Christmas had come and gone, and the students began to filter into Hogwarts from Floo connected fireplaces all across the country. The bare echoes of scattered conversation slowly escalated, building with every returning student until the usual dull roar filled the main hallways and common rooms.

Hermione had enjoyed her break as much as the next student, her reputation as a compulsive academic notwithstanding. Admittedly there had been a few things that might have caused her to lean in the direction of wishing it would end… Separation from a certain blue-eyed redhead, perhaps… But when all was said and done, everyone needed a holiday now and then.

It had been evening when she hurried back towards Gryffindor Tower. She had arrived before any of her friends had and was now hoping to see them present in the common room. Instead she was lucky enough to intersect with them at the portrait entrance.

"Ron!" she exclaimed, grabbing his attention. As an afterthought, she added, "Harry! Ginny!"

"Hey, Hermione," Harry responded, but she wasn't listening. She ran forward and Ron caught her up in a hug. He leaned forward to capture her lips, and, despite being slightly embarrassed, she moved to reciprocate. Her lips were less than an inch from his when a sudden realisation distracted her.

"Where's Scott?" she asked, leaning around Ron to scan the area. The blond teen was nowhere in sight. Ron frowned in disappointment, and she hastened to make up for her untimely halt with a quick peck to his lips, which made Ginny smile and Harry look mildly uncomfortable.

"Scott? He came through the Floo at our house. He was just here," Ron said, lowering Hermione down so he could turn around. "Where'd he go?"

"I thought he was behind Ginny," Harry said.

Ginny shrugged. "I thought he went on ahead."

"He gave us the slip then," Harry told Hermione. "No idea where he is. Why?"

"I did some thinking over the break. We need to keep track of him better than we have been and make him tell us when he does something," Hermione explained. "He keeps working around us, and I don't like it."

Hermione had thought her words might stir some support in her friends. She was disappointed when, with the sole exception of Harry, they seemed unmoved.

"I don't like it when he keeps us in the dark," Harry agreed. Hermione knew that Harry wasn't really agreeing with her full idea. He just wanted Scott to let him in on everything; Hermione wanted to hold Scott accountable.

"He always does whatever he wants," Ron said, shrugging. "If Dumbledore can't do anything about it, what are we supposed to do?"

"I'll try to reason with him," Hermione declared. "I'll make him understand that it's detrimental for him to not work with us."

Even Harry looked doubtful at that statement. "You're assuming he's reasonable," he muttered.

"He's never shown much of that quality," Ron snorted.

"Regardless, I have to try," Hermione said with a note of finality. Her friends exchanged looks with each other, but she ignored them. "Any ideas as to where he might be?"

"Our room, that one chair in the common room, or the back corner of the library," Harry told her. "Other than that, no clue."

Hermione had already thought of those places, the only ones she knew of that Scott frequented. The boys' dorm and the common room were readily at hand and both proved to be vacant of her target. Remembering a nearly forgotten task, she accosted Harry before she left the tower.

"Harry, I almost forgot — Dumbledore gave me this." She handed Harry the paper with his latest meeting time.

"Right, thanks," he said.

She set off down the corridor, headed for the library. She disregarded the eye rolling from Harry and Ron. She didn't care how controlling she seemed. Scott had been out from under her thumb for the duration of the break and God only knew what he had been up to.

It was perhaps egotistical of her to think she could in some way exert influence over Scott's actions. Still, she felt that her status as a Prime probably lent her a degree of weight with him, or so she hoped. She didn't trust Scott not to interfere in people's lives when there was no call for it (if such a thing could ever be considered appropriate at all). The Kharadjai didn't seem to care much when it came to such niceties as privacy.

Someone needed to hold him liable. It was a decision she had reached over the holidays. Hermione was sure that Harry knew a great deal, but a great deal didn't mean everything and he tended to miss some avenues of inquisition.

All of this rationalisation was merely supporting evidence for her true reason — Hermione needed to know, to be in on the plan. The more she was aware of, the more she could think it through and prepare for eventualities. Bravery was all well and good when it was called for, but forward thinking could keep them safe… Keep them alive.

Such was the role she had created for herself, to be diligently circumspect, and she was determined to fill it. If Scott had a problem with that, then that was just too bad. His experience did not grant him the right to endanger Hermione's friends.

Her willpower now suitably bolstered, she began to search for Scott in earnest. He wasn't to be found in his haunt at the back corner of the library. That made things a bit more difficult. With his casual disregard for both rules and magical barriers, Scott could quite literally be anywhere. Hogwarts was a sprawling structure on a vast property and that did nothing to improve her chances of locating him.

Running low on viable options, she headed towards the Headmaster's office. There was a chance, however slim, that Scott was convening within, though she wasn't sure how she'd find out if he was. Dumbledore's office wasn't the sort of door that was knocked on for every little thing.

Her luck must have been due for an upswing, because no sooner had she entered the corridor to Dumbledore's office than the Headmaster himself stepped out from behind the gargoyle statue.

Hermione hurried forward. "Excuse me — Professor Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore turned towards her, eyes twinkling. "Ah, Ms. Granger!" he greeted her, smiling. "What brings you to my corner of Hogwarts this evening?"

