He crossed the room, putting up an extra quieting charm near the Floo network. Then, he turned to the two headmistresses and said in a low voice, "At the last meeting of the Factions, we discussed grievances against the Ministry. Do you know what the radicals are claiming? That the Ministry is hoarding the power to bring people back to life. They say that they're prolonging the life of the pure bloods by taking it from other wizards. Because of them, magic is fading from the world."

"That's insane," said Minerva, mouth agape. "And you know it's not true."

"Perhaps," said Igor. "But from their perspective, it makes perfect sense. England is the country of Merlin, ruled by the elite of his magical line. They have enacted and promoted hundreds of laws that raise purebloods to a higher status, perpetuating systemic inequality in England and in nations under their influence. So every disadvantaged person from Spain to Poland is blaming their problems on you. Altogether, those are a lot of angry people who are willing to believe all the conspiracies, and many of them have nothing to lose.

Igor paced to the window, and back again to the fireplace. "Not to mention, the British Ministry is known to hoard magical artefacts, prophecies and information, most of which they rarely release to the public. Even the Unspeakables are regularly Obliviated after they leave their positions. You cannot blame them for wondering: why all the secrecy? What are they trying to hide?

"Of particular concern to them is the prophecies. They want information about the boy Potter, including his role in the destruction of the world. This boy, the wealthy son of purebloods who resides where else but England."

Minerva sighed. She knew of these prophecies; she'd heard them over and over from Albus while he paced this very office. She had studied them for hours on end, both during the war and for many years after. But prophecies were notoriously vague and prone to misinterpretation, so it was hard to come to any conclusions. She certainly knew better than to take them at face value, as the Factionists seemed to do.

"If we sanction Boris Krum," continued Igor, "then the Factionists will have free reign to target Harry. They will say, 'What about the monster in your walls? Why does he walk free?' They will attack him in retribution, call for his expulsion or worse."

"So you're saying," said Madam Olympe, her lip quivering with rage. "That to make these people happy, my students have to stay at a school where that creature wanders the halls—"

"Careful, now," said Igor. "The walls have ears."

"Do they?" fired back Olympe. "Or are you their eyes and ears? You know, I find it very strange how you are handling this crisis. My first concern would be the safety and protection of the other students, not appeasing the terrorists, as if we could ever make them happy. We need to pour all our efforts into finding out everything we can about Boris Krum."

"I agree," said Minerva. "I know we need to consider the political climate, but we must make our own choices. If the Krum family has remained hidden for centuries, then why did Boris choose to reveal his identity now? Wouldn't that put his family at risk? If he truly has lost control, as the evidence shows, then our first priority is to restrain him.

"We've dealt with magically cursed students before, such as werewolves, but this is different. We ought to be taking steps to ensure he cannot cause us harm. And we absolutely must find a way to prevent him from transforming on school grounds, or he will not be permitted to stay at Hogwarts."

"I will not stand for it either," declared Madam Olympe. "If he stays, power unchecked, then my students will be leaving. He's already chasing after treasure now, are we going to wait until he starts kidnapping princesses?"

Igor stared at the both of them, gaze darkening. "Of course, Boris will be questioned and restrained appropriately, that is a given. But don't forget, he is still a student of Durmstrang, and a citizen of the country of Bulgaria. He is not a criminal and has been a model student his entire academic career. Yes, Boris will be investigated, but under my supervision as his headmaster. If you have concerns, you may supervise and observe as you wish.

"However, what I'm asking is that you refrain from doing something they'll print in newspaper, like call him a "monster" or a "creature" and isolate him on campus. Hogwarts has already been bombed once. The Factionists' numbers are growing, and so is their reach in society. I know this, because I attend their meetings for you. So trust me when I say that if we're not extremely careful, by the end of the year, we'll set in motion the very war we're trying to avoid. You may not like it, but Boris Krum must remain in Hogwarts. We need to focus on building unity in our schools, now more than ever!"

