Year 6-13: Circling the Wagons

For the second time in as many months, Harry stood guard outside a hospital room in St. Mungo's, as a family member was treated for a near-death experience within. He had feared such an outcome of course – nearly every day of his waking life – but never thought it would come so soon again. The only consolation was that Lily looked to be pulling through as Dahlia had, and was no longer in immediate danger of dying.

The part Harry never foresaw was having Severus Snape of all people sitting beside him. The professor had insisted on accompanying Harry to St. Mungo's and waiting with him until someone else arrived. Harry wasn't sure if he appreciated the man's company or not – on the one hand, Snape had been utterly useless in saving Lily's life, but on the other, Harry strongly suspected that the man had feelings for his mother and would never do her harm. The care with which he had transported her stretcher through the Floo, and the great detail which he had provided to the Healers about her incident, was proof enough of that.

An hour of strained silence passed, until a door burst open down the hall and James Potter came storming down the ward towards them. "Let me through!" he bellowed. "My wife is in there!"

"Sir, you cannot enter the room while she is being treated—" a Healer said nervously, trying to stop James' progress.

"Like hell I can't!" James growled, trying to push past the men and women slowing him down. "I'm the bloody Minister of Magic, and I demand entry to see my wife!"

Harry stood to intercept his father at the door, wrapping his arms tightly around James. "It's alright, Dad," he said. "She's being well taken care of."

"Let me go, Harry," James said frantically. "I need to see her."

"Dad, you're making a scene," Harry whispered in his father's ear. "She's safe, and she's going to pull through. Please calm down."

James slowly came to his senses as he processed Harry's words. He pulled away from his son, pacing restlessly in front of the door, unsure what to do with himself. He spotted Snape, standing awkwardly in the corner, and rounded on him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he snarled.

"Professor Snape helped me bring Mum here," Harry said. "Please, Dad, sit down and take a breath. Mum is okay now."

James begrudgingly sank into the chair beside Harry's, running his hands tiredly through his tousled hair. "This isn't happening," he moaned. "Not again."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He just sat beside his father in solidarity, pondering the same unspoken question. How had this happened yet again? How had his sister and mother both been attacked, within weeks of one another, right under Harry's nose? It had been an incredible stroke of luck that he was present both times to save their lives – but who had been bold enough to attempt such a thing in the first place?

"I'd best go inform the Headmaster," said Snape awkwardly. "Shall I fetch your daughter and bring her here?"

"No!" James snapped, looking up at Snape with suspicion. "I will send – someone else – to go and get her…"

Snape sneered, clearly realizing the same thing Harry did: that James did not fully trust Snape in this moment. And although Harry did not believe Snape was responsible, he couldn't entirely blame his father.

"I've got this," said Harry. "Dobby!"

The house-elf appeared in the hall before them, startling James. "Does Mister Harry need assistance?" he asked.

"Find my sister and bring her here to St. Mungo's," said Harry. "Tell her it's an emergency."

"Right away, sir," Dobby bowed, before disappearing with another small pop.

"I didn't know the school house-elves could do that," James muttered, as Snape arched a curious eyebrow at Harry before sweeping away from the ward.

The door to Lily's room clicked open, and a Healer slipped out of the room to speak with them. "Minister Potter?" he said. "Your wife is responding well to treatment, and we believe she is going to make a full recovery."

Both Harry and James sighed with relief. "What happened to her?" James asked weakly.

"Your wife consumed a poison laced into a bottle of mead," the Healer explained. "Fortunately your son managed to dose her with an antidote before the poison could do the worst damage."

"But...that's impossible," James frowned. "My wife doesn't drink."

The Healer hesitated to respond to this, glancing briefly at Harry.

"Er, Dad...she has been drinking quite a bit lately," Harry confessed.

"But why?" asked James. "She hasn't touched hard liquor in over a decade."

"Dunno," Harry shrugged.

He realized for the first time that he had rarely seen his mother drink alcohol in this timeline. Usually it was the three Marauders downing Firewhiskey at family gatherings, while Lily stuck to wine or Butterbeer. Why was that? Had she struggled with harder substances in her younger years, or did she simply avoid it for other reasons? Now wasn't really the time to ask.

"You can come in and see her now," said the Healer, beckoning them both inside.

Lily looked sickly and frail in the bed, her normally-flaming red hair dulled, her skin pallid and gray. James inhaled sharply at the sight of her; Harry gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as they sat at her bedside.

"I never thought…" James said weakly, clutching his wife's hand in his own trembling one. "I always figured I might die in combat, or get assassinated or something, but I never thought I would outlive my Lily. I don't think I could bear it."

Harry couldn't imagine it either. He knew how much his parents loved each other, and how devastated either would be if the other died prematurely. But he particularly knew that James would fall apart at the seams if Lily were the one to go, just as Harry would if Dahlia met her untimely end. The Potter men were strong, but they were nothing without the women in their lives, upon whom they drew their strength.

There was a small pop in the hallway outside, and Dahlia came rushing breathlessly into the room. She gave a pitiful whine when she saw Lily lying unconscious in the bed and rushed into her father's arms.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Someone slipped her a poisoned drink," Harry muttered.

"Who would do something like that?" Dahlia sniffed.

Who indeed? Harry thought. Whoever it was must have slipped the bottle in with the others at the Slug Club party last December. He racked his brain, trying to remember who all was there...Draco had been absent, seemingly giving him another alibi, but he could have easily asked another student to do it. If only he had a Pensieve to view the memory of the party back and look for clues...another item to add to his growing shopping list.