She knew it was an odd and perhaps overly familiar question she was about to pose. Despite this she asked, "I was wondering if you know where Scott Kharan is?"

If Dumbledore thought it was a strange thing to ask, then he showed no visible sign of this. "I'm afraid I don't. Have you looked in the library?"

"Yes, I have," Hermione sighed. "Sorry to bother you, Professor."

"It was no bother at all," Dumbledore assured her. Hermione started to turn away and was stopped when he added, "Though, I wonder — is your need to find him urgent?"

It might be. She didn't know yet. "I didn't see him at all over the holidays," she half-explained.

Dumbledore's visage shifted to one of understanding. "It seems to me that some friends should be kept closer than others," he said pointedly. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes sir, very much so."

"Then allow me to assist." With a fluid grace born of long practice, Dumbledore drew his wand. "Scott Kharan," he said clearly and tapped the wand twice against the stone wall with an odd flick of his wrist.

A pale blue ball of light sprang from the end of the wand and hovered in the air for a moment before it began to drift back the way Hermione had come.

"Follow the light if you would, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore told her. "It will guide you to him."

Hermione barely had time to thank him before the light picked up its pace and she was forced to follow it a brisk walk.

The light swerved around corners and down hallways, always maintaining a generally upward direction. When it began to ascend the painfully long spiral staircase of the Astronomy Tower, Hermione almost wished she hadn't been so persistent. The light didn't tire or slow in the slightest on the steep incline and Hermione was panting by the time she reached the top.

The tower's roof had been swept clean of snow and a bitter wind whipped across the bare stones. Hermione shivered and hugged herself, immediately grateful for the winter cloak, hat and gloves that she was still wearing after her visit with Hagrid and Buckbeak. Scott was standing with his back to the dark horizon, a layered panorama of faint purples blending into the starry dome above. He waited for Hermione to catch her breath, studying the light orb that was now circling him in a lazy holding pattern.

"I thought I felt something latch onto me," he commented and reached out to touch the spell. His fingers passed through it harmlessly. "Interesting magic. I could have broken it, but I wanted to see what was coming."

"Of course you didn't bother to trace it back to the source," Hermione said reproachfully.

"Hey, I didn't know you were following it," he said mildly. "I didn't even know what it was. It could have been some sort of soul-seeking magic missile for all I knew, you're lucky I didn't cancel it when it locked on."

"If you'd kept up on your reading you'd know offensive magic doesn't work like that," Hermione primly informed him. "The spell was obviously tied to the castle in some way. It's most likely a privilege of the Headmaster."

"Dumbledore sent that?" Scott pointed at the orb. "What does he want?"

"He was helping me," she clarified.

"Oh. Then what do you want?"

Hermione gathered her courage for a second time, born of what was (she thought) a righteous purpose. "I'd like to know of any actions you took or alterations you made over the break."

"Oh really." Scott looked more amused than compliant. "Did you appoint yourself as my parole officer?"

She had anticipated his reticence and the likelihood he wouldn't take her seriously. "Yes, I did," she coolly informed him. "This is my life, and they are my friends. I have a right to know if you're playing with any of them, and you're going to tell me if you have."

Scott's eyes narrowed. "Or else what?"

Hermione played the only card she had. "Or else I'll refuse to cooperate. I won't talk to you, I won't listen to you; I'll never do a thing that you say, and you can bet that my friends will do that same." There was some false bravado mixed in with her message, but she still declared it as strongly as she could.

"Very good," Scott said softly, appreciatively, like a general admiring the masterstroke of an opponent even as it decimated his forces. "Very good indeed. Yes, that would make my job more difficult."

"So you'll tell me?"

He shrugged. "Why only you? What makes you worthy to be the sole reservoir of the truth?"

"I might ask you the same," she said heatedly.

"But this is my job. I'm qualified through training and experience to do the things that I have to, and secrecy can be a part of that."

"Well, of course I'd tell the others," she said impatiently, skipping over his excuses and switching back to his original question. "It wouldn't be just me."

"I don't see why a diluted second-hand account should suffice for them."

"Fine!" she snapped. "Then let's call everyone up here, and you can tell the whole group!"

"Well, I don't know about that," Scott murmured, his face creased with thought. "Some things are better left unsaid."

Why did he have to be so infuriating? "That's a very convenient stance for you to take," she argued.

"Let me pose a scenario for you, if you would; what if I had taken some preliminary steps towards the possibility of Luna and Neville become a couple? Should I tell them, even though there's no guarantee it would ever come to anything? Despite the fact that telling them would probably sabotage their chance at happiness?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "That's not theoretical at all, is it."

"Maybe, maybe not. That doesn't change the nature of the question."

It was a difficult thing to contemplate. Hermione struggled with her answer. On one hand there was nothing overtly objectionable about a little matchmaking, and Scott had said before that it wasn't possible to manipulate feelings that didn't exist. Her own relationship with Ron had certainly benefited from such subtle alterations.