Minerva and Olympe were silent as Igor turned away and stalked toward the window, the press of his anger and resentment almost palpable. Ever since it was revealed he carried a Dark Mark, Karkaroff was viewed with distrust and suspicion by everyone. He'd just barely escaped extradition to Azkaban, and he struggled to maintain his administrative post. To be honest, Minerva still did not trust him, and she was sure her tone of voice conveyed that as well. It probably sounded disrespectful to the man who, supposedly, destroyed his reputation to spy for them.

Not as if that mattered. Right now, there were more important things than his feelings.

By the time Minerva left the meeting, a raw fear had settled deep inside her bones. Outside in the cold, she could see the moon shone bright, but there was something in the air. A metallic taste she'd only sensed a few times before. Inside, her students celebrated in the Great Hall, unaware of what was coming.

Minerva rubbed her face in her hands. She hoped she was wrong, hoped it didn't come to war. She didn't feel strong enough to handle another wave. But in the end, she supposed it didn't matter how hard it was. She'd do her best to protect her students for as long as she could.

And if this time she finally lost her battle, then she hoped she'd prepared her students well enough to take up the fight in her stead.

Harry stood at the water's edge, watching his classmates return to land by boat.

He had not attended the tournament this time, in part because he was so wrapped up in his own work. By the time he looked up at the clock, the last boats had already left. He considered flying over to the stands, but decided against it. It was in part because he felt slightly ill and his body (especially his hands) felt achy, but mostly because he concluded this was a better way to spend his time.

Perhaps it was. Already this morning, he'd nearly perfected his plan to avoid paying fines, and he had successfully duplicated the Death Fruit. The new fruit had vanished within ten minutes, but his dissection had revealed useful information. With enough practice, he might get the fruit to last long enough to run a few tests.

A few weeks ago, it would have been the most exhilarating thing to have his plans working out for him, and it would have consumed all his waking thoughts. Now, he couldn't help feeling a little empty, as if the achievement needed to be shared with someone.

Which was what led him to stand at the lakeside, waiting for the Aurors to return by boat. He imagined it would take a while, but he didn't mind waiting. It gave him time to decide what to say to her.

You're being silly, said his Slytherin side. There's only so many ways you can inform Hermione of your progress. But go ahead, waste your time, see if I care.

How about we keep things simple? suggested Gryffindor. We'll say, 'Hey, how are you, here's what happened this morning.' No, wait, needs to be more interesting. Got any funny jokes?

What about this? said Hufflepuff. 'Knock knock, who's there? It's death!' Then, you pull out a death fruit from behind your back.

Okay, but needs spooky sound effects, said Gryffindor. 'It'sss deeaaatth. Mwhahaha!'

Guys, will you just let me do the talking? asked Ravenclaw. Please?

Along the water, the first few boats were arriving, carrying students in uniforms of brown and blue. Harry stared out at the tower islands, wondering which one Hermione was on, trying to ignore the fact that his heart was beating really fast.

I repeat, huffed Slytherin. This is silly.

Agreed, said Ravenclaw. I mean, heh, there's no way she's going to run over, hug me, and tell me she missed me. It's not proper for an Auror.

But it is proper for friends, and why stop at a hug? suggested Science. I hear in Beauxbatons they kiss on the cheek as a greeting.

The first few boats docked on the shore, and the visiting students spilled onto the grass, their robes dripping wet. Raising his eyebrows, Harry watched the shivering students march towards the Great Hall, trying to figure out why they hadn't dried themselves. Probably Durmstrang was trying to show off how macho they were again.

In fact, among those who were on the boats, only a few younger students looked comfortably dry. A few tiny first years, and…

The boy who was Harry's age walked up the hill, his brown robes immaculate, his blond hair perfectly in place. Without thinking, Harry stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

After a few moments of silence, Harry cleared his throat. "Long time no see, Draco."

There were some things that annoyed Draco about being an Adult. Sure, it was nice being called a Lord and having a seat on the Wizengamot. But he was also expected to be responsible, act civil and treat annoying people with respect.