The Potters sat by Lily's bedside all night, talking quietly and reassuring one another that everything was going to be alright. Harry wasn't sure if he believed his father's assurances, but it seemed that they were as much for James' own benefit as his two children. James looked older than Harry had ever seen him, the stress of the Minister's office grinding down his sharp features into a dreary, exhausted pulp.

James flitted in and out of the room all night and morning, talking with Healers and Aurors alike. Harry sat beside Dahlia, watching their mother sleep in her induced coma for any signs of distress. But when the moment of distress came, it wasn't from the bed – it was from out in the hall, in the form of raised voices. Harry frowned, gently laying a sleeping Dahlia in the chair beside him before slipping out into the hall.

James and Kingsley Shacklebolt were having an intense conversation in the corner. Both were trying to keep their voices down, but Harry could tell from their stiff body language that they were having a significant disagreement.

"...not enough!" James was saying in a strained tone. "Three people for the entire hospital?"

"That's all we can afford right now," Kingsley sighed. "Two for the entrance and one backup should be plenty—"

"That's nothing if there is a coordinated attack!" James groaned. "What if Voldemort decides to send in hitmen to finish the job?"

"That would be incredibly foolhardy on his part," Kingsley reasoned. "We have to think about our other priorities right now, like Hogwarts, the Ministry and Azkaban."

"To hell with priorities!" James shouted. "That's my wife in there!"

"What's going on?" asked Harry, walking up to the pair.

James and Kingsley shared a look. "We're just discussing security," James sighed, deflating a little. "We have some staffing issues in the Auror Department right now, and are figuring out guard rotations."

"But I thought the Aurors have been recruiting like crazy this year?" Harry frowned.

"We have," Kingsley nodded. "But a lot of the new recruits have quit or moved to other departments."

"Can't we promote any trainees to fill in the gaps?" James asked hopefully.

"Most aren't ready yet," Kingsley sighed. "Maybe a few of the promising ones, like Diggory, but I'd hate to see an accident occur because of lack of training."

James groaned and rubbed his face tiredly; he looked like he hadn't slept in days. "Do what you can," he sighed. "We can pull from the Azkaban rotation if we need to. Harry, give us a minute, please."

Harry obliged, returning to Lily's room to sit with Dahlia. Why are so many Auror trainees leaving the program? he wondered. He hadn't heard anything about it in the Daily Prophet, but then, that would probably constitute a security concern if word got out to Voldemort. It partially explained why James was so desperate for assistance from the ICW…

After a few minutes, James re-entered the room, giving Harry a significant look. "I want you to take Dahlia back to Grimmauld Place and stay there until further notice," he said.

"No chance," Harry said firmly. "I'm staying here to watch over Mum."

"The security here isn't strong enough for my liking," James insisted. "The Aurors can't defend everywhere at once."

"All the more reason for me to stay here and stand guard!"

"Harry, I am begging you," said James, grabbing his son by the shoulders with a pleading look in his eyes. "Please, take your sister to safety and watch over her. If Death Eaters came here, I couldn't bear to lose all three of you."

Harry saw the desperation in his father's eyes and knew he couldn't say no. James looked haggard and exhausted – the war was beating him down, bit by bit, and his family's personal woes were only compounding the problem. Harry had to do what he could to help by taking himself and Dahlia out of the equation.

"Okay," Harry conceded. "Fine, we'll go."

"Thank you," James sighed, giving Harry a hug. "I'll send Remus and Sirius along to check on you two periodically. Just lay low and watch out for each other until we learn more."

Harry nodded and gently shook Dahlia awake to inform her of the decision. She looked a bit put-out to be separated from Lily, but gave her one last tearful hug before taking Harry's hand and exiting the ward.

He guided her down to the lobby towards the Floo, intending to slip out without anybody noticing them. Unfortunately, reporters were camped out in the lobby, and when they spotted the Potter children they sprang to life, shouting questions over one another while the two poor Aurors on duty tried to hold them back:

"Harry, Dahlia! What's the latest on your mother?" "Was this a coordinated attack?" "Where is Albus Dumbledore?"

"Our family would appreciate privacy at this time, thank you," Harry muttered as he guided Dahlia to the fireplace. However, as he reached for a handful of Floo Powder from the urn, one question rose above the din, piercing Harry to his core:

"Harry! Is it true that you used the Killing Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange?"

Harry wheeled around in shock, confronting the reporter who asked the question. "What did you just say?" he demanded. "Who told you that?"

"There are rumors," the reporter said simply. "Can you confirm or deny them?"

"Harry, come on," said Dahlia, tugging on his arm. Harry shook his head to clear it, then nodded, accepting her hand and stepping through the fireplace together.

As soon as they touched down in the living room of Grimmauld Place, Harry began pacing anxiously to and fro. "How did they know that?" he asked aloud. "Who told them?"

"There were a lot of witnesses there," Dahlia reasoned. "It was bound to slip eventually, wasn't it?"

"From who?" Harry demanded. "Order members? The Death Eaters locked up in Azkaban? I can't imagine any of them would go blabbing about it."

"Maybe it was an accident," said Dahlia. "Someone could have overheard—"

"Who, then?" asked Harry. "Neville? Ron? He sure was comfortable calling me 'Dark Lord Potter' at the Slug Club after-party…"

"I don't know, Harry," Dahlia huffed. "But can you not take it out on me? It's not my fault either."