In contrast was the decidedly invasive aspect of such meddling. Hermione had her differences with Harry, mostly when it came to his recklessness, but one aspect of his character with which she could identify was his hatred of being kept ignorant of his own circumstances. True, their shared dislike came from different sources — Harry's from his history and Hermione's from her pursuit of knowledge as an end in and of itself. That differing cause didn't change the result, however. She had an inbuilt resistance to the idea of Scott changing people without their knowledge or consent.

What it came down to then was whether she could trust Scott to act in the best interests of those he was altering — and from what she had seen, Scott would act in the best interests of his mission. So far the two had mainly coincided. However, should that change Hermione wasn't at all certain that Scott would jeopardise his grand objectives in favour of helping those who were, to face a cold truth, most likely expendable.

"I suppose, in the end, I can only know what you tell me," she said simply, "and there's no guarantee you're telling the truth — about anything, for that matter. What I'm asking is for you to stop working around us and start working with us. If you're really here to help, then why aren't we on the same side?"

"A worthy question — and one for which I am lacking a worthy answer," Scott said, and he sighed. Almost to himself, he continued, "The truth is often hidden because it's so hard to believe — but is the partial picture that remains any less ludicrous?"

"Not really."

"No, not really," Scott echoed. His eyes focused back on to Hermione. "How do you handle it? What I've told you, I mean."

"I'm not sure sometimes, to be honest." Hermione frowned in thought. "I'm able to think about it rationally. It's rather like how I had to accept the fact that I was a witch when I got my letter from Hogwarts." She had undergone a rough period when it had seemed that all her faith in science had been misplaced.

"Maybe you're waiting for the other foot to fall — or perhaps it's not as difficult to make peace with the vagaries of life as you'd think. Almost anything can become mundane if you're forced to consider it enough." He gave her a small smile. "Why push things any further when the impossible is already hard enough to swallow?"

"We know who you are, and we know in a general way that you're to assist Harry," Hermione said bluntly. "Don't try to pretend we're unwilling or unable to handle the truth. That's not an excuse you can use."

"Prickly tonight, aren't we," Scott commented.

"If that's what it takes to get a straight answer out of you."

"Then I admire your willingness to try every approach."

"Thank you," she said sarcastically, "but what I'd like to know is whether it's getting me anywhere."

"You've made your point," Scott conceded. "Round up Ron and Harry. I'll meet you in the ROR later tonight."

"The — oh, the Room of Requirement," she said, deciphering his acronym.

"Where else? See you there." Scott turned his back to her and leaned out over the parapet, though if he was looking at anything in particular she couldn't tell. He did that a lot. She wondered if he stared off into the distance as a matter of habit when he was thinking, or if he really was watching for something unknown. Given the concessions she'd already wrung out of him, she would save that question for another evening.

On the way back she mulled over what had been said. Dare she consider his answer a victory? Every private meeting she had with Scott ended up as another convoluted conversation that left her wondering if anything had been resolved or if he was steering her around the real issues. His closing statements had been direct enough. Maybe he was finally going to help them properly.

Hermione quickly returned to the Gryffindor tower and found Harry and Ron in their dorm room, unpacking their trunks and settling back in after the holiday away. She filled them in with hushed tones, ensuring they weren't overheard.

"Why does he want to meet in there again?" Ron asked.

"You'll be happy to know that, despite your nay saying, I did manage to talk him into telling us what he's been up to," Hermione proclaimed.

"So?" Ron shrugged. "He told us what he was up to the last time we met in the Room of Requirement."

"No, the things he's… changed, Ron. Like what he was doing over the break."

Ron shrugged again. "We already know what he was doing over the break; we were there. Right, Harry?"

"For most of it," Harry agreed.

"You were?" Hermione hissed. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Because as soon as we saw you for the first time since the holidays you ran off to look for Scott," Harry said reasonably.

"Oh. Well, it was important," Hermione said impatiently, brushing aside Harry's unwelcome logic. "This is our chance to find out what he's done to further our goals, not just his."

"He wants the same thing we do, Hermione," Harry said.

"I'm not so sure of that," she said seriously. "I believe he wants the same end result, but we might have very different ideas of how to get there. And besides — this is our fight, not his, and we have a right to know how he's helping to win it. Now, are you coming or not?" The way she said it made it perfectly clear that there was only one right answer.

Harry started walking towards his trunk. "I'll get the Cloak, just in case."

Ron, however, made no motions towards doing anything useful, instead loitering near her. "Hermione…"

"Yes?"

"Are we going to get a chance to… I mean, I haven't even asked you how your break was yet," Ron said lowly.

Hermione felt a surge of affection for him and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. "We'll catch up later, I promise."

The three of them held an extended discussion on the subject of Scott until it was just past curfew. The trip to the Room of Requirement was markedly different than the one they had taken for a similar purpose not too long before. Hermione was regretful that Ginny, Luna and Neville wouldn't be attending the impromptu council of war, but it was probably for the best. There was always the strong possibility that Scott would touch upon subjects that no one else was to know about save those present.

"Remember, he agreed to do this," Hermione reminded the two boys, "so don't let him try and run us in circles like he usually does."