Take Harry, for instance. Draco had expected he'd be prepared for meeting his former best friend. He'd thought their conversation would be calm, polite and perhaps even pleasant. A faux friendship with Harry could be quite valuable, after all.

But now that he saw Harry, all he could think about was punching him in the face. The fact that he couldn't go all schoolyard bully and beat Harry to a pulp was most aggravating.

While Draco's blood boiled, the Boy-Who-Lived kept talking, rubbing a hand through his annoyingly unkempt hair. Did he just not own a comb? "I didn't expect to see you, Draco. How have you been?"

Draco stared at Harry. "I've been well." The words felt and sounded cold. "How about you?"

"I have been doing well also. I've been working on scientific experiments, and some new members joined the Bayesian Conspiracy. But I suppose I've told you as much in my letters. Did you ever receive them?"

"The three letters you sent? Yes, I did."

"Oh. Because, you never responded, so I wasn't sure. I thought that perhaps the owl didn't find the correct address."

Harry was rubbing his hair again, and Draco was speechless. Did he…honestly still imagine they were friends? That Draco would respond to his letters and they'd be pen pals? The thought of even touching the letters that Harry had sent him made Draco feel sick. He'd wasted no time in burning them to ashes.

"My apologies," responded Draco mechanically. "I've been busy."

"What have you been up to?" asked Harry expectantly. "I've been curious about your life in Durmstrang."

"Studying," said Draco. "Among other things."

Draco was losing patience with Harry's questions. He knew he should take the opportunity to try to get information from Harry, something to use against him, but he couldn't calm down. He wanted to get away, go to his meeting, maybe punch a wall afterwards.

Harry paused, frowning. "Okay, I'm confused," he said finally. "I must have messed up somewhere, socially speaking. If you tell me what it is, then perhaps I can make amends. I've realized that I have a tendency to be manipulative, but I've been working to correct that—"

"Are you serious?" said Draco, unable to contain himself. "Do I honestly have to explain to you what you did to me?"

"It's umm…the manipulation—"

"Bloody hell, Harry!" cried Draco. "Are you really that stupid? Or do you honestly not remember?"

Draco blinked, as realization hit him like a tank.

He must have Obliviated himself to avoid being caught and sent to Azkaban.

The thought enraged Draco more than he'd ever imagined was possible. Harry got away completely scott free. No punishment, no loss of status, no haunting dreams that woke him in terror. He'd gotten rid of it all with a wave of his wand. Meanwhile, Draco had been left to pick up the shattered pieces of his life, alone.

"Unbelievable. To the very end, you manipulate me," said Draco, his voice sounding hurt, which made him even angrier. He hated that some part of him still cared for the Boy-Who-Lived, the first friend he'd ever had.

"I—" Harry paused, his gaze frantic. "I don't know what I did. But whatever it was, I'm sorry, Draco."

"No, you're not," said Draco. But you will be.

"Draco?" said a girl's voice. He turned to see Hermione, standing a few paces below them on the hill.

Draco put on his best Malfoy smile. "It appears you have company, Harry. I don't want to keep you from your friend, and I've a meeting I must attend, so…goodbye."

Draco stalked away, his heart pounding with fury and his new resolve.

Harry would face what he had done. That memory was in Harry somewhere, and Draco would dredge it up, force him to see the monster inside him. Even if it was the last thing he did.

Harry stared after Draco, his fists clenched tight. He couldn't tell what exactly he was feeling, aside from immense confusion about what had just happened.

When Harry learned that Draco was leaving for Durmstrang, Harry had decided he wouldn't let that hinder their friendship. They could write letters, just like he and Hermione did. But when his first three letters went unreturned, Harry had reasoned he should give Draco some space. Perhaps he was grieving for his father, or too busy adjusting to Durmstrang. And then, Harry had gotten busy, and just…forgotten to contact him again.

Hermione touched his shoulder. "What wrong, Harry?"