Harry blinked. "Sorry," he sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I'm just stressed out here."

"Me too," Dahlia nodded sympathetically. "C'mon, let's see if Kreacher will cook us breakfast."

Dahlia opted to take a nap shortly after eating, but Harry remained awake, mind burning with new questions. Who had talked to the press? And what was their motive? Was it truly a slip-up as Dahlia suggested? Or did someone have reason to want suspicion thrown on Harry? What was their game here? He would have to talk to the other students who were present at the Department of Mysteries battle to see what they knew.

But in the meantime, he was trapped in this stupid townhouse with nothing to do and no contact to the outside world. The Daily Prophet was of little help, as usual, reporting briefly on Lily's poisoning but offering little in the way of answers. Harry understood why James had sent his children here, but it was torture, being cut off from the world this way with no idea what was happening.

Occasionally Sirius or Remus would come by to check on Harry and Dahlia, but mostly they were left alone to the maddening silence and solitude of Grimmauld. There were only so many repetitive conversations they could have, so many games of Exploding Snap to take their minds off the fact that they'd nearly lost their mother. They made one brief trip to Raven House to check on their brews, but Harry did not want to give James a heart attack by having someone come to find the house deserted, so they mostly stayed put.

With little else to occupy his mind, Harry turned to a side-project he'd been fixated on lately: portkeys. He wanted to learn how to make them, both for quicker travel and as an emergency measure in case of disaster. He'd feel a lot safer knowing that his mother and sister had one on them at all times to escape a tricky spot. He delved into the Black family library in search of answers.

There was plenty of literature about how they functioned, but little on how to create one. Furthermore, Harry wanted to better understand how they reacted to wards and if they could possibly bypass certain protections. He'd successfully escaped anti-Disapparation wards with one in Bulgaria, but he wanted to know if they could get through stricter wards, such as a Fidelius Charm or the protections surrounding Hogwarts. He resolved to dive into the Hogwarts library for more answers when he returned to the castle, and perhaps write to Krum to see what he knew about them.

Dahlia slept in Harry's room most nights, not wanting to be alone. Harry didn't mind – frankly, he wasn't keen on letting his loved ones out of his sight ever again. His dreams were consumed with visions of death and suffering, of his mother, father and sister crying for help as Harry was unable to rescue them. Every time he awoke screaming, Dahlia was there, assuring him it was alright, allowing him to fall back into a restless sleep.

By the fourth day of isolation, Harry was practically climbing the walls with frustration, unable to keep still. He yearned to take action, to do something to take his mind off of the gnawing feeling of dread consuming his thoughts.

"What are you thinking?" asked Dahlia out of the blue. Harry looked up from his restless pacing; his sister was peering at him from over her textbook, green eyes narrowed in concern.

"Nothing," Harry muttered.

"Don't give me that," Dahlia snapped. "You have that look in your eyes. That look like you're about to do something very foolish. You can't expect me to back you up every time."

"I was just thinking how easy it would be to sneak into the Slytherin common room and drag Draco Malfoy out here for a little chat," Harry grumbled.

"Harry, no!" Dahlia reprimanded him. "Mum told you to leave him be!"

"I don't care, Dahlia," said Harry. "I just know he's behind this somehow. Someone's targeting the people I love, and I won't let them get away with it anymore."

"Then find proof," Dahlia urged him. "Prove Draco did it. Going after him without knowing for sure will only make things worse."

"Why is everyone defending Draco lately?" Harry groaned.

"I'm not defending him," Dahlia said sternly. "I just want you to be careful. If he did do this to Mum, I'll be right there next to you while you make him pay."

Harry arched a surprised eyebrow at Dahlia, who now wore a look of stubborn resolve. This was not the same scared little girl he'd met when he arrived in this timeline. Dahlia was adapting to the war herself, not shrinking away from it in fear. She'd faced death thrice over now and survived unscathed...not many could say that, much less come out the other side stronger than before.

And she was right: Harry had to tread carefully in the days and weeks to come. For all he knew, this was some kind of elaborate trap to bait Harry into going after Draco and walk into an ambush. Snape had warned him that Voldemort was watching him closely, and must have some reason for going after those around him rather than Harry directly. He had to figure out who was behind this, and why, before going on the warpath.

An unexpected reprieve came on the Friday evening following the incident, as Spring Break had begun at Hogwarts and several of their classmates came to stay at Grimmauld Place for the following week. That included Neville, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Damian, as well as two surprise new additions: Daphne and Astoria Greengrass.

"Hey, Daphne," Harry greeted the Slytherin. "What brings you here?"

"Father wants me and Tori to stay somewhere safe during the holiday," Daphne explained. "After what happened to your mother, he's afraid that our family may be targeted next."

"I see," said Harry. "Well, welcome."

"What is this place?" asked Astoria aloud, looking around the austere living room with a look of concern.

"Our Uncle Sirius' family's house," said Dahlia. "It's bloody boring here...get ready for a week of nothing to do."

"Nonsense!" said Ron, clapping his hands together. "We're turning this place into our party pad for the next week."

"You most certainly are not!" exclaimed Molly Weasley, who tottered into the room behind her children. "We will be treating this house with respect and civility while Sirius generously lets us stay here."

"Yes, of course we will, Mum," Ron groaned, while flashing a wink to the others once Molly turned away.