"He always does that, even when it's something unimportant," Harry said. "How can you even tell any more?"

"He'll answer a question with another question. He does that a lot," Hermione said. She figured on some occasions when Scott used that tactic it was purely habitual, and the rest of the time he did it on purpose. The trick would be to distinguish which it was.

"Why do I feel like we're going to a fight?" Ron muttered.

They reached the location of the hidden entrance and Hermione paced back in forth in front of it. We need a place to talk, she thought. We need a meeting area. The door appeared in the stone wall, materialising as the magic of the room opened its way for them. Grasping the doorknob, she entered inside.

The room had assumed a standard form, with several large armchairs and a couch or two surrounding a fireplace set into the far wall. Scott was sitting on the hearth, facing the doorway. "Willkommen, meine Freunde," he said as she stepped over the threshold. "Bist du gekommen, meine Geheimnisse zu stehlen?"

"You know I don't speak German," Hermione told him, not amused. She seated herself on the couch directly across from him. Ron took the cushion next to her, and Harry settled into an armchair.

"Yes, that is unfortunate," Scott said, shaking his head sympathetically.

"How are you going to do this?" Hermione asked him, cutting straight to the point. "Because we are not going to sit here and ask questions until we hit on the right path of inquiry."

"So, what, you want me to just start endlessly talking with no real direction in mind?"

"You've certainly never had a problem with doing that before," she responded coolly.

"Mein Gott, ich bin hier mit einer schlechten Hexe eingeschlossen," Scott said tiredly.

"Stop that!" Hermione snapped at him.

"Maybe you should just start at the beginning," Ron said, helpfully trying to move the conversation forward.

"The beginning… Yeah, all right." Scott leaned back in thought, scratching his chin. "Well, it all started while I was relaxing, because sometimes I do that. Then I got the call and reported for assignment. They handed me all the stuff they had on this universe and you guys… And that was pretty much it."

There was a moment of silence. Hermione broke it, saying, "Just like that? They give you a paper, and then you're here?"

"Well, I did have a talk with my sister and packed up some of our belongings for the move, but other than that, yeah. They just up and dropped this one on me. They could have had someone else lined up for it who skipped out at the last second, or maybe they rerated the Priority or Threshold of this mission." Scott shrugged. "The details aren't important."

"I'm sure Priority is the urgency of the mission, but could you define 'Threshold'?" Hermione asked him. Scott might have said that the details weren't important, but she begged to differ.

"Difficulty. If they decided that this mission was more difficult than originally thought, they might have tossed it my way for that reason. That's fairly likely. This universe is all knotted and contracted as fuck."

Hermione tried to ignore his language and questioned him further. "What do you mean by that? How can a universe be knotted?"

"Let me think about it for a second; this is a weird concept to grasp," Scott said. He tapped his foot on the floor and stared off into space for a few moments before he continued, "Okay. Let's say you have a ball of string. When you look at it, what do you see?"

"Depends on what colour it is," Harry answered wryly.

"Any colour but clear."

"But clear is my favourite," Ron joked.

Hermione frowned, trying to figure out where Scott was going with his analogy. "…I would see a ball of string. What else is there to see?"

"Nothing, because you can't see through it," Scott said. "Is there something inside the ball of string? You have no way of knowing. What's directly behind the ball of string? It's opaque, so you can't tell. Now take that same ball of string and unravel it, or more accurately, pull it apart. After that, it's no longer a solid mass; it's a loose collection of string, and you can see inside of it and behind it. A universe is like that. If it's all condensed and knotted, you can only see what's right in front of you. If it's loose, like it should be, you can see through all the little loops. Right now, I can't sense enough to do any good from the outside looking in. Everything I've done so far I was only able to do because I was right here. Without guidance, we're left with improvisation."

"And you must be good at that," Hermione surmised.

"Let me put it this way — if you know something is up ahead, you can avoid it. Otherwise, you run right into it and then there's no choice but to face it. Scenario number two has been almost all that's been happening around here, and it puts us into tight, dangerous places. That plays into a speciality of mine — reacting violently in tight places."

Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about that. On one hand, Scott's casual relationship with deadly force made her uncomfortable. Yet, when she thought about it dispassionately, she knew that having an effective killer on their side for once would be a balancing asset in the war they were facing. Hermione was subject to her feelings and principles the same as anyone else, but she was also nothing if not logical. Logic was a cold light on reality. It led her to understand that Scott's violence might serve them well in some dark future circumstance.

"All of which brings us to a point," she said, choosing not to comment on the matter. "How have you reacted lately?"

"I'll summarise for your listening pleasure," Scott said blandly, and began reciting a litany of acts in a monotone. "I came to this universe in the past, your past, and talked to Dumbledore. I waited for the present to roll around and then took stock of all my Primes. When I checked in on Lupin and Tonks, I saw an opportunity and gave them a little push towards the hookup. Then I talked to Dumbledore again and got into Hogwarts. I went to see Harry and told him that something was up. I met with you in Diagon Alley and interrupted things so I could question Borgin on the off chance that it was important. I stopped Malfoy from stomping Harry's face on the train. The next day, I unintentionally got into some trouble with Snape. I sent Lil to talk to Mrs. Weasley so that we'd have a connection with that family, then I sent her to steal an important Priority Item from Borgin and Burkes, and then she met us in Hogsmeade and nudged Hermione and Ron towards the hookup. I've attempted multiple times to get Harry and Ginny to see their hookupableness, currently to no avail. Over the break, I visited Harry and Ron to familiarise them with firearms." He stopped, and an expectant silence pervaded the room. He looked at them and added, "That is all."