"I…don't know," said Harry, still looking at Draco's retreating back. "I think I'm missing something."

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione. "What happened?"

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out how to respond. Finally, he shook his head.

There was something missing, that much Harry knew. However, he wasn't entirely sure if it was a memory he'd lost, or something worse. Some component inside of him that just never existed.

Because when he really thought about it…he wasn't sure if he and Draco had ever been friends. Harry had manipulated Draco, yes, to turn him to the light side and away from the Death Eaters. He'd tried to teach him about rationality, and his plan had been working. Harry had someday hoped to work with Draco, to combine their skills to accomplish their goals together.

But their relationship wasn't like what he had with Hermione, or even with Neville. They mistrusted one other, always trying to figure out what the other was hiding. It was a constant game of cat and mouse, and they never built a connection outside of using each other. Harry remembered all those times Draco had yelled at Harry, screaming in rage and frustration, and maybe he wasn't just being overdramatic. Maybe Harry had pushed him to the edge without realizing it.

It was ironic that Harry only realized, as Draco was walking away, how much he still missed him. His chest felt tight, knowing it was too late to change anything.

He felt Hermione's hand touch his shoulder.

"Are you okay? Come on, let's go get some dinner and talk about it."

Harry swallowed. He let Hermione lead him away, but he already knew.

It wasn't going to be okay.

Lavender pushed her pasta around her plate, to make it look like she'd been eating. Every so often, when a student entered the room, she glanced at the doorway.

Inside her, clustered in a ball of liquid darkness, was an overwhelming sense of Doom.

This had been going on for months now, and she didn't know how to handle it anymore. She'd tried embracing her precognitive powers, had attempted to bring something good out of them. But all she'd succeeded in was terrifying herself and her classmates with creepy voodoo magic.

After Christmas, things had only gotten worse. She felt so tense that she had trouble sleeping, and when she did sleep, her dreams woke her more often than not. It had been happening to Trelawney, too, but her professor's only suggestion had been to give her a sleeping draught. "The spirits lie, my dear," Trelawney said, her voice full of heartbreak. "My dreams and visions have never saved anyone. Better to forsake it all and get some rest."

Lavender couldn't accept that. She'd gone to the Headmistress, and to Professor Flitwick, but neither of them had helped her. She'd even badgered Mad Eye into talking to her, but he just squinted into her eyes and told her to be prepared.

For what? She'd wanted to scream. What is it that you won't tell me?

She hated it. She didn't want to know that something terrible was coming. She hated that it made her lash out at her friends, like Romilda, for reasons she didn't even understand. If the spirits, or whatever it was, needed her help so badly, then why didn't they tell her some clear information? Why were all the visions she received in fragments? Didn't they trust her enough to give her something she could use?

There was one unanswered question that scared her more than anything. Was there still time to change her future? Or when the great battle finally came, would it be the end for her, too?

She looked around the table, but neither Romilda nor Ginny had arrived yet. That fact only increased the sense of Doom inside her.

Headmistress McGonagall stood up from her seat at the head table, clearing her throat. Her voice amplified, she announced, "Students, I would like your attention please. After our exciting tournament today, I would like to congratulate our contestants. The final scores are as follows: Durmstrang is in first place with 12 points. Beauxbatons scored 3rd in this round, but is still in 2nd place overall with 10 points. Hogwarts is in a close 3rd place with 9 points."

McGonagall waited a moment as the students from each school clapped for their champions. Then, she said, "To reward each school for their marvelous performances, I have decided to reinstate the school dance. In three weeks, we will have a Spring Festival. Any student from all three schools in their 4th year or higher is welcome to attend." McGonagall smiled brightly, though Lavender caught the tension in her eyes. "Well done, champions! I hope this will be an opportunity for all of our schools to come together to have fun and better understand each other."

The room exploded into cheers, and McGonagall had to wait again for everyone to quiet down. Lavender clutched her stomach, the fear rising in her. But why?