Indeed, even with Molly and the other adults monitoring the teens in the coming days, the atmosphere was far lighter than before. Harry's days were filled with laughter and camaraderie rather than silent dread over the fate of his family. Ron in particular was a much-needed force of levity, making sure everyone was enjoying their time despite the dreary atmosphere. Even the normally-stoic Daphne could be seen smiling from time to time at his antics to cheer up the group.

But Harry still had one burning question on his mind throughout the fun and games. He waited until a moment he could get the trio alone, finding Neville, Ron and Hermione in the library having a hushed conversation one afternoon.

"Am I interrupting anything?" Harry asked.

"Not at all!" Ron said with false cheer. "How's it going, mate?"

"Fine," said Harry, noting their stiff body language as he sat with them. What were they always talking about so intensely whenever he saw them alone together? What did Dumbledore tell them they needed to look for? He still badly wanted to know, but a more pressing issue was at hand now.

"A reporter at St. Mungo's asked me if I killed Bellatrix Lestrange," he said in a whisper.

"They did?" asked a horrified Hermione. "Oh, dear, but how did they find out? I haven't seen it reported in any recent articles…"

"It's just a rumor, apparently, and it's being kept quiet somehow," said Harry. "But I wondered the same thing as you. The only people who knew about that were in the Department with me when it happened."

The trio looked at one another thoughtfully at this. "Surely you don't think one of us blabbed to the Prophet?" asked Neville. "I swear, we would never do that to you, Harry."

"Not on purpose, no," said Harry. "But you don't think someone overheard you talking about it? Maybe when you were joking about me being a budding Dark Lord?" Harry gave Ron a particularly stern look at this.

"That's a line I would never cross, mate," said Ron in a deadly serious tone. "The Dark Lord thing was just us taking the mickey at Dumbledore, but I would never joke about you using an Unforgivable. Honest to Merlin."

"Okay," Harry nodded, and he surprisingly believed Ron. The boy was boisterous and chaotic at times, but he was a Hufflepuff for a reason: he was also fiercely loyal and could keep a secret to the grave. "Then who could have talked? I know it wasn't Damian, and Mark Davis doesn't seem like the type."

"What if it was one of Malfoy's lot?" Neville suggested. "I bet they'd love to knock you down a peg in the Prophet."

"How would Draco know about it?" asked Harry. "He wasn't there."

"His Dad was," Ron pointed out. "Maybe he told his wife about it at Azkaban, and it got passed along that way."

Harry considered this. It was far more likely that one of his enemies would spread the rumor rather than an Order member or classmate. But what was the motive? Was it as simple as wanting to tarnish his 'golden boy' reputation? But what would the point of that be, if Harry was also supposedly off-limits? It was yet another question to add to the list Harry planned to subject Draco to, the moment his Veritaserum was done brewing in a few weeks' time.

"We'll keep our eyes and ears open," Hermione assured Harry. "If anyone is spreading rumors about you, we'll put a stop to it."

"Appreciate it," said Harry. It was reassuring to know one of his friends hadn't spread the rumor. And as much as he wondered sometimes whether he was focusing too intensely on Draco Malfoy, all roads seemed to point to him lately, and Harry was just following the signs. The boy would have a lot to answer for the next time they crossed paths at Hogwarts, Snape (and Dumbledore) be damned.

Just for good measure, Harry also checked with the Greengrass sisters to see if they'd heard anything. He found them in the study, quietly working on homework together. "Hey, you two have a minute?" he asked.

"Sure, what's up, Potter?" asked Daphne.

"I'm curious if either of you two have heard any rumors about me lately," he asked cautiously.

"I hear rumors about you every day," Daphne deadpanned, as Astoria shrugged and nodded in agreement. "Can you be more specific?"

Harry hesitated – he didn't want word of what he'd done to Bellatrix Lestrange to spread too far outside his zone of control. "About last summer," he said cautiously. "And about the incidents at Hogwarts and the Ministry in June."

Daphne and Astoria looked at each other. "You mean the 'Hero of Hogwarts' stuff?" asked Astoria. "That's old news by now."

"Right," said Harry. "But that's all people have been talking about from that day? Me rescuing students?"

"Well, we know you went to the Ministry after Neville and that lot," Daphne frowned. "From there we've only gathered what the Prophet reported on, and that was rather vague."

"So Mark didn't tell you or Tracey anything about what happened in the Ministry?" asked Harry pointedly.

"He doesn't like to talk about it," Daphne frowned. "And we didn't press the issue. I mean, he witnessed Bellatrix Lestrange's death, and that's kinda traumatic, don't you think?"

"Er...yeah," Harry said nervously. "He didn't go into more details about that?"

"No," said Daphne. "The Prophet said it was a stray curse from another Death Eater that did her in. Why, did you see it too?"

Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief – so Mark Davis didn't say anything, either. He was the only other student he'd been worried about spreading the rumor, but it sounded like he'd kept his mouth shut as well. "I might've," Harry said vaguely. "I was just curious what was being said about that day. Lots of false information floating around, y'know?"

"Right," said Daphne, nodding thoughtfully as she scrutinized Harry. "Well, I'll tell you if anything comes up."

"Appreciate it," said Harry, before leaving them be. He wondered if perhaps he'd insinuated too much – Daphne was shrewd and might be able to read between the lines of what he was asking to deduce the truth. But that wasn't his primary concern...he trusted her, and the important thing was that she hadn't learned about it from someone else. That meant Harry could focus his search elsewhere for the culprit.