Hermione absently tapped her fingers against the couch, absorbing everything Scott had said. The majority of it she had already been familiar with, and there were only a few things that required clarification. "When you said you went to the past-"

"Can we talk about time later?" Scott interrupted her plaintively. "I don't really want to get into that. Talking about time takes a lot of... uh, time."

"Fine." She grudgingly granted him a reprieve. "But what's this 'priority item' you mentioned?"

"A Priority Item is an object that has something to do with the UO, or the way that the universe is shaping. So far it's the only burst of peri-noesis that I've been able to have. It was a necklace in a case at Borgin and Burkes — one day I could just feel it all of sudden, beating like a heart in a web, sending little shivers down the universe my way. I'd imagine it was what Malfoy wanted. Lil stole it, and it's no longer a possible problem."

"The break-in we read about," Harry said, sitting up straighter in his chair. "That was her."

"Yep," Scott confirmed.

"But you weren't able to tell why he wanted it?" Hermione asked. "Or that it was even Draco in the first place?" She didn't miss how Harry sullenly slumped lower in his chair again. Regardless, she remained stubbornly unconvinced of Malfoy's implicit guilt.

"No. That would be the simplest explanation, though."

"Perhaps…" Hermione thought about it some more.

"I bet he was after the necklace, the git," Ron said, adding his take on the situation. "It's cursed, isn't it? There's all sorts of people he'd love to use something like that on."

"Like you," Harry said.

"And you. Or anyone in Gryffindor, for that matter."

"Yeah, he is a little shite, isn't he," Harry mused.

"Harry!" Hermione reprimanded him.

"When he's right, he's right," Scott said. "Any further questions that you're just dying to ask?"

"Yes, actually," Hermione said immediately. "What are you planning to do now?"

"I have no idea. I'm reacting right now, not acting. And before you say it — no, I can't promise to check with you every time I need to make a quick decision."

Hermione frowned. "You will discuss those non-quick decisions, though." She wasn't asking a question, and compounded her demand with a steely stare. Scott wasn't going to waltz out of the meeting after dodging all promises of compliance, not if she could help it.

"I'll be sure to run anything important by the committee," Scott told her testily. Hermione could tell she was getting to him. His annoyance was a good sign. It meant that she was forcing him into things he wanted to avoid.

Which meant she could afford to be magnanimous in victory. "Thank you, Scott. I know it's probably an inconvenience, but things will go much more smoothly if we work together."

Scott only rolled his eyes at her. "You can force me into it, but don't try to sell it to me."

Even his cutting reply couldn't dull her feeling of accomplishment.

They left Scott behind while he held a phone conversation with Lila, and the three of them hurried back to the tower under the no longer adequate cover of the Invisibility Cloak. Once they were safely back in the common room Harry went up to his dorm to store the cloak.

Hermione turned to Ron, seeking his opinion. "I think that went well, don't you?"

"I guess," Ron said neutrally.

That wasn't the answer she had been looking for. "You guess? He said he'd stop keeping us in the dark; I'd say that's major step forward."

"It's easy enough to say that, though."

"You think he was lying?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"Not exactly lying…" Ron scratched the back of his head, face scrunched in thought. "More like, he sort of meant it, but he was probably also telling you what you wanted to hear. I think he'll tell you if he's got a big plan, or whatever… But I also think he'll still run off in a hurry if he wants to."

"I suppose I should take what I can get," Hermione grumbled.

"You tried, though," Ron said, and he reached up to brush a curl away from her forehead. "That's what's great about you — you always try."

Hermione eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. At the very least, even if she hadn't gotten all of what she had wanted from Scott, she needn't end the evening on a low note. "Allow me to make another attempt tonight," she said lowly.

She pulled Ron's head down and met his lips in a kiss that started out tender but quickly became heated. He pulled her closer and she gripped his arms, dizzy with the sensation. Yes, this definitely wasn't a low note. She closed her eyes shut more firmly and gave herself over to the kiss.

"Oh, hell," she dimly heard Harry exclaim from the foot of the stairs, "I was only upstairs for a minute."

Harry suddenly awoke, and he didn't know why.

It was still dark outside. The moonlight filtered in through the tower windows, dimmed by clouds. He rubbed at his eyes and blindly reached for his glasses on the bedside stand, the only remedy for his blurred vision. Finding them, he sat up and let the covers slide off of himself. He put on his glasses and looked around the room for anything that might have caused him to wake.

Nothing appeared amiss. No one was snoring loudly enough to wake the dead, a pleasant surprise. So why was he awake? Blinking, he scanned the room again. This time the thing that was out of place came to him with sudden clarity.