"I understand that there isn't much time to prepare for the dance. However, if anyone would like to help with the planning committee, there is a sign up sheet on the back table." Students had already started talking over her. McGonagall cleared her throat meaningfully, and the chatter stopped.

As the Headmistress made a few more points, Lavender glanced down the table at Ron. The visions of Doom had put a strain on their relationship, not that there had been much of one in the first place, but maybe she could convince him to go with her anyway. She didn't want to die before she got to have her first dance.

Someone tapped her shoulder, and Lavender looked up to see Romilda smiling at her. She glowed like she'd just gotten the best kiss ever. Or, in Romilda's case, the best scoop ever.

But Lavender didn't miss the manic glean in her eye. That was the most terrifying thing of all.

"Hi Lavender!" she said. "I'm working with the Daily Prophet on a report for today's game. Do you mind if I interview you?"

Swirling like a ball of tangled yarn, the flashes of images in his mind told Draco the mental transfer was complete.

Draco frowned. Failure, it had been a failure. He could already tell. The memories she was supposed to give him were the ones she siphoned from others, not her own memories.

Frazzled, Draco paused, bracing himself against the wall. If he had the ancient device, he would be able to unravel each memory right away, but it was currently in the service of more pressing matters. For now, he would have to wait until his own mind worked them out, and that wasn't an easy process for him yet.

With some difficulty, Draco cast the Patronus and sent his snake with a message, "Tell the priestess I am finished meeting with Subject 1002. I will return shortly."

Wandering along, he rubbed his forehead. Maybe he'd expected too much from her, too quickly? Or perhaps he'd expected too much of himself. Either way, he'd have to pour over these memories to see if there was anything useful, decide if she was worth using again. Perhaps he ought to cut his losses and start over.

Memories like confetti clouded his vision, flashes of schoolbooks, boring lectures, and laughing with friends in the common room. A normal life.

Draco paused, his feet shuffling to a stop beside a large painting. Seeing Hogwarts brought back some of his own memories. His first year at the school had been full of adventure and possibility, like a pages of a story waiting to be written. But now it felt unreal, as if that version of Draco was gone. Hogwarts felt like a world of ghosts.

A girl passed by him, pretty red hair bouncing behind her, and Draco's eyes followed her until she rounded the corner. He walked on, feeling strangely sad and wistful.

"Excuse me, my boy," asked a cajoling voice. "Are you lost?"

Draco turned and saw a portly professor with owlish glasses, gazing at him with curiosity. His robes were tinged with a Slytherin green.

Draco shook his head. "No, sir, I'm just on my way out—"

The professor blinked, lifting a hand to his chest. "My word! You're Draco Malfoy, aren't you? Oh, excuse me, I mean Lord Malfoy." The professor gave a polite nod, regarding him with an avid, curious expression. "My name is Professor Slughorn, but please, call me Horace. I taught your father during his Hogwarts years, and he was a remarkable orator. He could convince anyone to do anything, which is a rare trait, even among Slytherins." The professor smiled, extending a hand down the corridor. "I have been hoping to get a chance to speak with you. Will you do me the favor of having tea in my office?"

Draco considered this. He didn't know this man, and his excessive flattery was a bit off-putting. Still, this was the first person Draco had met in a while that a) actually liked his father and b) wasn't an insipid lackey. Maybe Draco could learn something new about who his father really was.

Not to mention, with the power currently running through his veins, he could potentially find out useful information. He wasn't sure this was a good idea—in fact, this was quite the opposite of what he'd told his spy to do. Professors weren't safe Legilimency targets. But if Draco was able to read his mind, then at least his visit to Hogwarts wouldn't be a total loss…and he wouldn't have to disappoint her.

Of course, this could also be a trap, so Draco would have to be on his guard. He needed to be careful to safeguard his own information while mining the professor for his. But then again, wasn't that what he'd been trained to do?

Setting up his Occlumency barriers, Draco followed the professor to his office.