More good news arrived the following Monday, as Lily was deemed out of danger and discharged from St. Mungo's. Harry and Dahlia waited anxiously by the fireplace as her stretcher was carefully transported through the Floo, accompanied by James and a Healer. She was taken up to a room just down the hall from Harry's and laid in bed, where she looked marginally better than before and far more cross.

"This is all so unnecessary," Lily muttered weakly as the Healer set about hooking her up to a number of instruments on the bedside table. "I'm not about to drop dead at a moment's notice – I can take care of myself, thank you."

"There is still a small risk of long-term complications from the poison," the Healer said gently as she re-checked Lily's vitals with her wand. "We are just being extra cautious in case of—"

"I'm well-aware of the potential side effects, thank you," Lily snapped irritably. "I'm a bloody Potions Master."

"Lily!" James exclaimed. "There's no need for that...Healer Thompson is only trying to help."

Lily deflated a bit as she realized how harsh she'd come across. "Sorry," she grumbled. "Dear, d'you think you could fetch me a glass of wine? Just to take the edge off a little bit."

James cast a worried look at his children after this request. "I don't think that's such a good idea, dear," he sighed. "Maybe some sparkling water, or a Calming Draught—?"

"I don't need an effing Calming Draught!" Lily said through gritted teeth. "I just need you to get off my back about this, alright, dear?"

James shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "Harry, Dahlia, why don't you give us a moment?" he sighed. "Go and tell the others the good news."

Harry, sensing an incoming argument, nodded and took Dahlia's hand to guide her out to the hall. They hurried for the stairs, unable to escape before the sounds of raised voices followed them from the room and down to the main floor.

"Did you know Mum had started drinking again?" Dahlia asked him.

"Yeah," Harry shrugged. "But I didn't realize it was a problem before. Did you?"

"I overheard her and Aunt Petunia talking over Christmas holiday," Dahlia sighed. "Mum said she's just been so stressed that she needs something to take her mind off of everything. Aunt Petunia sounded worried, saying she 'shouldn't go back to the way things were before'...I didn't realize what that meant until now."

Harry felt badly for both of his parents in that moment. He knew they'd been rowing in recent months over other matters, and now this would only complicate things further. He couldn't blame his father for being upset, given his wife's apparent past issues with drinking, but nor could he blame his mother for relapsing, given everything that was happening around them during this war. It was just a crummy situation all around.

And things would only get worse the following morning. Harry descended to the kitchen for breakfast, only to find everyone huddled around the table, worriedly discussing the Daily Prophet. He grabbed a spare copy for himself, and his stomach dropped when he read:

PRISON RIOT AT AZKABAN LEAVES GUARDS DEAD; DANGEROUS CONVICTS ESCAPE

By Sabrina Vane, The Daily Prophet

"Late yesterday evening, Aurors responded to reports of a break-out attempt on the remote island that houses Azkaban Prison. Reinforcements arrived to quell the rebellion, but in the chaos, a number of guards were overpowered and killed, while several key prisoners managed to escape. It is unknown at this time if they had outside assistance in their attempt.

Among the escapees are a number of marked Death Eaters who were imprisoned as recently as last June. The Prophet is still attempting to obtain a comprehensive list from the Ministry, but we do know that Gilderoy Lockhart, Barty Crouch Jr., and Lucius Malfoy were among those who escaped.

'We regret that this lapse in security resulted in such a tragic outcome,' said Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt in a statement early this morning. 'The Ministry is determined to bolster our forces around the country and prevent such incidents from occurring again.'

Minister of Magic James Potter could not be reached for comment. Potter has been away from the office tending to his wife, who recently fell ill from an accidental poisoning. He has drawn scrutiny for his decision to remove dementors from Azkaban, as well as his aggressive recruiting tactics and increased Auror presence throughout Britain, including at Diagon Alley, St. Mungo's, and Hogwarts School."

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered incredulously. "Two break-outs in less than a year? Not to mention Pettigrew back in our third year...and here we all thought Azkaban was impenetrable!"

"Surely they had Voldemort's help this time too," Neville remarked. "The Prophet wouldn't report it for fear of causing a panic, but there's no way unarmed prisoners managed to overpowered armed guards."

Privately, Harry wasn't so sure. He remembered the conversation he'd overheard between James and Kingsley days prior, in which James insinuated that they draw from the pool of Azkaban guards to bolster security elsewhere. Had that contributed to this disaster? Had the prisoners realized they had fewer guards to overpower in order to make their bid for freedom? Once again he did not envy his father's difficult decision-making with the stakes being so unbelievably high.

"What does this mean for Hogwarts?" asked Daphne worriedly. "Will it be safe for us to return to school?"

"Don't worry, I've got your back, Greengrass," Ron quipped, jokingly throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Besides, they'd never try something with Dumbledore at the castle."

Daphne nodded uncertainly at this. Harry, on the other hand, didn't feel particularly reassured by Dumbledore's presence – already Voldemort had proven brazen enough to attempt multiple incursions into the castle with the Headmaster present. Sure, they had mostly been distractions, but students had still gotten hurt – could they really count on Dumbledore to keep everyone safe?

"You kids oughtn't worry yourself with such things," said Molly Weasley fretfully. "Dumbledore and the Ministry will keep us safe. There will be an Order meeting later this week to discuss everything and make sure we are all on the same page."

Most looked reassured by this news, but Harry was less than enthused. He'd long ago dismissed the Order of the Phoenix as too passive and reactive to be effective. But hey, if it allowed the other students some measure of peace of mind to return to the castle, he supposed it couldn't hurt.