Scott wasn't in his bed.

It was entirely possible, and indeed probable, that Scott had simply risen to go to the loo and had somehow woken Harry in the process. There was no need to assume that the Kharadjai was up to something. Odds were he'd be walking back into the room at any moment. The clear course of action in this matter was to simply lie back down, roll over, and go to sleep. Any second now, Harry would be doing just that.

Any second now.

He knew he'd been living an odd life, Harry reflected as he swung his feet out onto the floor, when he couldn't even convince himself that the most innocently obvious explanation was true. At the very least, a healthy level of maintained paranoia might help him live longer. It was that thought which jolted him to full alertness and brought the tightness back into his muscles.

He decided not to wake Ron, just in case there really was nothing happening. Trying to rouse him in the middle of the night was usually more trouble than it was worth, anyway.

The stone floor was uncomfortable under his bare feet so he quickened his pace and silently went down the staircase. In the common room the fire was burning low in the fireplace, casting eerie shadows. It was times like this, in the dead of night, that such blameless shapes as lumpy chairs grew menacing in the firelight and chimerical enemies lurked in every darkened corner.

Harry rolled his eyes, exasperated with his own inner monologue. An over-active imagination was a burden during a night time stroll. He pushed aside his self-generated fears and examined the room for signs of Scott.

There was a light coming from beneath the door to the toilet, which could mean any number of things. He'd play it casual and just walk in. He only hoped that if it was Scott he wasn't going to catch the other boy doing something that Harry really didn't want to catch him doing.

Grasping the doorknob, Harry readied his wand just in case and swiftly opened the door.

The interior was steeped in darkness, a single source of light carving every feature of the room out of the shadows in stark relief. Scott was hunched over one of the sinks, his wand lying on the counter next to him and providing the pale white light that didn't seem to reach very far. He had his left arm lying inside the basin while he did something to it with his right. He was only partially dressed and covered in dirt, his exposed skin shiny with sweat and his hair hanging limply against his forehead.

What caught Harry's attention most of all was the blood. It was everywhere, pooled and streaked around the edges of the sink and over the counter top, spattered on Scott's shorts and splashed over his arms. In the thin light, it looked black.

Scott didn't look up when Harry came in. "Hey, Harry."

"Lumos!" Harry said, adding his light to the scene and moving to Scott's side. "What happened?" He could now see what Scott was doing, and swallowed his initial revulsion. There was a hole ripped into the tender flesh on the underside of Scott's left arm. It was bleeding profusely while Scott squeezed at it with the fingers of his right hand, alternating the pressure with attempts at digging into the wound. There was something strange about the way the skin moved on one side of the hole, as if something were lodged beneath it.

Harry looked disbelievingly at Scott. "What the hell did you do?"

"Caught a ricochet," Scott grunted, squeezing the bottom of his forearm. The lump grew more pronounced. "Nothing to panic about. Go back to bed."

"Blimey!" They both spun towards the door. Unnoticed by them, the door had not shut entirely when Harry had entered. Ron stood in the entryway in his too-small pyjamas, his face pale in the wand light. He approached them, his own wand in his hand and bare feet slapping on the tiles, to peer down with an awed expression into the sink. "What the hell did you do?" he gasped, unknowingly echoing Harry's sentiment.

"Caught a ricochet," Scott repeated. "This was supposed to be a private party, gentlemen. Isn't it a little late for socialising?"

They both ignored him. Ron was looking at the wound with his mouth open in a sort of sick fascination. "That looks awful, mate. You need to get to the hospital wing."

"Can't."

"What's that under your skin?" Harry pointed to the shifting lump beneath the bloodless epidermis.

Ron leaned forward to see better from Harry's angle. "You've got something in your arm?" Scott jammed one of his fingers down into the torn flesh and pushed, trying to hook onto something. Ron went even paler. "Blimey," he said again.

"I told you, I caught a ricochet," Scott said very slowly, as if talking to small children. "What is it exactly you don't understand about that?"

"Here." Harry moved over to Ron's side and raised his wand. "Just tell me what it is and I can Summon it out."

Scott shook his head. "It's behind the muscle. There's no straight line to it with all that crap in the way, if you Summon it out you'll just tear me up even more."

"And you're doing a better job of it?" Ron snorted and then winced when Scott's left hand clenched in a sharp stab of pain, releasing a fresh stream of blood.

"Yes-" Scott's finger was still searching for its target in the pulpy mess of his arm, buried almost to the knuckle. "-because I think I've got it." Gritting his teeth, he slid his finger back out with a jerking motion. Something slipped free with it, falling into the sink with a metallic clink and followed by a gout of dark blood.

With his uninjured arm Scott picked up the object and held it to the light. "Stubborn little bastard," he said, still breathing heavily from the pain. Though covered in blood, Harry could see it was a small metal sphere, like a ball bearing. "No offence to you guys but I wish I was an adult again. Nothing like having a steel ball stuck in you to make you miss your self-healing abilities."

"I'm sure," Harry said in as normal a tone as he could manage, "but that doesn't explain how it got there in the first place."