For the last month, Ellie's secretary job at the Ministry had been a nightmare. She hated working extended shifts, filling out obscene amounts of paperwork to admit visitors, and dealing with personal item searches from creepy old security guards.

She needed a vacation, and a boyfriend to complain about all this to.

What she didn't need was a level 5 crisis lock down right before she was about to clock out to go home.

Harry sat outside the door to Madam Bone's office in the Ministry, turning a page in his book. There were no chairs, so he took a seat on the carpet. It didn't bother him, and no one was giving him weird looks since he and his book were currently invisible.

Harry checked his watch again, which read 4:53. Madam Bones was cutting it a little close for her next meeting, unless her schedule had changed. Harry had tried to time his appearance so that they'd have at least 15 minutes, but now it was looking more like he'd have five.

A few seconds later, a woman with steel grey hair and a face hardened with tension popped into existence less than a meter away from him. From Harry's research, he knew there were unbreakable Apparition wards within the Ministry. So, either she'd found another way to teleport places, or they'd built in an exception for the Chief Witch of the Wizengamot.

Harry put away his book, stood up, and set up a protection spell around himself. He waited a fraction of a second more, just to see if Madam Bones would recognize his presence. His original plan had been to follow her into the office and then reappear, which might have been effective if he was trying to make a power play. However, considering he was trying to get a reprieve for his illegal activities, he decided to go with the route that made him look less…sketchy.

When she didn't even look in his direction, but instead cast the spell to unlock her door, Harry sighed inwardly and dropped his invisibility spell.

Madam Bones whirled and turned her wand on him, an expression of pure shock on her face. However, she did not fire on him like he'd expected (offensive spells were allowed within the Ministry). After a moment, Harry let his protection spell dissipate.

"Good afternoon, Madam Bones. Is it a bad time to talk?"

Her expression changed from shock to a scowl, and faster than he could blink, she'd dragged him into her office and closed the door.

"Harry Potter," she said, her calm voice laced with an undercurrent of rage. "I'm not even going to ask how you knew I had a meeting scheduled for this time, or how you successfully evaded my warding spells. But I need to know how you got into the Ministry. We have strict guidelines for visitors, and you should not have been allowed in this building."

"Umm…" This was actually not something Harry had expected. "I…just…walked in the front door. The guards weren't admitting people upstairs without a pass, and since I didn't have six weeks to apply for one, I turned invisible, walked past them, and took the stairs."

"That's not possible," said Madam Bones flatly. "You're only a fifth year, and no spell you could learn is powerful enough to deceive both the guards and the wards."

"I practice constantly," said Harry Potter, holding up his hand to show his ring, the giant rock that he kept under constant transfiguration. "Perhaps the spell is that powerful, or I'm just that good at evading security systems." The look of shock and helplessness that crossed her face gave him pause. "If you want, I can show you the spell I used, so you can key it to the wards. There's a few Muggle inventions that can improve your security as well."

Madam Bones ran a hand through her hair, let it fall in limp strands around her face. He noticed bags under her eyes. "Why are you here, Harry?"

From his pouch, Harry extracted the letter from the Ministry. "I received a fine for practicing underaged magic, and I would like to—"

Madam Bones grabbed the letter, gave it the briefest of glances, and then lit it on fire. A paper flitted in from her filing cabinet, which she signed with a blaze of her wand.

"Your debt is cleared," she said, handing Harry a duplicate of the paper. "Which is what I'm assuming you came here to argue for. Now, does that conclude our business?"

Harry stared at the paper, a signed receipt of the transaction. Like a lawyer going to court, he had spent days preparing his case. He'd found prior evidence of rulings regarding leniency with the use of underaged magic, as well as inconsistencies in several consequences for magical infractions that proved he was being grossly overfined. He'd expected he would have more than enough information, but he couldn't help feeling disappointed he didn't get to use any of it.

Before Harry could respond, Madam Bones had turned him invisible again. Harry discovered that he couldn't move when the door opened and two Aurors entered the room.