Harry's thoughts that day were consumed with all the dangerous people they now had to contend with all over again after the break-out. Lucius Malfoy...Barty Crouch Jr...Gilderoy Lockhart...thankfully, no Bellatrix Lestrange, which made his decision to kill her all the more justified in his mind. How soon would they be back in fighting shape? With no more dementors patrolling the prison, they could be back to their full facilities within weeks, perhaps even days. Would this prove to be a turning-point in the war? How much longer would Voldemort wait before making his move out of the shadows?

The Order meeting was held a few days later, and members began pouring into Grimmauld Place after dinner time. Harry greeted each new arrival, acting in the stead of his father, who was busy at work while his mother continued to rest upstairs.

"Wotcher, Tonks," he greeted the Metamorphmagus when she arrived shortly after her mother Andromeda. "How have you been?"

"Busy," the young Auror grimaced. "Kingsley has us working double shifts to cover all our bases. I only got five days to recover from my injury."

"I heard about that," said Harry, feeling a twinge of guilt knowing that he was secretly the one to incapacitate her. "What happened?"

"Bloody bastard domed me with a rock the size of a Quaffle," Tonks muttered, pulling back her bangs to reveal a fading scar on her right temple. "Better than a spell injury, I suppose, but that makes it all the more insulting."

"I heard about that," said Cedric Diggory, walking up to the pair in greeting. "Did the mysterious Bulgarian really take down eight of our lot?"

"I'm the only one that suffered any real damage," Tonks grumbled. "He just ran for the ward perimeter and escaped. It's my fault, really – I should have stood my ground instead of let him get past me."

"Hey, at least you weren't killed for getting in his way," Harry reasoned. "Your life isn't worth one random criminal's."

"I think Dora is just embarrassed she got shown up in front of the others," Cedric grinned.

"Am not!" Tonks flushed, smacking Cedric on the arm. "And don't call me Dora!"

"How about you, Ced?" asked Harry. "How's training going?"

"As a matter of fact, I was promoted earlier this week," said Cedric. "We're so short-staffed that they needed me and a couple other recruits to step up to a full-time position."

"Congratulations," Harry offered.

"Eh, sign of the times," Cedric shrugged. "Dora here has been mentoring me in the field – she's a great teacher, as long as I ignore all her clumsy stumbles while doing basic things like walking."

"I'm not that clumsy!" Tonks retorted. "And what did I say about calling me Dora?!"

Harry laughed as the two playfully ribbed one another. He spotted Bill and Fleur across the room and politely excused himself before making his way towards them.

"Hello, 'Arry," said Fleur, giving him a hug. "How is your mother doing?"

"She's recovering well," said Harry. "It was a big scare, but it looks like she's going to pull through."

"I can't imagine what it must feel like," Bill muttered. "To nearly lose someone you love...when Ron was petrified four years ago, I thought I would go mad with worry."

"Well, we find ways to carry on and make ourselves useful," Harry shrugged. "Speaking of which, do we have any progress on our...project?"

Bill shifted uncomfortably at the question. "I heard back from my contact in Egypt," he said in an undertone. "He told me to piss off and leave him be. He doesn't like to have his work interrupted unless it's an urgent matter."

"Well, you did tell him it's an urgent matter, didn't you?" Harry demanded.

"Er...I mean, I implied it," Bill said evasively.

"Come on, Bill, the fate of the war depends on it!" Harry groaned.

"Not necessarily," Bill reasoned. "There are other paths we can explore—"

"We should discuss this in private, perhaps," Fleur said nervously, glancing around at the people milling about the room nearby. "Too many ears here."

"Do you know where your contact is?" Harry asked.

"He's conducting research in Cairo," said Bill. "But that doesn't matter. He's not interested, and he won't appreciate an uninvited visit—"

"That's too bad for him, then," Harry scoffed. "I want to meet this guy, face to face, whether he wants to or not."

"I would strongly recommend not pissing off a necromancer, Harry," Bill said warningly. "They have delved into magic far more sinister than you can imagine."

"Bill, not here!" Fleur hissed, silencing the conversation once more. But moments later, Dumbledore walked into the room, rendering the point moot, as everyone began to take their seats around the table. Harry took his customary seat at Dumbledore's right, with Dahlia beside him, as Snape settled opposite him, looking more worn down than Harry last remembered seeing him.

"Thank you all for coming," Dumbledore addressed the room. "First, I would like to welcome a new addition to our ranks: Miss Daphne Greengrass, here on behalf of her father, Dale." Everyone turned to nod politely to Daphne, who gave Dumbledore a curt nod befitting an heir to a noble house.

"I also wish to regretfully say my condolences for several of our number who perished in the fight at Azkaban earlier this week," Dumbledore said forlornly. "Let us take a moment to remember Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle, who gave their lives trying to prevent such dangerous wizards and witches from escaping." A somber silence followed, as everyone gazed solemnly at the two empty seats that had been left at the end of the table in remembrance of their sacrifice.

"Now, we have a great deal to discuss this evening," said Dumbledore after a minute had passed. "The most pressing issue, of course, is the Azkaban break-out. Kingsley, do we have a full account of the damage?"

Kingsley stood from his seat with a parchment in hand. "In total, we lost five people at Azkaban," he said. "Two Order members, two Aurors, and one trainee. Eight prisoners managed to escape, including the six Death Eaters present in the Department of Mysteries last June and two others who may be sympathetic to Voldemort's cause. One of them was Dolores Umbridge."