Scott looked at him askance. "Isn't it a little late? Aren't you feeling some strong urges to go back to bed and forget all this?"

"Can't say that I am. How about you?" Harry asked Ron.

Ron shook his head. "I'm wide awake, actually."

Harry looked back at Scott. "You see how it is."

Scott sighed. "All right, but let's go back out to the common room. I need to sit down."

"What about your arm?" Ron questioned him.

"Episkey," Scott muttered, tapping his arm with his wand. Nothing happened, and he glared at his wand for a moment. "Goddammit. Harry, you do it."

Harry picked up his wand and cast the healing spell on Scott's arm. The wound didn't so much heal as it congealed, some portions of the skin regaining a slight colour. It had to still hurt — the healing spell worked well enough on damaged tissue but wasn't a very effective anodyne.

"That will hold me," Scott said. "Here, hand me that towel."

Ron grabbed a towel from a nearby rack and tossed it to Scott, who tore it lengthwise in two and used the pieces to fashion a crude bandage. "Good enough," he said, grabbing his wand. "At least I can light this stupid thing, right? That's something. Better clean this shit up."

A few well-aimed cleaning spells and the sink was spotless enough not to draw notice. The same couldn't be said for Scott's shorts, which remained badly stained though no longer wet. Back in the common room, Scott sank into one of the chairs with a wince, cradling his arm. Harry and Ron also seated themselves, eyeing him expectantly.

Scott closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again, looking wan from blood loss. "Remember what I said about Riddle's war?"

Harry frowned, thinking back. He knew Scott had said something about that subject, but couldn't recall exactly when. "Sort of."

"I said that if a guerilla war was what he wanted, then that's what he should get."

"I remember that," Ron said. "You were going off on the Death Eaters, and something about the Ministry?"

Harry began remembering it more clearly. "Right, after we read about the attacks in the paper."

Ron nodded. "Thought you were a bit barmy about the whole thing, really. You said we needed to act like Death Eaters in order to fight them. What do you expect us to do, creep around in the dead of night and jump them at their… houses…" Ron trailed off, his eyes growing wide as he looked at Scott's injured arm.

Harry half rose from his seat, realisation dawning. The bland look on Scott's face was confirmation enough.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, "that's what you were doing, isn't it."

"Perhaps. What's necessary isn't always easy," Scott said mildly.

"Tell me what happened," Harry demanded.

Scott leaned back into his chair as if his previous words had drained him of strength. "If you'd like."

Behind the grand manor house, there was a garden path.

It was a large garden, well cultivated, containing a myriad of different plants. Colourful flowers festooned the raised sides of the brick walk, delicately arranged in patterns pleasing to the eye, the bright blooms nestled next to well-pruned shrubs and elegant trees. The owner of the manor took great pride in the garden and enjoyed showing guests its many appeals.

Kharan didn't care about any of that. For him, the garden was merely a place of concealment, its esoteric values lost on him in his efficient state of mind. The abundant growth provided excellent cover in the dark night; the glow that emitted from the manor house did not penetrate far into the foliage.

There was a party taking place on the terrace behind the manor. The tinkling noise of fragile wine glasses and the dull mutter of hushed laughter drifted to where Kharan hid himself. Their names were not important to him. His interest lay in two specific people amongst the gaily dressed herd.

They would walk the garden, he knew, for two reasons: one of the men was the master of the manor house, and the garden would allow them to talk without being overheard. They would discuss their darker brand of business away from the chatter and light.

And in so doing allow Kharan to follow through on his own business with them.

Normally, he would not have developed such an ostentatious plan, but he was not so much removing a threat as he was sending a message. It was the first message and would have less impact than the ones to follow, so he had brought something special with which to send it. He was merely setting the stage. The next acts would be more meaningful, and perhaps more subtle.

There was nothing subtle about the Claymore Mine sitting in the lilacs.

"A what?" Ron interrupted.

"A Claymore Mine. It's a type of bomb," Scott explained.

Ron glanced over at Harry to see if he understood, but Harry had never heard of such a thing either. "What does it do?"

Scott leaned his head back and proceeded to recite, "The M18 Claymore is a directional fragmentation mine. It is eight and a half inches long, one and three eighths inches wide, three and one fourth inches high, and weighs three and one half pounds. The mine contains seven hundred steel spheres and a one and a half pound layer of composition C-4 explosive and is initiated by a number two electric blasting cap."

"English, please," Ron groaned.

"It's a fragmentation bomb that you set off with a detonator. Fragmentation means that it doesn't do its damage with an explosion but with shrapnel or debris thrown by an explosion. It's directional — essentially a thin plastic box that has a bunch of ball bearings in it, with a bomb put behind them. The bomb explodes and all those little metal balls go flying out with enough force to punch right through you."

Ron looked somewhat aghast at that. "That's awful!" Harry couldn't help but share his sentiment.

"Awful effective. Seven hundred steel balls moving at more than lethal velocity can do all kinds of damage. May I continue?"