To the Auror on the left, a woman with pale blonde hair, she said, "Helen, I need you to go to the store and buy a few things for me. Since it's an unauthorized exit and I don't want your pay to be docked, use my key." Madam Bones floated her key over to the woman, who frowned but accepted the order with a nod. To the Auror on the right, Madam Bones said, "Mark, I need a list of all visitors and staff who have entered or exited the building within the last week, and I need it within 7 minutes."

When Harry found he could move again, the pull of a magical tether forced him to follow the blonde haired Auror outside. He knew, without being asked, that he was expected to apply his invisibility charm to pass through the wards. When Harry passed through the detection waterfall, he felt something tingling over him, and he knew Madam Bones had keyed the wards to his presence. He wouldn't be able to pull the same trick again.

As he exited the building, the tether broke. He waited for the Auror to cross the street before becoming visible again. Harry walked in the opposite direction, lost in thought, the wind beating against his coat jacket.

For all intents and purposes, Harry had just been smuggled out of the building, and that confused him. Madam Bones' level of caution might have made sense if he was breaking out of a prison, but not for leaving a government office. He had exposed a security lapse in their system, and granted, most authority figures didn't take that well, and it wouldn't have surprised him if he'd been thrown out. But the way she'd done it made it seem like she was desperate to keep him hidden.

Furthermore, his exchange with Madam Bones had been highly unusual. His actions had annoyed and irritated her, but she'd still immediately pardoned his fine and sent him away without any sort of punishment for sneaking into the Ministry. She hadn't even taken the time to ask him how he cast his invisibility spell, but perhaps she knew of a better one.

In fact, now that he realized it, she hadn't just looked tired and stressed. She'd been scared to have him in her office…but why?

Then Harry remembered the spiders in Hogwarts, predicting doom, and the warnings of the Ashwinders. The extra security along each floor of the Ministry, the quiet and harried looks on everyone's faces.

Something was wrong, and he needed to figure out what.

Harry crossed the street, turned the corner, and found the nearest newspaper stand.

"Excuse me," he said to the vendor. "I need a copy of the Quibbler, the Daily Prophet, and as many back issues as you have of each from up to twelve months ago."

Auror Mark returned 8 minutes later with copies of the sign in sheets of visitors and staff. The information had been magically compiled to include facial profiles next to the names and dates, a summarized list of each person's activities, and to highlight in red anyone was acting outside the normal parameters of either their job duties or the expected activities of a visitor (like trying to access a floor you aren't supposed to be on). Madam Bones had these lists closely monitored and analyzed on a daily basis. If someone's name was highlighted in red, they would be called into her office and their pay was garnished, which encouraged employees to stay on task.

It wasn't one of her most popular decisions, but Madam Bones didn't care. She didn't need her employees to like her, she just needed them to get their jobs done.

And so, when Madam Bones accepted the list from Auror Mark, she wasn't surprised when he looked irritated at her. "Auror Mark," she said, as he was leaving. "Can you also bring everyone who was on this floor in the last hour to the conference room?"

He shuffled his feet, suddenly defensive. "Why?"

This was the third time she'd had to purge his memory in the last week. Vestiges of them must have remained intact, because now he was questioning her decision.

As she checked through the list, she noticed something was…off. Madam Bones examined these logs twice a day, so she'd seen all this data before. She couldn't put her finger on what, but there was something wrong with the list.

Madam Bones stood, Obliviated the man, and asked him to bring her the exact same list as before. Then she went down to the surveillance area and examined the raw data collected, painstakingly comparing it to the compiled list.

A few minutes later, she noticed a name that kept popping up. She wasn't a regular visitor, but when she did come, she stayed for quite some time. As of yesterday, visits longer than 30 minutes put someone in the red. And now, her name was conveniently not on the list.

Madam Bones whipped open her Auror mirror and called security. "Lock this place down, and arrest Auror Mark for tampering. Use available resources to track down Karen Silhaven. I believe she might be one of our moles."