Harry's blood chilled at the mention of the vile woman. She hadn't crossed his mind once in the past year, but she had been in Azkaban, clearly biding her time and making friends with the Death Eaters imprisoned alongside her. He could only imagine the nastiness she could achieve alongside Voldemort, as spiteful and bigoted as they came and skilled in the art of persuasion to accomplish her evil aims.

"And how does the Ministry plan to compensate for the lost guards?" Dumbledore asked Kingsley.

"We're spread thin at the moment, and we've had to make some concessions," said Kingsley. "Our current strategy is to move Aurors around quickly and stealthily, to conceal our presence and prevent anyone from tracking our numbers."

"A wise move," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Might I suggest reducing the presence around Hogwarts and Hogsmeade to compensate? I sincerely doubt that Voldemort will attempt another attack on the school while I am present there."

Kingsley shifted uncomfortably at this suggestion. "Well...the Minister disagrees," he said awkwardly. "He has in fact ordered a greater Auror presence at the school for the remainder of term, to ensure the safety of the students."

"I see," said Dumbledore mildly. He looked surprised, and Harry wondered if perhaps the Headmaster felt slighted by the lack of trust shown in his ability to protect the castle himself. But he recovered quickly and simply remarked, "Well, the Minister does know best, I suppose."

He turned next to Snape, seated to his left. "Anything to report to us, Severus?" asked Dumbledore. "How has the return of Voldemort's most faithful servants altered his plans?"

"I have no reason to believe his short-term aims have changed," said Snape. "His returning followers are laying low and recovering from their stay at Azkaban for the time being. The Dark Lord remains focused on reconnaissance and recruitment for the long term."

"Recruitment?" asked Dumbledore, quirking an eyebrow. "From where is he drawing support?"

"From the continent, mostly," said Snape. "A number of foreign agents have arrived to offer their services for a price."

"Like the Bulgarian bastard from a few weeks ago," Tonks muttered bitterly. "When I get my hands on him…"

"Has the Ministry made any inroads into counter-recruitment?" asked Dumbledore, turning again to Kingsley. "Can't these foreign agents be swayed to join the Auror ranks?"

"That is easier said than done," Kingsley sighed. "Many are convicted criminals on the run from their own nations, and would not respond well to Ministry recruitment anyway. And despite Minister Potter's efforts to expand incentives for new recruits, You-Know-Who remains able to offer them more to join his cause."

"Have we been successful in cutting off the flow of income to Voldemort's supporters?" Dumbledore asked, turning to Sirius.

"We had great short-term success in that department, but the strategy has changed," said Sirius. "We managed to cut off the Black and Malfoy funds from reaching Voldemort, but he has found alternative sources of income we cannot reach. We suspect he has access to the Nott coffers, as well as investments from sympathizers abroad."

"There has been a great deal of foreign currency flowing into London Gringotts lately," Bill Weasley jumped in. "The goblins are thrilled about the increased commissions, but I worry what it means for You-Know-Who's resources."

"Thank you, William," Dumbledore nodded. "Perhaps you could provide a breakdown of which countries have contributed the most gold to British accounts? That would be most helpful."

"I'd be delighted to, sir," Bill nodded eagerly. Harry noted the reverence and pride in Bill's tone while addressing Dumbledore, remembering just how much the man respected his former Headmaster.

"And what of the werewolves, Mr. Lupin?" Dumbledore asked Remus. "Have we had any success converting any more since the potion business went back online?"

"Not many," Remus grimaced, glancing at Alessia morosely. "Most werewolves live off the grid apart from society, so it's difficult to convince them that the Ministry actually intends to help them. James' mandates convinced a couple of them, but it only drove most further into Voldemort's clutches."

Harry remembered reading an article months back about his father's expanded efforts to reach out to the werewolf community. He had made the transformation potion mandatory for all registered werewolves in Britain, but unfortunately, that seemed to have only scared most of them away.

"Very well, very well," said Dumbledore tiredly, glancing at his pocket watch briefly before continuing. "Now, I'm afraid my time is short this evening. Let us quickly go over some book-keeping matters, then we can discuss guard rotations and strategies moving forward."

"Hang on," Harry piped up. "Isn't there one more topic we need to discuss?"

"And what would that be, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

"My mother," said Harry. "She was targeted and nearly killed, right under your nose. What do you plan to do about it?"

Dumbledore regarded Harry coolly, surveying his expression. "I have given Kingsley and the Auror Office full access to investigate the matter," he said. "I suggest you speak with him after the meeting if you wish to learn more."

"That's not good enough," Harry retorted. "I asked what do you plan to do about it, considering you're the one that's supposed to be keeping us safe in the castle?"

"I do not believe that what happened to your sister and mother are events that will repeat themselves," Dumbledore said calmly. "These were isolated freak accidents that they may not necessarily have been the intended targets of."

"My sister was placed under an Imperius Curse!" said Harry. "And my mother drank poisoned mead that she was gifted directly at the Christmas party! And you have the gall to suggest they weren't being targeted?"

"Watch your tongue, Potter—" Snape spat.

"I don't want to hear from you, either!" Harry shot back at Snape. "I can at least understand why you're protecting your own, but the Headmaster has no excuse. There are attempted murderers hiding in plain sight in the castle, and you refuse to take action while my loved ones suffer! So I'll ask you again, sir: what do you plan to do about this?"