They came at a leisurely stroll, conversing softly. Kharan wondered if they were talking about the Muggle family they had killed the previous week (his research had been rushed and limited, but it wasn't hard to connect the dots when it came to proximity: an unexplained triple murder not five miles from the manor and a blue car, reported as stolen, left on its side in the woods near the garden path like a discarded toy). They laughed at something, and he thought they probably were.

The Death Eaters liked to think that they were some higher breed of human, but Kharan knew the truth. People like them were as common as dirt, revelling in the pain of others, supporting their petty lives with delusions of grandeur.

The Claymore would kill them before they could even register the explosion. As far as their personal experiences went, their deaths would be instant and humane. It was the impact that the sight of their unrecognisable corpses would inflict upon the living that was important.

He had a message to send.

The targets entered the kill zone. Kharan flattened himself out on the ground behind a short dip in the soil, and pressed the trigger.

The sharp crack of the explosion mercifully drowned out the other sounds present in that fraction of a second — of bones snapping and flesh being perforated to the point of disintegration. The man closest to the blast had the flesh on his lower torso and legs pulverised to a sodden mass of deep punctures and bruises. His companion did not fare much better. Severed digits spun away into the flora.

Like sides of raw beef being hurled against a solid surface, what was left of the two Death Eaters lost the momentum lent to them by the Claymore when they smacked into the brick wall lining the opposite side of the path.

Kharan felt a sharp pain in the underside of his forearm, but didn't spare it a thought. He had to leave immediately; it was of the utmost importance that no one see him, even from a distance. Being identified too soon could be disastrous.

Nimbly jumping to his feet, Kharan sped through the garden, leapt over the surrounding fence, and vanished into the nearby wood.

There was silence as Scott finished his tale. Ron appeared to be trying to come to grips with the fact that Scott had murdered two people mere minutes before he had been found in the bathroom. Harry understood the motivations well enough, but the methods left him cold.

"Don't worry about it," Scott said, breaking the quiet. "It's not your problem. If you really find this so disturbing, then maybe it's better if you don't ask me about it in the future."

"I don't know what to think," Ron admitted. "I mean, I guess I forget that you're actually older than us sometimes, you know? But Merlin… Killing two bloody people…"

"You want the Death Eaters to be the only ones willing to be lethal?" Scott asked them. "Stunning Spells are suitable enough for taking prisoners, which is what Dumbledore seems to want to do. If you want my advice, then the next time you see a Death Eater, give him a Diffindo to the neck or belly. Your enemy is playing for keeps."

"I understand what you're saying," Harry said slowly, "but it's not that easy to handle. We're not…" He stopped, uncertain of what he wanted to say.

"Killers," Scott finished for him. The Kharadjai was clearly not bothered by Harry's reservations. "Your feelings are understandable. It's a simple fact; not everyone is mentally equipped for these extremes as they become standard. That's why there is, and always will be, the option to let me handle this. It's what I do."

Harry wondered if someday he would be able to deliver the same convictions after he killed Voldemort. How much of his soul would he have to trade for victory? How much blood would be on his hands? The distance that Scott inhabited seemed stark and cold.

And yet, what about all the aspects of life that Scott seemed to genuinely enjoy? All the jokes, all the fun? Scott could be ruthless, yes, but it was compartmentalised, a separate portion of his head. Perhaps taking life didn't mean the end of your own.

Harry didn't know. He shoved all the feelings aside, unable as always to find any answers within himself.

"I suppose you don't want us to tell anyone else about this?" Harry asked. He knew that Scott would see the offered acceptance in the question.

"That would be best. Hermione will have to know about it, and it wouldn't be the end of the world if Ginny or Neville and Luna found out. I'll leave that up to you. Just make sure nobody in a position of authority learns about it."

"What about Dumbledore?"

"He'll put the pieces together, but I don't know if he'll confront me." Scott smiled. "I guess I'll find out."

"You've got to do something about that arm," Ron said. He pointed at the towel bandage, which was already stained a rusty red over the wound.

"I think I'll have Hermione look at it in the morning, just to see if she can do anything."

"At least re-wrap it," Harry said, getting to his feet, "or you'll be bleeding all over your sheets and someone is going to find out about it."

"Are you a fucking doctor?" Scott inquired sarcastically, suddenly regaining his usual vitriol. "I know how to fix my arm, now get the fuck out of here and go to bed or you'll be bleeding on your sheets, too."

"I don't know about you, Harry," Ron smirked as they ascended the stairs to the dormitories, "but I don't think that's much of a threat coming from a bloke who got caught by his own bomb."

"Too right," Harry agreed. "I wouldn't try to hit us, Scott, you might hurt yourself."

"Yeah, when I break my knuckles on your fuckin' teeth," Scott grumbled, following them up. "A small price to pay to see you shit your own pearly whites."

"Ron," Harry asked as he suddenly remembered something, "what woke you up, anyway?"

"I was already awake, mate. Didn't hear any snoring, did you?"

"I wondered about that."

They had to silence their banter when they neared the top of the staircase, not wanting to wake the other boys. While Ron slid back into his bed Harry dug out an old white sleeping shirt for Scott to use as a bandage.

Sinking back into the mattress, Harry realised that he had never found out what had woken him.