"Harry, listen to me carefully," said Dumbledore in a strained voice. "I have made my position very clear on this matter. You are to leave this matter to me and the Ministry to resolve. Just because it seems that we are doing nothing does not mean that is the case. We are far more privy to what is happening than you are."

"Then perhaps you'd care to enlighten us, sir?" Harry demanded. "What makes you so sure that my family isn't under direct attack?"

"There are a great many things I do not share with you on a regular basis," said Dumbledore. "I say this both as the leader of this Order and the Headmaster of Hogwarts. I sympathize with your concerns over your family, but this is not your responsibility to take on your own. Is that understood, Harry?"

"No, it is not understood," Harry growled. "You've done nothing but let me and my family down for the last five-plus years, and I see no reason you're about to turn things around now. I will have my vengeance against those responsible for my family's pain and suffering, and if you won't assist me, I will go through you if I have to. Is that understood, Albus?"

There was a stunned silence around the table as Harry and Dumbledore stared each other down. Then, an unexpected voice came to Harry's defense: "I dunno, I think Harry has a good point." Everyone turned to Neville, who was frowning slightly at Dumbledore.

"Beg your pardon, Neville?" asked Dumbledore curiously.

"I don't understand why Harry is the bad guy in this situation," Neville muttered. "He nearly lost his mum and his sister a month apart. And he's the only person here with an actual plan forward. Why is that a bad thing?"

"There is a right and a wrong way to approach this, Neville—" Dumbledore said calmly.

"Yeah, and doing nothing seems like the wrong way!" Neville retorted. "Sitting back and being reactive has resulted in people getting hurt. I don't blame Harry for wanting to take action."

"Be quiet, Neville," Augusta Longbottom snapped. "Respect your elders."

"No," Neville said resolutely. "I won't stay quiet anymore! Sitting back and trusting my elders has only gotten me in trouble in the past. Voldemort isn't being passive, so why should we? I think we'd all be better off if we listened to Harry more."

Everyone looked stunned by Neville's unexpected display of support for Harry. Augusta looked shell-shocked; Ron and Hermione looked concerned; while Dahlia was smiling at Neville with a look of pure admiration. Harry too regarded the boy under a new light: he was trembling slightly, clearly nervous about standing up to the Headmaster for the first time, but his eyes burned with furious resolve.

"Well," Dumbledore mused, "Harry's opinion is always valued here, like anyone else's. If he has any concrete ideas for how to proceed, we're all ears."

All eyes turned to Harry, who cleared his throat. "Well, for starters," he said, "we need to bring in all the children of confirmed Death Eaters at Hogwarts for questioning."

"We can't do that without due cause, Harry," Kingsley sighed. "There's no evidence any of them are involved in this, and we can't punish them based on what their parents have done."

"I don't care what the law says," Harry huffed. "We're at war, and they sure as hell aren't following the law themselves."

"Are you seriously suggesting to the Head of the Auror Office that he break the laws he is beholden to?" asked Kingsley, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, is this a Ministry of Magic meeting, or an Order of the Phoenix meeting?" Harry demanded. "Is there even a meaningful distinction anymore? Aren't we supposed to be an underground resistance group, doing the things that the Ministry can't or won't?"

"That was true when the Ministry was willfully ignorant to Voldemort's return," said Dumbledore. "Now we have a Minister sympathetic to our cause."

"But what's the point in that if we have to do everything by the book?" asked Harry. "What are these meetings supposed to accomplish that my father and Kingsley couldn't do on their own at their day jobs? If you ask me, this sounds like a tremendous waste of time."

"Just because we aren't going along with your plans of torturing teenagers doesn't make this a waste of time, Potter," Snape snarled.

"Right, of course," Harry glared back. "We should protect those teenagers instead while they have free reign to murder my family members."

"Enough, you two," Dumbledore warned, looking at both of them sternly. "Harry, if you have any concrete evidence that your classmates are directly involved in what happened to your mother and sister, now would be a good time to bring it up."

"If I had concrete evidence, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?" said Harry.

"No, you would likely have murdered Draco Malfoy by now," Snape muttered.

"It's not murder if it's justified," Harry fired back. "If Draco's responsible for this, the Killing Curse would be the least of his concerns when I get to him."

"Harry!" Molly Weasley gasped in horror. A few other Order members looked similarly alarmed by his strong words. Dahlia rested a hand on Harry's arm and gave him a look that said, Calm down.

"I think it's best we do not entertain this course of action any further," Dumbledore sighed, looking at Harry with a disappointed look in his eye. "We will keep a closer eye the students Harry suspects, but we will take no rash actions against them."

"Fine, you do that," Harry grumbled, standing from his seat and pointing a threatening finger at Dumbledore. "But if I'm right, you are just as culpable for my family's suffering as they are." And he stormed out of the room, ignoring the hushed whispers that followed him.

Harry was done listening to anything the Headmaster had to say to him. As soon as his Veritaserum was ready, he planned to drag Draco kicking and screaming into a private place and make him sing. If Dumbledore and Snape wanted to try and slow him down, they could feel his wrath as well. Harry was done playing nice and going along with the flow – he would never again watch another member of his family suffer because Dumbledore believed he knew better.

The only silver lining was that Neville had unexpectedly taken his side in the dispute. Harry had given the boy plenty of leeway in the past, overlooking his childish outbursts and immature behavior towards Harry, and his patience was starting to pay dividends. Neville was growing into a man now, and he was finally beginning to realize that Dumbledore was not the all-knowing savior who could fix all their problems for them.

The sooner everyone else came to that same realization, the better.